LISA DREAMING

 Yes…mainly by way of fading photographs and mementoes to enter further into some of Lisa’s ephemeral ‘memory ridges’. To note also Michael recollections about such visually recorded moments.  

Family Night

Lisa cheerfully dancing to hip hop with Melissa and many teenagers on a basketball court in a big hall. Michael explains. “That’s the family night when the parents of the refugee and migrant students have their parents and guardians come along to socialize with each other and the teachers and teachers’ aides. The families always bring food from the countries they come from.”   

“This was taken when I worked as a teachers’ aide at an Intensive English Language Centre next to a high school not far from where I live.” states Michael. “There were mainly refugee and migrant students. On these family nights - which I guess you could say are like an official welcome - newly arrived students would bring their parents or guardians with food from where they came from. Plenty of music and dancing. Always a great, friendly night. Lisa and Melissa really enjoyed it.

                                           Black Fella Isenhiem Altarpiece

At a studio on a site with silos in Summer Hill looking at a triptych of paintings with cleared agricultural plains framed by gum trees. Yet the middle panel has been swung open to reveal that behind it is another gum tree with a crucified Aboriginal man.

The Garden Of Bad Flowers

Aboriginal carvings on big rocks behind a house nicknamed Earlwood Farm. In its big yard with a chicken shed is an art installation with flowers in large wooden planter beds. To learn that marigolds are a symbol of death and have an association with the Mexican Day of the Dead. “The artist was one of those who had pulled out of the Sydney Biennale because of that problem over sponsorship money apparently coming from off-shore detention profits. Lisa admired this brave woman and was shocked by how so many turned against her and the others including from those who you’d think would support them.”

Wolli Creek Guerrilla Trees

Lisa and Melissa beside trees wrapped in bright wool croquet colours. Melissa is placing a green cardboard bird cut-out on a stick into the ground. “We were with Master on an Open Day for the creek.” states Michael. “Trees are guerrillas. Master made that clear when he told us once about a book he had been reading called The Hidden Life of Trees. Apparently trees can let off toxins to make them unappealing to insects and to animal predators and will let off a scent to warn other trees of any approaching danger. They can also communicate with each other through the tree roots that meet up with other and fungi. A wood web.” Michael pauses. “Gregor wonders if stars all together in the galaxies communicate with each other… with light waves working as ‘cosmic roots’. 

Ashfield Totem

 “Here’s another photo at Ashfield Park.” Lisa and Melissa standing next to a colourful Aboriginal tree trunk referencing the rainbow serpent which is carved with totem animals.

                                                     Lotus Labyrinth

Lisa and Melissa walking within a circular shell labyrinth on the grass at Rookwood Cemetery with a ceramic lotus - which represents rebirth - in its centre.

“That was at the HIDDEN sculpture exhibition. Lisa was pretty interested to find out that sunflowers on graves symbolized the passage of time. We learnt that off this elderly guy in this Friends for Rookwood Tent. There was this other tent that was part of the exhibition called the Office of the Imagination which along with all this antique bric a brac like old lamps, wooden filing cabinets and a big wooden tripod there were black & white photos of spirits by graves. I liked these DIY big spiders made from plastic tubes and plastic balls most of which you can buy from a hardware. We also learnt later from the catalogue how in the past dogs used to be buried in cemeteries to protect the souls of the dead and to even guide them to the afterlife. Cat was telling me the three headed dog Cerberus guards the gate of Hades. He even said it has a deadly snake for a tail…anyhow after the exhibition Lisa insisted we had to go look for this woman who had died relatively young years ago. Lisa said she was someone she knew nobody ever went to visit anymore…we eventually found her grave…”

Water, Fire, Earth

At Hyde Park standing beside three rock figures joined together and shaped like tree trunks. With an ibis bird standing on top of each head.

Stonehenge Jumping Castle

Melissa is tugging onto Lisa’s homemade dress made from material with Australian labels such as Vegemite, Arnotts Biscuits and Rozella Tomato Sauce. Mother and child are running over the plastic floor of a big blow up Stonehenge in Hyde Park.

Theseus & the Minotaur

Lisa smiling in front of the Archibald Fountain. Theseus pulling back the Minotaur’s head by the horns.

“Cat, remember you were walking around the fountain typically paraphrasing his favourite ancient philosophers. You ‘the ‘seer’ would keep on looking at the reflecting fountain water as you spoke. I’ll have to find the photo of Lisa also standing by Artemis and imitating shooting off an arrow with a bow.”

Crossing the River Styx

At Wiseman’s Ferry Lisa poking out her tongue on the ferry while crossing the river to show off another crisp shiny fruit tingle that is stuck on it; like giving a coin to the boatman to go to the underworld.

For the Benefit of Disappearing Worlds

Camden Town markets. An old theatre in Hammersmith where Karin had gone to a third world benefit. On the back of this photo Karin had written it had reminded her of those big African and Latin American dance nights at Paddington Town Hall. 

John Hegley

 A little A5 size collection of poems by John Hegley. ‘Very witty cabaret! Just like God’s Cowboys!’ The black & white front cover has Blake’s The Ancient of Days holding a pair of big glasses. There was also a linocut illustration of Blake’s mad Nebuchadnezzar on all fours under a poem about someone losing their glasses.

A John Cooper Clarke Poetry Night Leaflet

‘Remember when we went and saw him at the Sydney Trade Union Club? I loved it when he did I Married an Alien from Outer Space.’

“Michael. Stop daydreaming. Put Karin’s letters and postcards away and let’s keep looking at the rest of the photos.”

Crossing the River Styx

Lisa at Wiseman’s Ferry Lisa poking out her tongue on the ferry while crossing the river to show off another crisp shiny fruit tingle that is stuck on it; like giving a coin to the boatman to go to the underworld.

Angel-By-The-Sea

Lisa beside a Waverly Cemetery winged white angel looking over the white sparkling sea.

Waverly Cemetery Dreaming

“Lisa told me how on one New Year’s Eve she and a friend had raised their wine glasses and toasted to the dead while watching fireworks bursting brightly over the nearby headlands. Shining light onto the many white headstones.”

“Waverly Cemetery Dreaming!”

                                                 Sydney Easter Island

Lisa on Cockatoo Island standing in front of a row of large curved rusting metal bulwarks that are each several metres high.

                                                        Mobius Sea

Mother and child walking around a large white cylinder sponsored by the Royal Blind Society that is outside the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Touching with closed eyes the raised texture of this sculpture that intimates that there are figures underneath a sail.

Danny And The Deep Blue Sea

Lisa with a comically screwed up face with a fist aimed at DANNY on this Darlinghurst Theatre poster.

                                              The Expulsion of Lisa from Eden

A psychedelic scarf still covering the head. Both palms on a poster of a Bosch painting of people from every social class grabbing hay from a huge haystack.

“The straw represents the world’s ephemeral wealth and is on a big wagon being pulled by grotesque creatures who serve death.” remarks Cat. “In a Bosch landscape of the Creation of Eve there is a creature which resembles a kangaroo.” remarks Cat.

Laughter. “I’m Eve! Fallen! In the southern hemisphere!”

Earthmother

Lisa and Melissa beside a weathered rock sculpture of a mother with her protective arms around her child at the Opera House entrance of the Royal Botanical Gardens.

Five Bells Satyr

Smiling at Cat who is standing on the stone wall that runs along side the water of Sydney Harbour. This seer is waving his cowboy hat up to the sky as he introduces a group reading of Five Bells by Kenneth Slessor held by a statue of a satyr. Melissa sits to Cat’s side holding a bell that would be rung when each of Gregor’s friends will take a turn to read a new stanza.

“Lisa learnt how in one version of this story Slessor’s newspaper cartoonist friend Joe Lynch drunkenly said he’d swim from the ferry to Milsons Point to head to a party. With his coat filled with beer bottles he jumped into the night harbour never to be seen again. The satyr’s face is based on him. It suddenly occurred to me about Cat who won’t change for this world actually wants the world to change towards him…”

A Bridge Too Far

The last scenes of the Super 8 Central Australian film after having Uluru twirling around in a circle followed by the Olgas. Port Augusta. An Aboriginalwoman singing a gospel song in a church. A young family in a living room; zooming in on an Impressionist painting hanging on the wall of a bridge over the River Seine.

 “I would have liked to have seen Paris…”

Satyr

Mother and daughter on either side of a life size black statue of a cheeky satyr which is almost hidden amongst the foliage at the Opera House entrance of the Botanical Gardens.

Laughing.

Christmas Kanga

Melissa wearing giant plastic oversized toy sunglasses is standing beside a six-foot red kangaroo with little flashing lights in a plastic tube that goes around its edge that Master had bought at Reverse Garbage. There was the night when this white rabbit sat in the front yard watching the flashing lights as if it was watching television. Its white fur reflecting the colours flashing around on the Christmas Kangaroo.

Christmas Cowgirls

A smiling Lisa with her arms around a laughing Melissa looking up at Michael’s camera. Mother and daughter are both wearing red Christmas cowboy hats with white flurry rims which had been found at a two-dollar shop in Ashfield Mall.

Flight of the Phoenix

Lisa and Melissa at a park beside Cooks River marvelling at a remote controlled model plane buzzing high up in the clear blue sky. Earlier in the morning to have seen a photo in a weekend newspaper of a child in a far-away refugee camp flying an improvised kite made of insulation foam. On this sunny Sunday walk to have had the energy to go all the way to Tempe. To see behind a large glass display wall the many rows of turning wheel rims which tyres are fitted on at a big tyre store on the Princes Highway. Wheels of fate as Michael dubbed them while continuing to walk to wetlands.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Melissa and a little Vietnamese girl stand side by side as new friends on a suburban footpath to watch a female accordion player outside a café serenading Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the café patrons seated on outside cushioned milk crates. (A blonde haired fair skinned woman wearing an ANTAR t-shirt and another black haired woman and of olive skinned complexion with a red floppy hat are with a boy and a girl - which it is found out later from their two ‘babysitters’ are originally from Liberia - all smile at the two urchins - and Melissa will be later warmly hugged by ‘blondie’). Also with her mother, Melissa is waiting for Michael who has gone into a mobile repair shop owned by the Vietnamese girl’s father. Michael is having the failing microphone on his smartphone looked at as it is out of the question he needlessly pay hundreds of dollars for a new handset simply because it is an older model. The doorway to the shop is open and Lisa looks up to see on a television that is way up high on a back shelf cluttered with small boxes of spare parts a Saturday morning music show that is now showing Aboriginal dancers doing their version of Zorba the Greek; to reminiscence about the time she found out how there is an indigenous belief that when stars twinkle they are talking to each other. To also have learnt of Aboriginal constellations and that a shooting star can be a sign a person has re-incarnated. To know that one day Melissa with Michael or even with Margaret will be intently looking at all that dark space which is the night sky…for a special light…-

To comprehend life’s cosmic origins. Yes, to be of the cosmos.

Sierre Leone Evening

A community hall in Marrickville filled with local African emigres. Graceful, elderly women wearing colourful costumes. (Yes, apparels to human dignity). Musical items. An amateur film shot down by Cooks River with young African actors. Have been watched. Teenage girls crowd around a cheerful Melissa who is being held up by a female teacher who has taught them English. Melissa grabbing the long curly black hair of the woman who emphatically holds her; a smile; despite everything these girls had gone through they were so full of life. Resilient. Very feisty. (One teenage girl is holding dearly her own baby son; at a later date to go to his first birthday party where he is elegantly dressed in a tuxedo). Lisa likes them immensely; these people have revitalized her. (Yes, it is easy for Lisa to comprehend how human life truly started in Africa. “We’re all Africans!”).

That Eye The Sky

At an exhibition of a friend of Michael’s who was exhibiting at the Jewish Holocaust Museum in Darlinghurst. Amidst exhibits depicting the doomed were abstract paintings which were magnified sections of a kitchen scene with a cabbage and coffee saucepan painted by her grandmother before the final deportation.

In contrast to any intimate space a memory of the vast expanse of a large warehouse in Redfern covered in sand. A police four-wheel drive. At a production of Dead Heart sitting with the rest of the Thursday night budget crowd experiencing the unearthly vastness of the Central Australian desert in inner citySydney.

Wharf Theatre

Another large cavern. Another large audience. In this warehouse space an Australian-Greek Opera. A large hills hoist glowing with fluorescent tubes attached to the main pole and wire supports. Three women in long flowing dresses with song sheets in their hands sing beside this glowing suburban totem.

Waking up. A restful face. Picking up a publicity pamphlet in the hospital bedside drawer.

To Traverse the Water…experimental music theatre that expresses and explores the human condition in all its frailties and strengths…themes as broad as the international impact of A.I.D.S to the thwarted genius of an individual…the intimate is expressed through the vast. It is the relationship between the wider reaching conditions of all people and the individual experience that provokes the paradox of an intimate experience-

To Call That Thread Of Theseus: Culture

Alone. Night. Playing a tape recorder to softly speak into. For Lisa to sometimes talk about Gregor’s art…as if observed in a dream state but here recorded so as to verify what for her is real, as if to verify what Michael once suggested to me a long time ago (of which I now take seriously) that the thread of Theseus be called culture-

 ‘The Angel.’ (‘Gregor says it is one of the figures of a famous Russian icon called The Trinity at the Hermitage…he saw a young woman cross herself and pray in front of it she went into a mystical trance…sometimes I like to stare at this print and meditate…’). ‘Pennies from Heaven.’ (‘…in Indonesia are large ferries that sail between the islands at one port boys in canoes dive for coins after asking ferry passengers to drop them into the water…with Melissa I would go to this very shallow pool down the back of Hyde Park to cool our feet in the water we would spot coins on the mosaic floor and Melissa would say they were from the sky…’). 

 ‘Tree of Life.’ (‘…at the end of Indonesian puppet plays this fan would be put up on the stage to let the audience know the play was over…Cat says life is a shadow play…I’m sure there’ll be a tree of life at the end of my…ever so scintillating act…when I leave…this stage…). 

 ‘Anu Krakatau is Angry.’ (‘…this volcanic island is the child of Krakatau which when it blew up caused a tsunami which killed over thirty thousand people…Gregor went out to it on a small boat…you can see the foredeck in the foreground… the volcano was erupting large plumes of black dust into the sky every ten minutes so a boy on the boat who could speak English told Gregor Anu Krakatau was angry…when Gregor was on the island and touched the warm black sandy soil he thought it was like connecting with the very centre of the earth itself…a Phoenix rising from where the first volcano was…[coughing]…as I age…Melissa’s my young Phoenix…’). 

 ‘Luna Park.’ (A smiling stone face of a Khmer Buddha in Bayon with two pillars from the the Luna Park façade on either side of it. ‘…the smiling face reminded Gregor of Luna Park when he saw it…no mouth of hell here…there’s also this beautiful black and white photo of an old man who’s wearing a straw hat and brushing away the dust on a stone floor in the ruins with a long straw broom…it’s as if he is sweeping time…’). 

 ‘Manjustri Bodhivista of Transcendental Wisdom’-(‘…this bodhivista is holding a flaming sword to cut through human illusion…in Manjustri’s right hand is a stem that leads to a blooming lotus of wisdom…he’s shown as a young man to point out how wisdom doesn’t necessarily come from living many years but from seeing right through to the foundations of reality…I’m trying to cling to that idea…’).

 ‘Apostles of the Universe.’ (‘I love the halos around these two Twelve Apostles it reminds me of the little halo party Gregor had at his place…the halos we wore were made from package board sprayed with gold paint…’). 

 ‘Sydney Voodoo. Kings Cross Festival.’ (…a street stall with magic dancing puppets...one of two women wearing a flower dress and wrinkled hat with frangipani flowers sticking from it…‘This woman with the big glasses and frilly dress looked more like an acrobat than another bag lady...I actually saw them and bought one of the dancing dolls for Melissa…I found out you use a very thin fishing line weaved through a needle eye on the back…the cut-out wiggles when you pull it tight…” A sepia photo of an aerial coffin in Siberia beside this etching. ‘‘Yeah they hang the coffin high up on a pole…a shaman’s beneath it…’).

 ‘Kite Flying. Sydney Park. St. Peters.’ (‘I really like this big etching of the brick factory chimney stacks over that large hill…see those two small figures of a person and their child flying a kite? I can easily imagine they’re Melissa and me…all that open space…I can just feel it go beyond the frame…’). Metamorphosis. (A cat with bird’s wings, a fish tail and webbed feet. ‘I love this woodcut…Gregor got it off a friend…’). 

 ‘Muktinath.’ (An ice crater, a leafless tree with birds coming from it to fly across a grey-blue sky. ‘The birds flew out of the tree as Gregor pressed the shutter. He was on the way to a temple that has a flame that emerges from water. He told me about this thin, wispy bearded, thinly dressed pilgrim who was also heading to this Himalayan holy site…all alone on top of the world… I kinda identify with that old man…’). 

 ‘Eurydice Mourns.’ (A Grecian woman playing her flute, perhaps meditating on love lost which is a too common melancholy human reflection. Yet, it could be said that music – which was Orpheus’s most special quality can be a beautiful solace for Eurydice’s sad, imprisoned soul). 

 ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ (A carving of a sleeping woman on a wooden totem. Her long hair and clothes flow gracefully down the pole which has small pointy tips on each side. The three-pointed top thrusts skywards above her peaceful bowed head. ‘This is my favourite. Gregor based it on a photo he took while passing through a place called Vilnius after being in Russia. It’s the capital of Lithuania. He also showed me this wood carving of a frowning Jesus who has his chin on one hand. The Pensive Christ is common. He says this pose may go all the way to Neolithic times.’). 

 Mother Earth. Father Sky. (A cluster of etchings based on the terrain of Central Australia which Gregor had produced by relying on stills from Michael’s Super 8 movie with its aerial scenes of the desert at the beginning of it. Various features seen in the terrain which undulate and merge with each other and which seem to even depict the land below as a flowing sea had Gregor refine what was seen on film to a series of rough textured shapes contrasted against a deep black aquatint background. At first sight it is somewhat like looking at organisms through a microscope. Yet as the title suggests each etching is to be evaluated more in cosmic terms. 

 A philosophical undertone in the images is certainly apparent to any viewer by titles which include: ‘Alpha & Omega.’ ‘Embryo of the Universe.’ ‘Pendulum of Time.’ ‘Mother & Child.’ In any case Gregor had explained that he was conscious that a still existing culture had already been in Australia for many thousands of years before the arrival of the Europeans; so he felt it was mandatory that he had to seriously take this into account when looking at the Australian landscape. Another case in point is that it could be said that the land ‘owns’ the indigenous rather than they actually ‘owning’ the land and any white fella should also take such a notion of ‘reverse ownership’ also on board. Any Aboriginal influence on his own art was often only very subtle but at least this indigenous view of the world was a consideration. He thought it was a failure of many ‘white fella’ artists to not acknowledge Aboriginal culture in their depiction of the landscape. In many cases often doing pastoral scenes which only reinforced the wrong idea that the occupation of the land and its wholesale devastation for agricultural, mineral resource and logging purposes by Europeans somehow remains legitimate. To speak very generally of the Aboriginal view of the world: the land is envisaged as ‘mother’ and is treated respectfully as such. Taking this indigenous spiritual observation on board Gregor had stated he felt it was okay to inversely adopt the view that the sky above – including the night sky with its constellations – could be seen as ‘father’. To him the union of ‘mother land’ and ‘father sky’ could be read as union of life between both mortality - or earthly decay - and eternity - or cosmic sustainability - all things on earth die but life also continually regenerates. Life can be ‘eternalized’ when one considers the possibility that the physical can be transformed to become spiritual: an invisible afterlife as an ‘afterthought’ of visual reality. Gregor would state that many of his etchings related to such notions as ‘cosmos’ and ‘time’. The notion of sky and earth metamorphosing as mother and father is a universal idea throughout world cultures which Gregor has said he is always conscious of when doing etchings of ‘terra australias’. The geological evolution of the Earth’s surface is for humanity very slow and therefore difficult for many people to conceptualize except when a sudden spectacular natural event like a tsunami, volcanic eruption or earthquake is witnessed; only then do human beings gain some idea of the fluid swirling movements that are occurring within the geographical features of this planet. The Earth’s terrain is constantly shifting – often without humanity realizing – and so the topographical contours around every human space are gradually and ceaselessly being reshaped. Nothing is really as it seems; what appears stable is not necessarily so in much the same way that what seems physically solid is really an ‘apparition’ of billions of bustling particles undulating on a microscopic quantum level. Eventually it brings into question human perception of reality and of life itself; perhaps even leading the human mind to discern between what is real and what is metaphysical). 

  Lisa the solitary wildflower who, with the time, will dwell on Gregor’s cosmic terrains…to provide some solace…‘Dark Matter Nebula.’ ‘Ghost Nebula.’ The same weathered coastal rock at Gordons Bay treated in black & white and in sepia in reversals of both positive and negative space…to comprehend how a nebula will pass away yet compared to the miniscule life span of an individual - or even of the whole human race – such a glowing cosmic cloud exists for an eternity…the ephemeral to be as long lasting in the mental realm. The universe and its currents…(yes, as if the cosmos is a river)…’White Matter. Dark Matter.’ ‘Cosmic Flow.’ ‘River Rhythm.’ ‘This River, A Strong Brown God. This God, The River’ & ‘This River, The Cosmos.’ To even view on a laptop many of the landscape and coastal etchings placed on a video clip with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata playing in the background-

  (To read Gregor’s catalogue).

Time. Memory. Perception. Eternity.

 ‘This River, A Strong Brown God’ is from the opening lines of Dry Salvages from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets. Thus this etching which references the river currents of Cooks River (Aboriginal name Goolay’yari) is made of four small square zinc etching plates placed alongside each other. Another Cooks River/ Goolay’yari etching ‘This God, The River & This River, The Cosmos’ which is made of two etching plates was originally attempted with four plates with the Four Quartets in mind. It is based on the outline of one riverbank sketch which is then mirrored in both plates to form two central bands reversed into contrasting positive and negative spaces. To T.S. Eliot a river is easily navigable for it follows an already known course leading to an already known destination; so in worldly terms if a life ‘meanders’ like a river new knowledge is not much attained. However, the poem moves on to meditate on the sea which by its very vastness opens up the way for many courses which can lead to a never ending array of ‘delta possibilities’ for the human soul. It can be a mystery as to where the currents can take us – whether to a good or bad end. The sea with its various currents can take us anywhere so it is best we gain new knowledge to navigate successfully through unknown territory. With human vision limited to the horizon it is the stars above - as well as the Sun which is also a star - which can provide for us the most dependable navigation. Yet to what must a human soul ultimately navigate too? In T.S. Eliot’s scheme of things a soul may move towards divine enlightenment; with knowledge gained to steer us away from a directionless, meaningless drifting to rocks that will leave a precious life becoming no more than a ‘shipwreck’. If T.S. Eliot’s river is a ‘small god’ upon which we may drift upon it can still be a ‘starting point’ for our mortal selves from which eternity can be worked towards by mentally traversing to that ultimate never ending cosmic sea: ‘The Universe’; which as the title of the second etching suggests may also be paradoxically seen as the grandest river for rivers also offer life and all life is embodied within the cosmos. One may think of ancient Oceanus a divine river which flows around the known world and provides it with all of its fresh water. Life is dynamic. At least on this Earth there are unknown worlds beyond any riverbank to explore. We may not stay fixated on one course or on one point of view in our experience of the world for to be static maybe to whither. (As the visionary modern sculptor Brancusi has inferred to limit ourselves to reproducing what already exists is to stop the human spirit from evolving). Depending one one’s phase of life the river can represent or be a source of reassurance when stability is required while at some other life stage it is an advantage to explore less well known wider waters. What has to be avoided is to be marooned in still waters which can stagnate the human spirit. One may also see a river with the cosmos reflected upon it by way of sunlight shimmering on the water’s surface. The Sun as the ‘light of God’ with the stars and galaxies of ‘heaven’s paradise’ as fireworks of the universe. Yet, to also view the Sun as a fiery symbol of ongoing daily renewal; to take into account Heraclitus’s statement the the sun is new everyday. Life is organic. We are living beings, not static rocks that should wait for fate to chip away at us. In Ulysses we see an active actor dealing with gods, a Cyclops, Sirens, temptresses and finally with the suitors who were after his wife Penelope. We can have control. In examining nature – and we too are nature – one may attempt to look beyond the process of erosion to a grander process of growth. The patterns that exist in nature can actually help guide us from a sense of feeling entrapped to actually help us to reach a deep sense of spiritual liberation. We can laterally negotiate any labyrinth. Think openly. Truths change when new meaning is attached to them in a changing surrounding. With ‘fixed absolutes’ one could also take into account the co-existence of ‘relative absolutes.’ In the Four Quartets one can be intrigued by Time (consider most notably Burnt Norton and Little Gidding) ; especially with the notion of the cycle of Time; of Time returning to ‘the same place’ so a person can see the same place ‘for the first time’. A truth can change with human understanding affected by memory; knowledge; experience-

‘Symphony of the Universe’…wavy lines of scraggly trees emerging from the thick scrub at Botany Bay National Park…to intimate the rhythmic notations of the universe which echo the gravitational currents that uniformly sway through the cosmos which continually signal the first creative explosion of its long existence. Note of the Universe. Royal National Park. A long dark brown stork on another scrub plain to be viewed as stabbing the sky. As if also a single musical note in Ptolemy’s solar system ofmusical spheres. Chord of the Universe…many notes o the universe rising up from a scrub of galaxies…‘Tree Couplet. Minammorra Rainforest. Jamberoo’…two trunks emerging from a larger one…yet to perceive everything beyond the binary logic of Aristotle (up/down/in/out/either/or and so forth); to see the endless combinations with all that exists as in the quantum world…a singular Minnammorra Rainforest tree trunk with expansive root buttresses perceived as a pillar of time. Another motley patterned trunk labelled as a time totem. Ashened trees at Mougammarra Reserve as burnt angels. Other trees with large lower bulges or with gaping holes…all to be seen as tree wombs…the earth as a giver of life…bearing life…the emergence of wildflowers at Springtime…(which from an Ancient Greek point of view intimates Persophone’s seasonal visit to this sun drenched world, emerging from Hades’ unwelcome grasp in the Underworld…)… ‘That Tree, The Universe.’ A grand Royal Botanical Gardens tree with its branches stretching out across ever expanding space. Yes…the cosmos itself as a living tree…with galaxies as its limbs and stars as its leaves…to always be bringing forth new fruit…to be growing new expansive tributaries of existence…as reflected also in the circulatory artery and vein lines of the human body and in the very tree chart of the evolution of life…(…‘tree patterns’ Gregor had remarked he could still recollect from old high school Science text books…)…rock gradations with various tonal values all exposed on a cliff face in the Blue Mountains to be perceived as a flow of time…(…time to flow in many ways…including in Lisa’s mind…)… ‘Evolution of the Universe. Bulli Beach.’ ‘Three Fates. Little Marley. Royal National Park.’ (Three large rocks grouped together by a shoreline). ‘Falling Angel. Bobbin Head.’ ‘Galaxies Swirling Towards A Black Hole. Middle Head. Sydney Harbour.’ To envisage white speckled patterns on rocks around a black mark as galaxies caught up in the gravitational pull of a black hole to be sucked into nothingness. To ponder if death too is merely an inevitable black hole whose ‘gravitational pull’ takes each being through an ‘event line’ leading to a new mysterious dimension. ‘Dark Matter Stems Of The Universe.’ The cosmos grows organically with no end and for the human mind to look into infinity is to align with the cosmos so as to also grow infinitely. To have mortal eyes with a ‘divine perception’ to see the dark spaces of the universe as real as its white spaces filled with stars…to note a ghost galaxy made only of dark matter…‘Rhamba Universe.’ ‘Accelerating Universe.’ ‘Eroding Universe.’ ‘Parallel Universes.’ ‘Multiverse.’ ‘Readymade Universe.’ ‘Currents of the Universe.’ ‘Cosmic Tracers.’ ‘Reed Universe.’ ‘Eternity.’ ‘Pillar Of Time.’ ‘The Roots of Time.’ ‘Shell Nebula.’ ‘Mangrove Rhythm.’ To constantly seek out an underlying ‘cosmic mesh’ or matrix to the underlying structural fabric of the universe. To view the night skies not only as with a telescope but to review with a microscope zooming into a ‘celestial microcosm’ to observe its very crevices and cracks of a basic molecular structure which in time have resulted with the passing of the cosmic ages over billions of years. Despite any stellar erosion the universe maintains a tight order and rhythm that allows it to exist as a single entity which will not shred. To instead have new forms of existence to be constantly birthing into material form and within this mystery called the cosmos is the even more extraordinary mystery called life. ‘Fabric of the Universe.’ ‘Black Poles.’ ‘Resurrection’…in nature regular patterns such as fractals can be discerned to give credence to the idea there is an underlying organised order to creation. (In the case of Platonism it considers natural regular forms as mere attempts at imitating the ethereal ‘Absolute Forms’ from which visible reality corresponds too; to which also colours and shapes as especially envisaged in abstract paintings can be seen as the atoms of reality). What at first sight appears chaotic and random in natural phenomenon is actually the playing out of natural forces that work at shaping Nature as if in a conscious way. It is said it is possible to design mathematical models to even predict what such natural energies can do and what they have done. The universe seemingly has equal contributions of the ‘randomness’ of quantum theory and the ‘predictability’ of the theory of relativity to mysteriously work upon the cosmos in an intertwine way which humanity is yet to fully understand through so many disciplines of human endeavour. 

 Nature is a mystery. The human soul is a mystery. 

A relationship between the two entities seemingly does exist. To understand and explore the significance of such a connection may help to a fuller perception of what it means to be human. To be finite physical beings in an infinite universe which allows us to also be ‘infinite’ through the human imagination as soulfully reflective of nature’s earthly and cosmic dimensions. 

 ‘Resurrection Fallen Tree. Royal National Park.’ New branches from a fallen tree emerging up to the sky. Hope. For any lost being. 

 ‘Hades.’ ‘Paradise.’ (Formlessness). Consider Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man proportioned within a circle and square which one may wish to interpret as if to typify the proportions of the universe to be measured with the dimensions of human proportion at its central axis. It has been written that Leonardo denoted his Vitruvian Man as ‘cosmografia del minor mondo’ – which can be commonly translated as: ‘cosmography of the microcosm’ – to state his belief that the machinations of the human body analogously corresponded to the machinations of the universe. Perhaps to state humanity to be masterful over the Creation with God displaced. ‘Hades’ which is in sepia with its broad crisscrossing lines intimates to an undergrowth world which can reference the underworld. Alongside is ‘Paradise’ which in turn is black & white with similar thick crisscross lines has in its spaces between total black many white points as if to intimate the starry cosmos. Both prints are a repudiation of humanity’s confidence in its ability to control Nature. The broad stroke patterns - which infer to the ‘branches’ of that ‘tree the universe’ - that make both prints are devised from sketches of the human form which have been mentally ‘cut up’ and randomly ‘placed down’ on the etching plates by hard ground- bitumen brushstrokes which along with a melted rosin powder aquatint for the copper sulphate solution to bite into the plates. A universe not so much without human form but with the human form displaced. Lost in space. The cosmos as dominant. Yet all is not lost. For a disappearing human form that can no longer be sighted that can no longer be found is now suffused through the universe to make what we see here which represents it; to be like the microscopic elements in and of one water drop which enters an ocean infinitely spreading to the whole ocean. 

 A human being as a cosmic being. It is where there can be hope. For us. (For Lisa).

 To Hope for the Immortal Transformation of the Human Soul by Way of Human Memory

.

 Lisa’s thoughts always desperately return to previous, hopeful days before this final time in hospital; as if to mentally view one’s life in some previous pre-birth state much like the soul has been speculatively envisaged by ancient Grecian philosophers in its supposed state of existence before human bodily birth; as if by focusing on the soul in this pre-existent state will perhaps make its post-existent state - after human bodily death - to be in a more absolute and perfect form. Death and its decay is a mortal result for the human body but for the human spirit human death is simply another birth and this time for the human soul to be openly released only into eternity.   

A Welcome Move to Suburbia

  ‘Yes, Cat had thought he had been doing his best to lift my spirits at home, including having his little ‘parties’ when Michael would stay for a few beers. Yet these evenings in particular would take on the feeling of some strange dream-like ‘theatre-of-the-absurd’ happening when all had drunk perhaps too much. Cat would often go into philosophical over-drive. Hysteria. Black comedy. Theatrical monologue. Often dealing with that tempestuous ocean known as human history; going well into the night; as if on some malcontent journey into deep space, that is without limit. Until some heightened dissatisfaction was reached, then maybe partly resolved; Nevertheless, I did come to see Cat as a mental lifebuoy helping to keep my own mind afloat; trying to understand Cat’s arguments - with their many wild tangents – often seemed insurmountable; but I still clung to his words through a sort of ‘instinctual osmosis’ feeling whatever I did learn from the ‘great seer’ would keep me in good stead.  In any case, the flawed drunken sociability that would arise from these evenings could be excused as well-intended attempts to initially lift my spirits. However, what could not be denied was my increasing sense of mental suffocation accentuated by the smallness of the flat despite it cosily protecting me and my daughter from a hostile world. Nevertheless, there was always…somehow…that awry feeling of being reminded of being in Michael’s car that awful night when I felt totally abandoned, which would especially overcome me when I lied on Cat’s couch or in my bed and in both places I would find myself simply staring up at the low ceiling or start to note the closeness of any wall and I would then want a drink...yes, it soured my mood which was already abjectly struggling to reach some desperately needed positive sense of normal human emotional equilibrium. Practically, there were also the usual little domestic differences. For instance, I would be genuinely non-plussed to see Cat at times just use a cleaning liquid from a squirt bottle whenever he washed the dishes. 

 (“He would also use this same liquid to wash his clothes whenever he ran out of washing powder!”). 

  “At least what I’m using is environmentally friendly! Check the brand!” Cat had once retorted after my ceaseless complaining. Along with his predilection for cheap microwave readymade dinners another habit of Cat’s was to nearly always put Dean Martin on his stereo and listen to this American Italian crooner while making an espresso coffee on his gas top. It also bothered Lisa how Cat would always love to see the spout cover on his teapot shoot off before turning the gas off on the stove. He would never tire to be fascinated by such a simple force of nature that could ultimately propel humanity to the moon. It would also ‘propel’ me to go near stir-crazy. It was also annoying that such an antic would inspire Cat to get back onto the internet and watch documentaries about ancient warfare or modern day tank battles and to then even try to interest me. “Look at this Lisa! Pity they’re both fighting for evil regimes but look at these three Tiger tanks outwitting so many Russian T-34s to strike first and destroy them! They are on the retreat in the Baltics but still show great skill to defy the overwhelming odds they’re facing! Never give up Lisa!” Although well intended it was surely an enormous miscalculation on Cat’s part to think I would be at all interested in any sensationalist ‘boy’s own war stuff’ even if it was meant to instil into me some heroic sense of ‘defying all the odds’ ; to lift my morale so I could have some hope in the idea that a better future was vaguely possible. “WAR! WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR?! BY THE WAY I DON’T THINK IT’S A GOOD IDEA TO KEEP EATING FISH FINGERS FOR BREAKFAST! TRY HASH BROWNS! OR EVEN BETTER: MUESLI! OATS! OR THE MEDITERRANEAN DIET! RED AND PURPLE FOODS AND DRINKS ARE GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH! AT LEAST YOU MAKE A GOOD ESPRESSO!” I would scream while at the same time madly thrust Cat’s second hand stove top espresso maker at him so as to make me one. However, above any such domestic tribulation Melissa was my first priority and her health would certainly be better preserved at Master’s spacious suburban place with local bush nearby especially when there would also be Margaret to help out. Yes, to live at Master’s house at Bexley North. I knew it was a suburb near where Michael grew up at Earlwood and where at times he still lived, staying at his parent’s house (or lately at his cousin’s place) in-between living in shared accommodation with friends or house minding. The one thing Michael and I would always definitely have in common was that they were both urban gypsies. Both suburbs were just outside the compact inner-city core and easy enough for me to go by train or bus back into the city or to the hospital. In a stone wall cellar where Master would watch sport on an old television which turned everything on the aged screen into vivid bright colours (“He never would understand why I wouldn’t want to stay about in such a confined space; I always used the dust as an excuse…”) there was still ample room for me to use it as long-term storage space for some belongings that, as yet, I dare not part with. Master was pleased to see in one of the boxes sent down by Margaret just before I left to go south that underneath some clothes and old primary school exercise books a stack of LPs of eighties Australian music. The LPs would be played on his stereo which had two large speakers. With Margaret also living in one of Master’s other spare rooms the ongoing issue of babysitting was also resolved. In kind I was happy to keep Margaret company who would like to go around to the local garage sales or venture off to the op shops (the ones run by ‘St. Vinnies’ were often preferred). The markets and second hand furniture shops like those at Annandale on Parramatta Road or the big auction warehouse in Alexandria were also favourites. Anywhere really where there were old things. “Sometimes I just like to go and have a look Lisa as I don’t really need that much. You can never go back to the past but at least I can touch it.” (As it was Margaret had bought some of the furniture that I had sold in my own garage sale before moving out of her flat up the coast to go south). There would also be infrequent trips to the big Salvos warehouse at Tempe whenever Michael was available to be chauffer where on a hot day I could stand underneath the huge silver ceiling fan while Margaret, Melissa and Michael perused the many second hand goods. (Michael would also like to wander off to the huge neighbouring IKEA store to buy cheap kitchen stuff which he surmised would end up at the Salvos as secondhand goods; for him to mention how the floor map was to Cat a modern labyrinth akin to the one Theseus had to face. A wasteful consumer culture being our modern minotaur). Otherwise it was an occasional trip to the Marrickville big bingo hall which delighted Margaret. 

 “Next time after bingo Margaret we can go up on the bus to this cheap Italian restaurant in Newtown. You have to go up a flight of stairs on a side street to get to it. It’s called MAMAS. I love their pasta. You can sit by the window and look down at what’s happening on King Street. Always excellent ‘street theatre’ at night. I used to go there all the time. If it is closed when we arrive we can go to Dr. Earth or to the Alfalfa House corner shop to buy some really healthy food for you to cook up!” 

   Margaret was also happy to go to GEORGIOU CHOCOLATES a discount chocolate warehouse on Canterbury Road which Lisa dubbed the Chocolate Factory as the Willy Wonka film was a favourite of Melissa’s. As for Margaret she was pleasantly surprised to see how some old chocolate labels were still available. “Here’s a Bertie Beetle!“

Possum Spirit

  ‘The spacious surroundings of the large house were bushy with much native flora. The trio of cats were always playful and thus morale boosting company. Melissa would like how the cats would often individually situate themselves on some of the bigger chairs sprawled throughout the house or outside, sitting regally as if they were on thrones. (What also certainly bemused an astonished Melissa was to occasionally witness a large, meaty blue tongued lizard to carefully approach the cat food bowl in the back laundry and eat some of the dry food that would sometimes be left there when Master was out for the whole day and evening. He always made sure that was his responsibility to feed the cats as much as possible. Melissa had surmised that the ‘goanna’ - as she liked to call it - thought no one was taking any notice of this opportunistic ‘food theft’ or thought Melissa – and her mother who had also once seen this cheeky behaviour – were no threat. As for the cats whenever they saw the large lizard slink around – usually in the garden – they would always prefer to steer away from it just to keep the peace especially when they were not sure if there would be any reward for them if they adopted a hostile policy to such a foreboding animal who really had more of a right to be on ‘native territory’ than them).   A large curious possum with a big bushy tail would also appear most nights just after nightfall on the window sill of the window of the little side room where Melissa sometimes slept on her own. The possum would peer through the window as if looking out for Melissa who would smile. I found this reassuring. “There’s a good spirit looking after her.” Food, mainly greens, were often left for the ‘possum spirit’ by Melissa at the behest of her mother. 

 “Must be a friend of Frank’s.” Master would state as he used a foot bellows to ignite a fire under a round metal plate which he had just mail-order bought and which he was curious to try it out for camping. The plate was just a few inches above the ground and was held up by three little protruding legs. “That’s the name of the possum who’s always peering down from the cubby house here when I have a barbeque. I’ve affectionely named him after Frank Arok. An old Socceroos coach. Frank loves snitching the bread. We’ll see him soon...” 

 “Yeah, well,” nonchalantly remarked Michael, “Caterina says that in Latin America there’s a belief that when someone dies they can return to a place with their spirit in an animal. Cat was telling me once about the transmigration of souls. How a body can take in and have different souls or a different soul at different times, something like that anyway. So maybe you’re right about the possum…when we went to the Ashfield Park Carnival of Cultures there was an Aboriginal women’s dance group and before one dance it was explained how when a good woman dies she will come back as a bird…anyhow I remember how a possum who also turned up on a window sill straight after the death of a cousin’s father who announced his arrival with a large growl which was really interesting as the father was bad-tempered…I just wonder where these possums spend their time in the daytime.”

Empire

  “I remember you showing me your aunt’s original passport which was actually a British one and said she was a citizen of the British Territories. That’s what we really are Mick until we get a republic.”

 “Cyprus gained its independence from the English in 1960 and kept it on its own until the Turks invaded in 1974.” Michael adroitly informs Lisa. “Turks occupy a fair bit of the top of the island and the Greeks have all of the rest mostly covering the bottom.” Michael touches a black & white photo of his aunt’s face which is in an old family album he has brought to show Lisa at Master’s place. They are sitting in the backyard. Around where there is usually a wood fire but it is still too early in the day to light it up for a barbeque dinner. The sun is shining. Melissa is playing in the long grass nearby. Thinking of climbing up a rope ladder tied to big tree which has a wood platform. Anyhow, she’s with one of Master’s cats and they seem for now more intent in amusing each other. Master is inside, half asleep on a lounge half watching an European football match. Michael is still looking at the photo. “What’s the use of a republic to her? It’s something you Anglos worry about a lot and not that I am against a republic but won’t really make much difference to how power really works in this country which is still mostly by way of the Anglos who first invaded this place. I mean, you don’t heat any serious talk about making an Aboriginal person a permanent head of state. Although there’s the usual token discussion to make sure indigenous people are to be fully respected and treated equal in whatever happens but I agree with Caterina that they’ll stay sidelined from any real centre of power. Yet anyhow, how do you think indigenous people feel when white fellas go on that it is insulting and absurd that the country’s head of state lives half away around the world and is not even elected…? They have lived in this land for tens of thousands of years and so they should have first claim at being head of state to it…not us who have been here only two hundred odd years. Having a permanent Aboriginal First Elder elected by Aboriginal communities would go a long way to bringing some real restitution in regards to helping to make up for all the terrible things that have happened in the past and along with giving indigenous people a proper voice in parliament would start to make a real swing to the power imbalance that exists in this country to something that’s at least a little fair. Might finally get a move on a proper treaty as well along with finally implementing for instance all those black deaths in custody royal commission recommendations…why it’s only been a few decades now…” A roll of the eyes. “As it is if you are not an Anglo and want some real power you got to act like one and speak like one and have the same ‘Australian values’ as one to have some success. Then the Anglos like to cover up how everything has to be done on their terms by saying how how hard it must be for indigenous people and for migrants to live ‘between two cultures’ when that sort of deflective manipulative talk should be turned around to ask why are there Australians who are not capable of speaking more than one language and can only live in a narrow, monoculture kind of way…? Why do they so limit themselves so as to think it must be an ‘ordeal’ to actually live in a multicultural way…? Thanks Australia for the chance to learn to speak English as well as setting up SBS and no one’s saying English shouldn’t stay the ‘mother tongue’ but Australia also give yourself the best chance to speak another language including even an indigenous one and to take up some of the best ideas of the way people who come here live and have lived in the many countries they come from, apart from just going to their fairs, restaurants and even holidaying in their countries and seeing some of their movies and accepting ‘migrant’ players for your sporting teams and actually integrate as well into daily life a few different yet universally accepted perspectives into the ‘ so called Australian way of life’…having a midday siesta to suit our hot climate…even just for the summer…would be a good start…taking up seriously the way indigenous people have sustainably managed the land for tens of thousands of years would be another…anyhow, that’s what I think…” A catch of breath. To think again how many an older migrant male would keep saying Mate! all the time being a habit installed from the genesis of their arrival to appease the ‘englezi’. There was also the knowledge that as the new arrivals established their new lives in this red-roofed wilderness they would keep to observing their ancient traditions within their new homes. The world was more open now but yes, habits die hard. Yes, for Michael to think again how he had calculated that the desire for acceptance may have been very strong, much more than he could fathom or that he could observe from any poker face old world exterior for he still thinks how it had genuinely taken him off-guard when he saw his parents and his uncle and aunt show a genuine keenness as they headed off to the bicentenary celebrations at Sydney Harbour. As for Michael he had gone with some Australian friends to the huge Aboriginal protest rally at Central. A sudden pang of melancholy. Yet, overall, still enthralled to be outwardly verbose. “Anyhow, I don’t quite go with the ‘minimalists’ who just want the monarch replaced with an Australian but still have exactly the same powers. There’s those who heap some of the direct blame on the monarchy for what deviously happened regarding The Dismissal on Remembrance Day of all days, I don’t know much about that and to how much of that is true but what I do know is why would anyone want a head of state to keep those same secretive reserve powers he or she would have anyway…? Although I would find it a laugh to see an indigenous head-of-state to say ‘bye, bye’ to a white fella Prime Minister…what bothers me is why in all the decades since The Dismissal and with all this wavering up and down talk of a republic why no one in the meanwhile has suggested a legal change to make sure blocking supply can never happen again which is what sparked all the fuss in the first place back then in 1975…?” Michael sees Lisa is looking a little bored then glances back down at the open album. “Tell me Lisa why is it that my aunt who is a saint has been struck down this way with such a terrible disease while my uncle who despite being witty but can also be a devil have such robust health…? Michael then peers at Lisa. “What is the use of a republic for…?” As Michael’s now softly spoken voice tapers off into silence his mind begins to function in its usual strange way: always looking for connections, similarities in the world around him like as if he was really some backyard Archimedes actually discovering a new strand of mathematics (which thematically speaking provides him with some sort of ‘kindred sensibility’ with Cat…); this time he compares his aunt’s ill condition to the sovereignty of nations (or rather to such sovereignty being unduly affected by colonialism…).  ‘The Greek Cypriots had fought a violent four year campaign of independence to kick the English out.” Although Michael noted to himself  this was the case even though there was still to this day two British military bases on the island; furthermore, he was no real fan of EOKA the leading resistance movement as it comes across to me whenever I read about it as being very right wing and overly nationalistic. “It was becoming a familiar pattern for these global occupiers who saw their empire gradually dissolve after 1945. After all, the English would then go onto speak of the right of their former colonies to pursue their own internal debates for self-determination, yet I think many of these countries had lost their value in the eyes of these empire builders.” Michael darkly suspected that it did not really matter if such countries rotted away after squeezing them dry of every resource they had unless in some way it still affected in some way its own ultra-material way of life or crude ambitions. Yes, thinks Michael, it is much easier for the empire builders to wash their hands of any of their historical responsibilities which were influencing to cause so many national tragedies and so much strife in today’s world. Malicious diseases were spreading through his aunt, also through Lisa and Melissa, to rot them. However, for now, they were finding the internal strength to buttress themselves against such medical invasion. Michael felt that his aunt in her enforced purgatory would sit and ponder over the value of her life as malignant forces of nature strove to debilitate her, to cut her life short. An empire of pain was being built up within her to suck her body dry from the inside and yet was letting her live, a little, so the evil (for that is what it felt like) within may also live, it would not be until her body had been totally exhausted, when there was no longer any point to her existence for this disease to no longer still see her as at all useful, that death would finally swallow her up; swallow up Lisa and Melissa. However, his aunt and the others would have to believe in their self-worth so as to keep fending off death, to find the necessary resistance they needed, to live. Rebellion. Yes, freedom is a good thing. If you can control it. Many Australians seemed aware of this; there was a strong desire that ultimately the country should avoid falling towards some frightful bitterness in the attempt to reach full, mature adulthood. However, Michael’s aunt was already an adult; she was a mother, yet he off-handily hoped a sort of calm would prevail from within her, that the ultimate legacy of her physical paralysis would be to fashion a greater wisdom which could deal with her cruel blow, to somehow find a rich, new inner life from the wrecked remains of the old. Idealistic…? Yes, came the answer from Michael to his own question but realistically, he surmised there was no other alternative; no, death cannot be allowed to so easily win.                            

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

  ‘I would always love it when we went for walks along Cooks River and especially with Jes who Melissa adored. Caterina -  with Isabella - would also sometimes come along, and she would be intrigued to see sachets of Nicaragua and Colombia coffee for sale at the river café where we would usually end up after a walk. Caterina would also quip that at such a delightful walkway there should be a Sculpture-by-the-River exhibition. “Just like Sculpture-by-the-Park at Maundrell Park in Petersham and HIDDEN at Rookwood Cemetery.” 

 Melissa was delighted on one occasion to see a small dog in a billy cart box attached to a bicycle whose rider was going along the river. “That’s how you’d like to go for a walk hey Melissa!” her mother stated cheerfully. Another time there was a festival by the river where Melissa was fascinated to see three performers wearing suits and with coloured see-through plastic boxes over their heads. Red, yellow and green cubes with what looked like submerged heads walking around the stalls on well-dressed human bodies. There were also the opportunities to take more adventurous bushwalks in Wolli Creek. “Wolli is Aboriginal for meeting place.” Master would mutter. “I’ve been told a scene from Jedda was filmed at Nannygoat Hill. That reminds me we’ll have to go and see Charlie’s Country. It’s another Rolf de Heer film. David Gulpilil is the star. I imagine it’ll be as good as The Tracker and Ten Canoes. Pemulwuy who led the likes of the Eora and Dharug against the English came from the same tribe that was from around here who are the Bidjigal people. The Aboriginal name for Cooks River is Goolay'yari. There’s also a pelican dreamtime story connected with the river which is interesting as you often see pelicans.” Master would introduce his ‘guest slaves’ to an older Aboriginal cousin who was a relative through an extended family marriage. He was a very kind man who opted to take Master and his new friends to the Powerhouse Museum to see a stunning series of astronomical photos and to look at an indigenous collection of small colourful Sydney Harbour Bridges beautifully made from seashells. “They’re mainly associated with the Aboriginal community at La Perouse. They got the idea off the Victorian English who had their missionaries introduce shell art to help ‘civilize’ the Aborigines so they would better assimilate. Yet this mob got one over their colonizers by using this ‘culture’ dominating them to provide a good income from tourists to help revitalize their Aboriginal identity. That white fella Harbour Bridge has certainly come in useful. Before it would be things like seashell boomerangs, animals etc. This bridge you see is actually done by a Bidjigal woman. I sometimes think of it as a bridge over troubled waters.”   

 “I like it…I like it a real lot.” I remember saying thinking how it would be good to cross a bridge that would take you away from any trouble and to a place of peace.

Tranquility

  ‘Melissa and I would often have a picnic at a big clearing known as Girrahween Park and pretend we were back in the country which was what we especially felt when Margaret would join us. There was often this cheeky black Schnauzer puppy named Ola there who would look so happy with her smiling tongue wagging face chasing after a ball or ‘sculpting’ a long stick on the ground holding it with her front legs and working on it with her teeth. Apparently Ola was very stubborn and independent minded but paradoxically would also be upset if left alone. The inner life of animals are complex. Anyhow, Ola was very kind with Melissa always happy to chase the ball when Ola’s owner would let Melissa throw it and was actually more co-operative with her than with any adult who she would make sure she would always get her way! Anyhow, close to Master’s place was another native bush enclave Stotts Reserve which was also tranquil to visit.  I would like to visit a spot where Master would plant a tree whenever someone he knew had died. (“I had him promise to plant a tree in remembrance of me when the time came”).  Sometimes Melissa and I would tag along with Master and Michael when they would do clean up forays of the bush. Coming back with many plastic bags filled with bottles and rubbish. “There’s no respect!” Master would growl. “Anyhow, we’ve worked hard enough. Tonight we’ll go over to the Thang Huong on Illawarra Road in Marrickville. Great Vietnamese food and it’s cheap. I’ll pay for Lisa and Melissa anyway – you Michael can pay for your bludging self!” Along with such occasional generous treats (“He’s always known how to buy friends” Michael would complain about Master) I would always be happy when I could take Melissa to a kid’s birthday party at Petersham Bowling Club usually on a Saturday afternoon and sometimes I would see a few of the same mums. It was a great place that had no pokies. It even had film, band and poetry nights which especially pleased Cat who told me how the President saved the place and it was his idea not to have gambling to make money. It all sounded pretty brave to me. Cat, Michael and I saw him perform one time in this theatre basement space doing a talk about his Greek family upbringing. Typically, very funny and tragic at the same time. It included living in the States like Detroit in the late 60s. Cat said he went to his place once to find him with a pile of videos in the living room staring at the television as he had to help judge what were the best flicks for a local city short film festival. His wife was an artist who ran Roomies over at Addison Road which mainly involved working with people who lived in boarding houses having them do great art. Anyhow, one time at the Petersham Bowlo Cat and I saw this American duet called the White Top Mountaineers. “He loved the banjo playing! As well as the bluegrass clog dancing!”

  Although I appreciated the local native flora that Master planted in his backyard – especially this one acacia which was good for the skin - I would still search for it and the other natives in the bush. “Melissa do you know that all trees need an equal number of branches on both sides?” I would say to her while watching a kookaburra perch in a tall gum. “It’s how they keep their balance. If a strong wind comes by it’ll keep an even keel…if you know what I mean. It won’t fall over. It’s the sort of balance your dear mum needs. I need to keep a balanced mind.” Picking and eating mulberries and lying in the shade of the many native trees in the big sprawling bushy backyard. Master’s place was an oasis of native flora and fauna and offered us the sense of peace we would both need...’ 

(infinity)

               (Cat’s Infinity) 

                          Human Beings have become Soft Machines

When thinking of my place, Lisa had concluded, that, in my own way, I had made it an oasis for the human mind; which could even assure any doubting Thomas. “What is human history? The eternal battle between the powerful and vulnerable.” Lisa would note this was the sort of general throwaway comment that I would often make while watching the news. To me knowledge is the true gold for any human being. “Lisa I quote Metrodius of Chios who said we know nothing, not even whether we know or do not know, or what it is to know or not to know, or whether anything exists or not.” I would more often would like to mention Thales to Lisa who was an Ancient Greek philosopher who once rented olive presses before a harvest counting on it being a good one. His estimation was correct and Thales made a good profit from the sudden high demand for his olive presses which he had monopoly control. It is suggested Thales wanted to prove if he wanted too he could make much money if he thought it worthy to spend his life to do so. Thales of Miletus, seen as the first philosopher of the Western tradition had assumed water was the basic substance of all things and had taken an empirical approach to the world. He was especially noted for his astronomical and mathematical knowledge and considered one of the Seven Sages of Greece. Lisa would argue that I was a ‘modern sage’; yet – to speak in the third person - this cosmopolitan ‘ancient stoic’ who, despite all his monkish visitations to libraries, still kept a strong eye on the various technical outlets of the modern world. The television set. The radio. The internet which could be easily streamed on my laptop, minipad and smartphone.

"We are human soft machines! To steal a title by William Burroughs!” I have been to known to proclaim while playing around with an online translator which has always provided me with some bemusing results. “One day all this technology will be in our brains and all our brainswill be cyber-connected together to make us as one living global computer.” So would say this ‘sage’. The irony being with many extra television channels to choose from the quality of most of what was on view was so shallow and bad that I watched little of it; with old programs and repeats often preferred. Also many of the political discussion shows on the national broadcaster which at one time I zealously watched I now more of often than not presently avoided when I started to feel that they were more about political conditioning than political revelation as well as for myself adopting a cynical attitude that they were also a visual avenue for self-promotion for many in a self-satisfied managerial class. (I would have welcomed to have seen a long-time uncompromising Aboriginal radical activist who even goes back to the Aboriginal Tent Embassy days be asked to appear on one of these political programs but am yet to see so).  

As to my little protestations against modern technology I have kept a little retro alarm clock in one of my jacket pockets to tell the time and a wall clock that is never changed for daytime saving with me once remarking to Lisa that it was always ‘ahead of its time’ on the matter of its one-hour time difference. 

Yet as a self-appointed ‘citizen of the world’ who is always interested in the most obscure facts and issues I have made sure that at anytime and from anywhere I can easily update myself on anything happening on the globe - or even in the universe for that matter - as I was keeping regular tabs on the Rosetta space probe as it orbited around comet 67P with the module Philae on its craggy surface (always noting interviews with a female astrophysicist on The World that is telecast weeknights at 10pm on ABC 24). My many mobile devices and large black-padded headphones fit into a large leather satchel which I had bought at Glebe markets. (Purchased while on the way to a record fair ‘the seer’ considered it fortuitous as on the same day he had been to the Sydney University Annual Book Sale at the Great Hall). Like the hundreds of other second hand book addicts - who had waited in a long queue before the opening – I had zealously meandered around this ‘book hive’ with its thousands of dusty literary works realizing that if I was to go on and also buy some albums I would need another bag. There was now more room in my orange and white On the Road tote bag and white recycling Marrickville Council calico bags for pre-digital age ‘hard copy artefacts’. As things stood it was in a Glebe record shop that I also obtained my best record bargains rather than at the fair which was held in a large auditorium; next to a basketballcourt along a side street where Badde Manors was perched at the top on Glebe Point Road. Although thousands of albums were on sale a few particular classical music recordings I was after proved to be unavailable. Instead a Saints album titled Prodigal Son from this local record shop proved to be the bargain of the day. I enjoying having a look at the record sleeve with a good mocha while sitting at one of the outside tables with vinyl records under the glass tops. I surmising that this worthy purchase was right up there in terms of satisfaction with him spotting Dave Warner’s This Is My Planet at a record stall in the regular Saturday market outside the Newtown Neighbourhood Centre.

Cat the Preserver of Human Civilization

“People just don’t realize that from ancient times to now many mass epidemics of deadly diseases have done as much to change the course of human history as any war. If not more so.” I lift up my new travel card which I have just registered online. It has been given the nickname ‘Dante’. “I had to get this as everyone who does not have one will be forced to pay on-peak fares all day, even on weekends. Now I go out again into this city - our underworld. How I look forward to reaching 60 to obtain my Senior travel card that will allow me cheap travel everyday.” Lisa thought it was almost comical to often see me leave the flat like some post-apocalyptic marauder with all my calico bags to go scavenging for ‘cultural relics’ such as a fully restored 70s orange typewriter that was acquired from a retro shop. Although along with my cotton bags I would also use a thin Czech brown leather military war map case for my laptop. (On a different tangent, I once came home saying I had found a corner shop at Ashfield called USA INVEST which sold American memorabilia as well as houses in the U.S. at very cheap prices. Lisa convinced me it would be a big risk to put some of my inheritance money - that was proving to be very handy right now - into something I had never seen or really knew anything about. Thus an investment property in the mid-West was eventually discounted). One time after returning from a book and CD sale at Leichhardt Town Hall Lisa made the point that I would probably not live long enough to savour everything he was buying.

“I hear what you’re saying but I’m not collecting them just for myself. I want my place to be a library. Like the one at Alexandria of old! To save these books and everything else from all the barbarians who don’t believe we should any longer have ‘hard copies’.” A look of disdain. “You can’t just stay at home Lisa. It’s good for you get OUT!” I now look more kindly towards her. “Consider those Australian patrols who have bravely taken the great risk to go out to meet a knowing enemy head on in the rice paddy fields of Vietnam and craggy terrain of Afghanistan. Likewise, we can’t stay in our safe havens where nothing may be achieved. I need to go on my ‘cultural discover-and-rescue missions.’ Of course, it is not a life-and-death risk of body - but it is of mind! In my ‘literary oasis’ all who are thirsty may come and ‘drink’ for knowledge and spiritual fulfilment. Let the light shine! Let our brains be truly washed! I choose only to be in the world, but not of it!” An angry look again. “Out there is a desert! It needs water!”

A Censorship of the Human Soul

“People should scream out they’re as mad as hell from their windows just like Peter Finch had everyone do in Network. We’d then get over the Stockholm hostage syndrome of sympathizing with those who captivate our minds. We live in a fraud world.”

  The eighth circle of hell. The sins of the wolf. Dante saw him as a predatory beast. Without mercy. With an insatiable appetite. Malicious. Fraudulent. Never satisfied. Who’s afraid of the big bad lone wolf? He’ll huff and he’ll puff...KABOOM! The unleashing of hitherto unimaginable terrors. So many innocents dying from indiscriminate violence from suicide bombings and from the air. The kidnappings. Women raped and enslaved. Aid workers viciously murdered. Aid convoys bombed from the air. Ceasefires collapsing. The abhorrent, vicious wanton terrorist slaughtering of civilians in so many far away cities throughout the globe…tragically, there are far too many places to mention and the ‘hit list’ keeps growing. Freelance journalists beheaded in the desert. Executed on the side of highways. Another journalist dismembered in an embassy of his own country…lethal poisonings of anti-government activists…yes the escalating rise in journalist deaths globally whose professional neutrality was once more often than not seen as sacrosanct with many environmentalists also the victims of targeted killings in global regions vandalised by extractive industries which can include those which will service renewable energy….lawyers also imprisoned or killed in the just service of trying to protect a ravaged Gaia and equally ravaged indigenous peoples and other local communities officially ostracised from their traditional lands…on the late news now yet still another journalist killed in Mexico…a U.S. environmental lawyer under house arrest…three journalists in a Kafkaesque trial in Egypt…yes, a nightmare judicial process repeated again and again to unknown thousands everywhere who after being falsely charged are interminably jailed, or executed…including also in England another subversive representative of the media who despite his wildly polarizing effect (partly due to the perception – which of itself is often argued between supporters and detractors - of focusing on the secretive criminalities of one modern empire and not so much on those insidiously committed by its adversaries) stays imprisoned while at the very least it seems he does deserve the legal right to be free on bail until his final verdict. The German proverb says fear makes the wolf grow bigger. It is what the powerful are also counting on to quell dissent. To now have nation states of every political system suffocating freedom in the name of national security. To have intelligence whistle-blowers in exile or spitefully imprisoned for many years with…on the late night news now a young Australian man left to languish for many years in a Bulgarian prison for a murder charge he claims was incorrectly proven; having gone to the defence of a gypsy man who was being beaten on a city street, who has shown a willingness to uphold the prison rights of fellow inmates…yet in Australia itself to have the undemocratic case of a whistle-blower defendant’s senior lawyer facing legalised state harassment and possible imprisonment all due to the outing of a deceitful national subterfuge to undermine Timor Leste’s rightful access to underwater energy resources. While Australia’s moral character overall also in need to be forensically scrutinised with the politicization of ‘national security’ to thus over many years to have had allowed thousands of human beings merely seeking safety to be ‘forever’ warehoused on the foreign islands of Nauru and Manus; to be punished for escaping terror; to even psychologically coerce people to return to where they may face certain death; the refugee status of these innocents already proven but to still have their freedom denied so as to inhumanely serve as human shields to signal that despite any international refugee convention anyone attempting to come to Australia by sea will still be denied entry. Sane people to no longer face the risk of drowning but to face the risk of slowly going insanely mad. To have had children suffer from detention syndrome which is acknowledged can occur after a mere two weeks but to keeping such young innocents confined for over three years; to have scanners regularly roving over their small bodies as if they really could be a security risk. Nauru, a corrupt regime with a malevolent political elite which hoards only for itself most of the money a rich nation gives to this gulag to buy its loyalty; an island underworld with its wild dogs, with its rat-infested, mildew covered tents, which, for their damned occupants, are always waterlogged when its rains; (yet as a former Australian NGO teacher claims: to even be pettily denied access to the only public toilet on the island); yet on a sinister level for the females, as well as for the children, to face being raped, and when such an atrocity happens to not always report it in fear one’s refugee status could be threatened; to hear of a nine year old girl standing listless staring into space with all hope of any future being taken away people who have become nameless…who are officially, identified only by numbers…to dehumanize human beings is to have them perceived as inanimate, unfeeling objects which makes it so much easier to treat them badly, to even dismiss their very existence…who have become the living dead…to all be living in a vile purgatory that replaces any hope of an ascent to liberty with a corrosive fear of descending further into a wretched human state. Much like what torture is meant to do there is the aim to break the human spirit, for all resistance to wither so there will be a desperate willingness to do whatever the captor wants, which in this case is to ‘voluntarily’ return to the place of persecution. The captor then will certainly not care what happens to its former victims: whether they be further tortured, imprisoned or even murdered; for the captor has only seen them as an inconvenient liability to one’s own political capital, (ultimately, such ‘low value’ human beings have always been expendable). The captor can wash his or her hands of any international responsibility; of breaking any international treaty, with the dishonest claim that those who have been insidiously cajoled to go back, (possibly to their deaths), had been ‘illegally’ attempting to arrive at a place of sanctuary in the firstplace; there has never really been any obligation to put a hand out to rescue those who have tried to ‘deviously’ abuse a wealthy nations reputable ‘generosity’ and ‘humanity’ for their personal salvation. Let them fall into the abyss. While those bordering along an ever hardening rim, with ever hardening hearts, to harshly look down towards the ‘undeserved’…(…to not take heed of Nietzsche’s salutary warning that if one gazes into the abyss then the abyss with all its darkness will gaze back into you…so as for you to surely become the abyss…)…to say they already take in many who are deserving of help which in actual fact many more should be taken in; to gloat with a contemptible self-righteousness, to blindly believe they alone will choose who shall be worthy to be hauled into their paradise which despite its many benefits, becomes a little more squalid, a little more corrupted, with every inhumane act committed on those who genuinely need help; for paradise can only continue to exist when those who are last are gainfully, continually made to be the first. For it is necessary for every soul to be blessed. For every soul to be redeemed…for every refugee, at the very least, to have his or her name returned, when presently every detained refugee can only inhumanely be referred by the number of the boat one was found on…(…the Book of Life demands that a name be recorded, to be used…)…To learn how private international security firms through corrupt government deals make hundreds of millions of dollars ‘administering’ (often at maximizing such a huge profit for themselves by increasing infrastructure cost-cutting measures and introducing a low wage regime for local workers)  government edicts to maximize the human hells that Manus and Nauru have become for those kept detained against their will, (illegally with such imprisonment being against international law) for the politically questionable ‘virtue’ of ‘border security’.  To read how two Australian security guards were hurriedly sent back to Australia after a refugee was killed; with only the local guards implicated in this man’s custodial death facing local judicial judgement; to read how the Nauru government has even passed a law that no one could leave the island for urgent medical treatment if diagnosed remotely and to even then curtail this valuable technological medical provision; (thousands of Australian dollars are made for Nauru for the monthly visa renewal of each refugee thus the hesitance to let these people go…to read of news reports of those refugee families who have been fortunate to go to the United States to resume their lives immediately facing the unpleasant surprise of a cruel official demand that they must pay for their flight thus automatically weighed down with a huge debt of thousands of dollars) to see also how the Australian government has cynically re-opened Christmas Island (as Australian territory) to transfer sick refugees to there rather than to the mainland even though sufficient medical facilities do not exist, that in turn, those entrapped in onshore detention need to no longer have their rights under international law denied, that those asylum seekers in the community (while many others including children remain detained in onshore prison-like facilities) should be taken off the limbo of temporary protection visas and it is a national disgrace such socially vulnerable people have been deliberately stripped of their welfare and health benefits-     

 I am filled with rage. To paraphrase out loud the words of Jesus. “Verily, verily I say unto you to welcome a child is to welcome Me otherwise it is certainly better to tie a rock around one’s own neck and toss yourself into the sea than harm any who are the smallest!” To fume with a release of my wrath that is relentless in its ferocity. “At least in the past there were doctors and nurses in Brisbane willing to refuse a government’s demand to return an injured baby to an island hell hole! Where it is a sin to report the abuse of a child and to even demand that they be protected! That they live in safety! To instead face having our mainland government actually put you in gaol for choosing to publicly abide by the very Holy Word of the Lord! Where are those who are willing to call for a boycott both domestically and internationally against such hellish places and against all those who prop them up and make political and monetary capital from this human suffering so as to bring an end to such inhumane practices? To hold all to ransom as they themselves hold innocent human beings to ransom! For their own unholy ends! Who even send such innocents back to deadly destinations before they can be properly processed! To even do so in secret! To never release for the public to know the number of refugee boats turned back by navy patrols; to never know the ultimate fate of those on board, whether they survived their ill-fated journey or too also drowned in an unforgivable sea. To even have a government shrilly denounce as a ‘pull factor’ (a deliberate distortion and avoidance of the truth) the passing of a decent law (when the numbers were stacked against them on the parliamentary floor) that demanded that sane medical reason take precedence over insane political considerations when it came to having those run down mentally or severely injured, beaten or unhealthy after years of false and inadequate detention be humanely taken to the mainland for proper treatment, especially when it was well known that in the past bureaucratic obstruction by an indifferent officialdom had already led to the unnecessary suffering and deaths of refugees due to delays in obtaining essential medical care-

‘…on Nauru a kindly local man deliberately took photos of all that is evil, of all that is literally unclean, of the foul living conditions which includes one disgusting toilet to be used by the falsely damned, as unholy evidence for the last days when judgment is passed on who shall be in heaven and who shall be in hell; this man is threatened by officials, an illiterate wrongly accused of writing a note in which he will harm the authorities, who is arbitrarily locked up indefinitely, without trial, without any real charge that can be legitimately sustained…with no access to outside help…in a place where there is no real rule of law…(…we know this is going on yet we turn away…)-

 ‘From Guantanamo Bay to other unknown ‘black spots’ of incarceration are others who have been indefinitely imprisoned; hundreds swept up from from far away battlefields to be accused of intending to commit terrorist acts when for many of these detainees no evidence can be established. Indefinite detention. Secret rendition. Eternal surveillance. Detainment without charge. The new bottom lines of western democracies. Then again in Russia there is also the investigative journalist Anna Politkovskaya’s retributive death in Moscow; with so many other modern day political Russian martyrs with the state to also put on trial a dead lawyer: Sergei Magnitsky yet whose international legacy would be governments enacting the Magnitsky Act to specifically punish those in power who commit human rights violations. 

  It can be clearly seen that anywhere an official censorship over those heralding ‘John the Baptists’ who see a transmission of humane values as newsworthy can take on many brutal forms. Any scribe extolling an overarching humanity that is against the cold-blooded machinations of the state must simply be done away with. Dante the exile bitterly knew this-

 In the eighth circle of hell are the ten ‘evil pouches’ which in Italian are collectively the Malebolges. It is perceived that Dante recognized that the breakdown of the city state would lead only to an apparition of democracy, any semblance of true freedom hollowed out from within by a litany of lies dressed up as ‘civic truth’. The self-seekers of power will always viciously disallow any individual voice to expose this ‘democratic’ fraud. Caiphas - the instigator of the crucifixion of Christ - is laid out and crucified on the searing ground. Continuously trampled upon by other damned hypocrites. (Jesus spoke of the servant who owed his master a huge debt. He couldn’t pay. Mercy was shown. Yet this servant in turn showed no pity to another. The Master found out. He was justifiably thrown into prison. The Pharisees - as equally unforgiving religious frauds - are weighed down in this punishing orbit for hypocrites by lead in their coats, as they too trample Caiphas. Dante making reference to Jesus’s remark that although Caiphas’s fellow Pharisees were like clean white tombs in appearance they had bones like the deceased inside them. They were spiritually dead). Yes, it is those entrusted with power but strengthen it by proclaiming they are serving a higher good - to justify persecuting anyone who threatens their ever tightening, strangling authority - who most deeply suffer in Dante’s dark vision. Dictators have their demons. In the corrupted city the brutes are more readily unleashed with their full violence. Yet, beforehand come the provocations, to wear down what is good. After all, to recall Edmund Bourke’s dictum that evil will persist when good people do nothing. The human mind can be a demon. Malice, uncontrollable. 

 In Alabama in the 1930s a negro man could be strung up by a lynch mob for looking at a white woman. 14-year-old Afro-American Emmitt Till lynched, tortured and mutilated in 1955 for a similar ‘misdemeanour’ in Mississippi. Execution by necklacing burning tyres onto the heads of victims in South Africa from the 1980s often accused of being collaborators of the white Afrikaner regime. Aboriginal men, women and children being forced to jump to their deaths off the high cliffs of Bluff Rock in Tenterfield in 1844. To this day an Aboriginal person can still easily die in the white fella’s prison, often by their own hand, due to a burdening despair. To brutally face an unjust death after being unfairly detained for something as relatively trivial as not paying a car fine.

  Spinning. Like a Sufi. Holding a torch. Shadows. Twirling. Strips of a dark black and strips of a bright white. Light circles. Light cones. Fusing-

 Human negatives. Human transience. Human lies. History on a film strip which is edited; which is never revealed. Kept in the dark, to never see the light of a movie projector lamp. On the big screen, for a big audience, to bring about a big change. No, nothing. Keep the human mind closed. Away from the truth, when all the truth will do is set the mind free. That will change the power dynamic taking some of it away from those who have it all to those who have none of it. The chimera of democracy to be revealed for what it is: an illusion. Money is power. Money needs to be taken out of the equation to return an equilibrium to human freedom. To human equality. To human opportunity. To human prosperity. For the whole polis. Not for just the few. Money exists. Share it. Human greed is strong. Greed must be tempered. The monetary economics at the root of all evil must whither on the grapevine. To have a world without human selfishness at its core maybe never realised but it must be strived for. To overcome the few strong always subordinating the many weak must become the common aim. To overcome fear. To overcome hatred. To overcome disappointment. To overcome suffering. To overcome violence. To overcome inequality. To overcome poverty. To overcome material obesity. To overcome the vandalism inflicted on nature-

  In the flat. To mentally review my fantastical rhetoric. In a fit of self-doubt I ask myself is it all propaganda…for thyself...? Yet, there is some glimmer of truth in what I so idealistically infer…A human innateness deep within me tells me that at least I am correctly seeking out to towards what is the right moral path that will lead to human liberation. To human release. Kicking over a bucket.  An accident. Of humanity. Of nature. 

 “YIN! YANG!” 

  In the mind. A butterfly. Across a brightly lit pixelated, black and white screen. Rows of whirring black and white lines. Immersion. To hear Bach-  

  The woman shot at her own art installation. From what I understand – which could be mistaken - so as to release her very human, gender based emotional frustration. To have a sense of human freedom return along with the trapped air that was behind a glass wall that was now released; to be free, (now limitlessly flowing). As she would wish her own spirit to be free. Unrestricted. The gun not fired out of anger, but more like out of quiet desperation. Violence to not cause harm, but to release human energy for human liberty. Breakage as a metaphor for transformation, not damage. (A shell cracks and a new life emerges). The Beijing artist who lived in a suffocating human state, on the cusp of national rebellion (which at this particular time - just before the national agony of Tiananmen - so personally preoccupied, was not actually her first interest, yet who desired real life, not only for herself, but for all of her kind, of her gender, and then perhaps for all). To create dialogue, to overcome separateness. The female and male forces to be in balance, not uneven, with one in dominance, no, yes, harmony is desired. Yearned for. The yin and yang of life. To pour a bucket of black ink over herself. To then pour a bucket of water over herself. For this perceptive performance artist to state that the ink is Yin and that the water is Yang; how Yin and Yang becoming one is the Way of the Universe it is proclaimed. Opposite cosmological forces to work together to bring on harmony rather than working against each other to ‘create’ only disunity. Shadow and Light. Day and Night. Winter and Summer. Sun and Moon. Female and Male. To have Peace. To avoid War. Cycles of life. Duality. One. Existing together. In need of each other to exist. Complementary. To have hope trump nihilism. (The human mind always to be on the lookout so as to always strive for and to change from negativity to positivity. It is the case with Lisa. With all of us). Transformation. As seen in a butterfly. Symbol of hope. Of change; it is the being the Dutch artists included in their vanitas still life paintings that were to remind the materially nourished spectator that in this material world there was still death at the end of it (with an infinite immateriality beyond. Emptiness. Yet I have heard it said that as the Dutch became ever richer their painters would take the reminders of mortality out of their paintings so human deception would still ultimately prevail over mortal reality). The butterfly working as a useful counterpoint in any painting with its death symbols as this beautiful being would be included to reference the possibility of human resurrection. To defeat death. For a butterfly is first a caterpillar that is bound to the ground but once miraculously transformed into a butterfly is liberated from such an earthly limitation. (An earthbound vision is also widened to a boundless ‘blue sky’ view). I read how in a Venice Biennale catalogue - The Last Land. Hans Schabus of which Gregor has leant to me - how the Latin word for butterfly can also mean tent. This German artist writing of the butterfly shaped flaps of tent pavilions which had become temporal structures for nineteenth century nations to showcase their value at world expositions as well as at art fairs; with the pavilion itself to eventually also be a prestige symbol splendidly housing within it a nation’s claims of its technical innovation, imperial prowess and cultural progression which, it all seems - to me – to have the ultimate purpose of grandly serving a nation’s material, political, martial, social and business interests; yes…to supremely champion the national cause to impress other nations attracting their interest and who in turn also showcase themselves for the  same aims. Mutual admiration for mutual gain. Yet, I only think of Picasso’s Guernica which was presented in the Paris World Fair of 1936 by the Spanish Republic which was under threat from an internal coloniser. A nation at binary war with itself and to have both opposing sides proclaiming to be nobly fighting for the nation’s liberty. Pulling apart, wide open, the essential charade of a unified national hubris (that needs to be singular and single-minded) - that masquerades as civilization - to reveal the despotic impulses that truly motivates the human pursuit for mastery. At Guernica defenceless human beings were bombed from the air. Not butterflies but dragonflies which Dutch still life artists used to represent hell. 

 Human fire dragons.

 Inflicting only death. 

 Negative. All is inverted. To have the world seen in the same monochrome grey tones as painted dying animals and human innocents. All fragmented. Obliterated. Crushed bone and flesh. All in many parts. Bodies gone. Souls lost. In such an aimless human universe filled only with violence. In a meaningful, tranquil human world culture can be a tent for the human soul; to protect it, or to contain it as to be a sort of ephemeral residence fortifying it from the violence of human evil; to also reveal those threats than can hurt it; so any harm maybe avoided, or at the very least to have any menace pointed out as a warning, or as an accusation when the warning has come too late or had no effect, or to be the evidence of any human (inhumane) apocalypse that has befallen an individual or whole nation. A tent as a temporal protective structure from the elements yet to adversely lose this purpose in a macabre setting such as Nauru where refugees are housed in tents not as a shelter – as nominally claimed - but rather as a ‘trap’ that imperils them and to wear them down, for it seems the government intention is to keep them in tents for a long time, as if as hostages in a drawn out siege, so as to eventually end up viewing these heavy cloth marquees that mould and become vulnerable to the tropical moist as if to be in the putrid innards of a human beast. Human movement can be the embodiment of human freedom so when the choice to move is denied then any structure that helps to service such a decision can only in the end be viewed as a prison; yet this punitive situation is made so much worse, both physically and psychologically when the ‘shelter’ one is now forcibly reliant on can actually mock the long-term state of entrapment that one is presently facing lasting not months – but years - for a tent, no matter, how well it is set up, no matter how good the quality of its canvas, is only best to be used for a short time; to have seen only tents on arrival may have fleetingly installed some hope in those who were to inhabit them, yet such hope has become degraded, along with the living conditions, to certainly be replaced only with a futile mental numbness; a despair that eats up the human will, that erodes any sense of meaning; of any life purpose dissolving with every passing day. It is worse than being in prison for no matter what a prisoner knows there will eventually come the day of release or for those when no release day will come there is at least still the chance to come to terms with this harsh fact. Yet, for those when no date has been set, when the passing of time itself is a sort of living hell, no possibility of hope in the future can be allowed to eventually remain. Human madness. It is desired by those who have set up this tropical hell. For what is desired from the victims is to return to whence they have come from; to face the persecution from which they had run away; to potentially commit a sort of suicide, but out of sight of those who now cleverly, so insidiously,  persecute by cynically offering ‘assistance’ yet in the most demeaning way publicly possible (although the public would, after all, have no access to see what was happening with journalists denied entry to the detention centres; a government ban extended even to opposition politicians who sympathised with the horrific plight of these refugees who are actually being detained illegally under international law; to only see what is happening by way of video footage secreted out by the refugees themselves who, like in any prison, will then have their mobile phones taken away); so as to force on the most unimagined result that could be envisaged by anyone of sound mind. Torturing the mind leaves no evidence. The only physical outward sign upon these deeply depressed victims are the empty eyes, the many deep ridges that now line their foreheads, the listless bodies, finally, for some, to become corpses from the result of ‘self-inflicted wounds’ or ‘self-immolation’ after everything that had made each such tragic individual feel human had eventually been inwardly taken away, leaving only a human shell to deal with and to abjectly ‘let die’. In any totalitarian state are dissidents who have not so much moral courage – although that is an important, vital characteristic – but rather the mental fortitude to stand up to and even outlast the single-minded determination of the regime to brutally silence them. Many dissidents will silently disappear, never to be heard of again or heard of in the first place, shunted to some gulag or to a grave. Yet, it seems to me that sometimes a regime has to maliciously weigh up its options in the context of the grand propaganda exercise it feels it has to play out to the world when – metaphorically speaking - some dissidents are able to slip above the ideological parapet that is meant to keep them down and find the snipers assigned to shoot them have somehow missed their mark or have been uncharacteristically inattentive so as to have not even fired off a shot. Thus some dissidents are able to stay in open view to the world just long enough to publicize a message of protest before they are eventually taken down while one or two protesters within the caged system which entraps them have been able to raise their profile to the outside world by so much that it may become counterproductive for the regime to deal with them once and for all. Perhaps, it is hoped that it can be seen that democracy does exist after all when one or two ‘malcontents’ are allowed to speak their minds although what they have to say would be better said and more well received behind the walls of an asylum. I do not know. It is also a characteristic of some regimes to even follow their own laws and will not deal with those who are outspoken who somehow stay within the law until, inevitably, the regime loses patience and feels it can act against a critic and to do so even with the twisted rationale that the state’s ‘generosity’ had been ‘abused’. A well staged legal charge usually does the trick to put such a high profile dissident away in prison for years, or forced into exile or if the circumstances allow: to even die in an ‘accident’ or by ‘misadventure’ or by ‘thugs unknown’ by which there is no connection to the regime and by which the regime will even go so far as to publicly proclaim with every megaphone held ever so high to the world that it will hunt down and deal with any ‘coward’ responsible for the death of its sternest critic (when, after all, it had already been surmised by the highest level that outright arrest and execution had not seemed politically viable). I have listened to a visiting Russian human rights lawyer remark that in his country there have been journalists and opposition politicians killed in such a way that it is almost impossible to prove that the political elite had anything to do with these murders even though it has had the most to benefit from the doing away of such individuals. Every assassination has been contrived as a criminal rather than political action with anyone eventually held to account perceived only as a common criminal out to rob their victim and so forth (even though at times nothing was even stolen). Yet, not everyone is targeted, for the Russia of today has in a place a policy that is cost effective compared to what Stalin had which involved the moving of millions of ‘enemies-of-the-state’ on long rail trips to Siberian gulag camps that had to be maintained for decades. Rather, today a strategic arrest or killing effectively serves as a warning to others that they must make sure they stay within the bounds of what is envisaged as acceptable behaviour by the state or otherwise the same fate may await. Self-censorship has proven to be a very effective tool for curtailing criticism and keeping people in line coupled with such laws as those that are meant to keep Russia protected from ‘foreign meddling’ which has stymied organizations critical of the local human rights situation but cannot monitor as well if they rely on outside sources for funding. (It was noted at the same forum that any foreign interference laws to be put in place in the name of national security as mooted by the Australian political system may also serve to inhibit the democratic roles played by media and human rights organizations). So I find myself in the Philosophy Room at Sydney University with a couple of hundred people listening intently to a translator holding up a phone to listen to a male voice coming from Manus Island. It is like listening to a soul from the Underworld, describing his soulless circumstance. We are told by a Kurdish journalist detained on this island of a prison system which seems to have entrapped not only those who are kept on the island but also its keepers; enmeshed together by a bureaucratic tutelage which operated at oppressing those it is meant to be aiding. There is no aid. Only humiliation. Only dashed hope. Only deadening paperwork to be filled out, to be processed, but to no end. To no help. To no result. To have no way off the island.. To have no way to receive proper care as the bureaucratic imperatives of a top-down hierarchical system - that only strengthens the strong power relationships that already exist - entangles the refugees-come-inmates can never be satisfied and it also psychologically binds those who directly overlord them to be evermore inhumane. 

 (To have all of this dire discussion to be ever hellishly rotating all the time in my head…).

  ‘After all, to ask again: for how can any common humanity be sustained towards those who have been reduced to being merely labelled as numbers? (Yes, a number is inanimate). To be without feeling; so thus also the human beings now called only by a series of digits. Their agony. Their despair. Their mistreatment. The violation of their basic human rights and freedoms are deemed immaterial and even irrelevant in a dispassionate bureaucratic universe where any notion of a top-down transmission of human empathy is made non-existent. Human beings as merely living automatons…human statues to be eroded away…yet it is every ‘pound’ of mind rather than every pound of flesh that is to metaphorically beaten down into submission. Human tyranny. 

  (My distraught mind is so…so morally numbed…Lord have mercy).

  ‘Human beings micro-managed only into a state of mental suffocation-

Cat is Dante’s Left Hand Man

Dante and Virgil from one infernal circle to the next walk pass the many damned who suffer from scabs and foul disease, who are flung from high cliffs, submerged into dark pits of burning tar, whose stomachs are split open again and again, whose heads are put on backwards, who thirst, go mad, are burning in flames, wrapped around and bitten by serpents, who demons prod, heads gouged by ghastly tormenters or bodies ripped apart by rabid dogs...so many varied horrific tortures for a multiplicity of sins...such is this descent into a pitiless night underworld of all consuming suffering. Never to stop. (If Virgil is Dante’s right hand man, I imagine myself following slightly behind on Dante’s left). Cocytus, the river of lamentations is the foundation of the final level. There Dante has us find a three-headed Satan gouging on Brutus, Cassius and Judas. The jaws of hell. Multiplied. An inverse trinity of windpipes which lead to the guts of the Anti-Christ. A furnace. A hot core such as the one that exists in the centre of the world. Molten lava rising back into the mouth of Satan. To sear his three traitorous victims. Satan the prey of God. Satan has us for prey. His entrails exist in this world. Consuming us. (I have seen, for instance, in the morning peak hour the hundreds of sullen grey human souls marching slowly as if going to their deaths. A saddened human mass encased in the wide yellow-hued grimy tunnel underneath Central Station. Ignoring the multiplying homeless who stretch out their filthy bodies along the sides of the tunnel; as if to be entrapped by this concrete womb. I remember dropping a gold coin to appease my moral hypocrisy into the lap of a scrawny woman. Sitting down, head bowed. I apologized for I had missed her upturned hat. She looked up. Smiled. “It’s okay…” The woman was grateful. I felt pitiful. There were the buskers playing their popular tunes, to be a mockery of the funerary mood. I smiled at an elderly woman handing out how to be saved by Christ tracts. I duly tipped my cowboy hat at this lone saint and took one from her entitled BEWITCHED? The endearing story of a very troubled 14 year old girl who is ultimately saved from the Devil by her holy grandmother who unwaveringly kept faith in her, constantly praying for her grand-daughter’s salvation). Cocytus, is envisaged as a cold icy lake by Dante. Evil that disallows the movement of natural justice is itself made fully immobile. Frozen. A destructive human ego would become just as still if commanded by a severe rigidity in thinking. A hateful mind to solidify and crumble like the broken architecture of a fallen despotic city-state. The natural state of a human mind is to flow with free thought, an imagination to be vibrant with life, warmly enhanced by God. (Not in exile from God). Cocytus is made of the frozen tears of the Old Man of Crete standing up in Mount Ida. He is Dante’s symbol of a fallen humanity. A deformation of a human being who faces Imperial Rome - who is his glimmering mirror - who narcissistically typifies the technical progress of the human race, with a head of gold, of arms, legs and a chest all of silver, along with a body of brass. Yet, technique without spirit is nothing. The city is nothing if it is not serving its living inhabitants. If it only pays due civil respect for itself. To have a society of hierarchical division rather than equal inclusion. Entrapping its citizens like in Dante’s hideous allegory of Hell. As Cicero dismally said any ‘wisdom’ without justice is only cunning. I look down the halls of a dead justice in the supremely defiled court of such a dead city and see the falsely accused victims of this human hades floating in the subterranean murky waterways underneath the clean clear icy floors. This waste of human beings pressing their darkened withering hands onto the glistening level surface above them calling out for help. For someone with any moral sense to break through. Yet the human automatons ignore them. They walk to the elevator. They walk to the office. They watch the human comedy that is society being played out on monitors and television screens. They look straight ahead. They go to work. For their dead world. To ignore the damned living. They will not care until they face the same damnation. Then it is too late. To regret. To suffocate. Gasping, as they too call out. To those above them. (I yearn for the trickling, fresh water of life). I see Cocytus, when I look out the window, in the gleaming metallic skyline of the city. Rising up like the Giants that lead open the way for Dante and Virgil to view a gigantic Satan. Antaeus literally lifting the two pilgrims into the Ninth Circle. I look at the sharp-edged city ‘pillars’ and envisage the streamline elevators going up glistening transparent silver metallic windpipes; the cold, white lit corridors; the offices and boardrooms with a cultivated decor on feature walls; the polished floors; the contemporary aluminium furnishings. The glossy brochures of annual reports declaring the profitability of Cocytus. (A horrific three-headed Satan with monstrous bat wings gives way in my mind to the head of a Bosch bluebird, whose black eye looks empty of moral thought, whose human body sits on a yellow highchair as the bird mechanically devours a human victim. A Mouth of Hell, without conscious, swallowing human spirits; a nightmarish inversion of the Holy Spirit who - as a dove – will leave by the deceased mouth of a righteous body, when the saved soul takes flight to Paradise). Andy Warhol said that people never die but just go to department stores. He was right. Shopping malls are dazzling tombs to the living dead. Shiny. Bright. Clean. Escalators taking everyone up and down from one damned circle to the next. The human senses appealed too. Our souls die. No one in these glittering vaults of immaculate white concrete can ever hear a twittering bird. Only serene music picked to manipulate our buying patterns. Outside the large supermarket Michael went on to say he had seen frauds who would mould crawling sycophants into their foul image. Any totalitarian state has a strong hierarchy. Those  who suffer first are the powerless who are no longer of any use and so easily disposed. A manic bureaucratic world with many valueless policies. Colonel Cathcart in CATCH-22 wanted Yossarian’s squadron to bomb an isolated village. Defenceless. Without any military value. A perfect target in one’s psychopathic pursuit of photographs of perfect bomb patterns. To impress his disinterested superiors in an insidious effort for promotion. Dunbar the lead bombardier ignoring this insane order. Yossarian’s squadron doomed to fly ever more truly deadly missions.

This is the modern world. Cocytus. A barren, pockmarked surface. Undulating with perfect circle craters. Useless. Inhumane.

Circles of memory.

                                                       Resistance

 “I want to have a look…” slurs Michael who is by my videos. “I wanna see something that would please Zeus. He’s the god of hospitality.”

“While Ronald Reagan is a centaur!” I scream. I look affectionately at my friend. ‘Here is a pawn in a hierarchy that is only deeply concerned with its ‘little empires’. With its inevitable ‘little purges’.

An old tape. Afghan schoolgirls at a south-west Sydney high school watching the Sorry Day speech to the Aboriginal Stolen Generation. Uruguayan drums at a regional gallery. Shopping trolleys dancing in a supermarket carpark. The Emperor of the microstate Atlantium who lives in Marrickville. A panel discussion on the secretive nature of a trans-ocean multilateral free trade agreement between corporations and governments. Men in Turkey and Azerbaijan wearing miniskirts to protest against sexual assaults on women. Afghan men wearing burqas in support of women’s rights. (Michael states he wore a miniskirt to a frock party. Some very proud hard core dykes at Badde Manors Café in Glebe later complemented him on his dress sense). Iranian women riding bicycles to defy a fatwa ban thus to be agents of change. Saudi women arrested for wanting the right to drive. An antique photo of a soldier carrying his tired donkey up a hill. A Colombian teacher going around poor villages on his donkey with books for schoolchildren.

“Biblioburro!” I call out.

HOME SWEET HOME. Sydney dream houses artistically put into little snow domes. THE THEORY OF EVERTHING. A bearded bespectacled man with a poster of a galaxy behind him talking about parallel universes.

‘Michael talking of the ‘parallel universe’ that is Queen Street in Strathfield which runs parallel to the Hume Highway. This street has less traffic and finds it great to go along. He likens it to using the back streets at Petersham to avoid the heavy traffic on Crystal Street. “You have to laterally apply some quantum physics to overcome Sydney’s traffic chaos. As this old mechanic told me there’s no downtime anymore.” Michael muses as he fast-forwards the tape. ‘That warren of very narrow backstreets off King Street around St. Peters. I remember ending up once in the middle of May Street in Sydenham after going down a few of them. I had no idea how I got from the proverbial A to B to cover so much distance. I had gone through a suburban wormhole. I’ve found other side-streets and parallel universes like in Enmore to get around the heavy traffic. Sometimes for awhile you have to go in the opposite direction to where you want to go as it’s better to be on a clear side of a road when there’s stop-start traffic going the other way. In all those backstreets there’s some real surprises: a red circus tent painted on a roll-a-door. WHAAMMM!” suddenly screams Michael. “There’s this large Pop Art mural on a road off Alice Street with an American fighter jet that you’d really love!” An animation of astronauts which only have their lips moving. Stops it. “S-P-A-C-E A-N-G-E-L!” Ejecting the tape and putting in a much older one. A film clip with policemen on horseback wielding their truncheons at demonstrators outside a desert detention centre. Michael talks of a London soccer riot. Tear gas in the stadium. Police on horseback outside the grounds hitting people with truncheons. “Gregor said he stood with four Germans while a big melee broke out around them between the police and the Chelsea fans who were upset their team was now facing relegation after losing the match. ‘Welcome to Thatcher’s England.’ he joked. Master decided to do a beer label with police on horseback. APOCALYPSE LAGER. Just like The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Talking of the biblical end of days and Thatcher have you seen that film Pride? It’s about these gay activists who despite the AIDS epidemic went to help out the striking coal miners! They defied the Dance of Death as best and as long as they could!  Yet there are Apocalypses everywhere!”

Moral Deregulation

A clip from celebrated crime drama of a class of disadvantaged Baltimore students who are shown how to correctly answer comprehension questions even though they don’t understand the ideas behind them. However, there is to be a test based on this information that will determine the school’s ranking so it’s important the students know the right answers, even though they can’t comprehend what these answers mean.

“At the last school I worked at it was very corporate.” suddenly claims Michael who went on with what he wanted to verbally get off his chest by saying it as much s possible an ‘educated way’ as if to mock some of those who were ‘above his station’ as, after all, he was ‘only’ a teacher’s aide and a casually employed one at that…so what would he know anyway…? “Very CV orientated. Having policies that could keep within a restrictive ‘global budget’ to be the first priority over any true ‘educational merit’. Another ‘first priority’ in any ‘educational decision’ was to keep the ‘upper strata’ of the ‘school hierarchy’ happy. You had to make sure ‘a narrow focused program’ was followed. I certainly didn’t think teaching to the test was moral. I even recall helping a head teacher handout to her staff a ‘practice test’ given to their classes that was very similar to the ‘real test’ given the next day. Anyhow, it all didn’t leave much room for an ‘in-depth lateral, holistic way to educate’ which at least did still happen with those teachers – usually the older or more experienced ones - who still deliberately chose to keep as much ‘personal autonomy’ as possible over what they actually taught and wasn’t just about ticking boxes which I cynically thought were more aimed on paper for the benefit of the school and individual teachers looking rather than for the actual educational benefit of the students. ‘Theatre education’ I started to call it. On the worst days I thought the school system was becoming so draconian and backward that it was going back to the nineteenth century like the Charles Dickens days; everything in the school universe is just becoming a useless, absurd human pantomime. Instead of ‘creativity’ you just had ‘construction’. Bizarre thing was both teachers and students were tightly locked in the proverbial box the top heads actually claimed they wanted everyone to ‘think’ their way out of; yet there is the most abysmal passivity with no real resistance with such an unimaginable mass level of moral cowardice…it’s the only way I can describe it as although I would hear teachers complain about their over-burdened lot in the staffroom they would not en masse directly push back in any staff meeting against their own executive which is what ought to happen in every school…a guerrilla war straight on happening from the proverbial shop floor…to be day in, day out while at the same time in the classroom just getting on with actually teaching…no, they would just sit there in silence pretending to agree with whatever was being said to them about the so called need to do more of this anti-intellectual, irrelevant mind-numbing extra-curricular programming - which is the way I say it happening - so the school could be seen as a ‘whole’ on ‘paper’ as ‘progressing’…all of us dancing together on the road to hell…yeah, anyway I like how you compare the world to Catch-22. There’s lots of Colonel Cathcarts out there who want Yossarian and his mates to wear neckties into battle and come up with tighter bomb patterns to impress the likes of General Peckem who could make a Cathcart a general. I mean, look at the crazies in power. Any outspoken ‘Yossarian’ who wants the right thing done is crucified-

 “VERILY! VERILY! I SAY UNTO YOU WHAT THE MAN WHO WAS CRUCIFIED SAID TO US!” EXCLAIMS THE INNER-CITY-PROPHET THAT IS CAT. “THUS I REMIND YOU OF THE PARABLE OF THE EVIL SERVANT! OH THIS EVIL MAN WHO PLEADED FOR MERCY FROM HIS MASTER AS HE COULD NOT PAY OFF THE LARGE DEBT THAT HE OWED HIM! HIS MASTER GENEROUSLY SHOWED PITY TOWARDS HIM AND CANCELLED THE DEBT. YET, IN TURN, WHEN ANOTHER MAN OWED MUCH LESS MONEY TO THIS FORGIVEN SERVANT HE CHOSE TO HAVE THIS OTHER UNFORTUNATE MAN IMPRISONED UNTIL THE DEBT COULD BE PAID INSTEAD OF ALSO FORGIVING HIM! WHEN HIS RIGHTEOUS MASTER FOUND OUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED HE HAD THIS PITILESS SOUL SENT TO THE TORTURERS UNTIL HIS ORIGINAL LARGE DEBT COULD BE PAID FOR THE MASTER WAS NOW FULL OF WRATH THAT THIS TRULY SURLY SERVANT WAS UNWILLING TO SHOW MERCY TO ANOTHER AS HE HAD BEEN COMPASSIONATE TO HIM. YEAH! SUCH A SOULLESS MAN TO RIGHTLY SUFFER HELL ON EARTH UNTIL HE COULD REDEEM HIMSELF OF HIS DEBT TO THE WORLD! YEAH MAY YOU READ MATTHEW 18: 21-35! YEAH MAY YOU ASK WHY I MENTION THIS STORY WHICH IS A WARNING TO THE UNCHARITABLE…?” CAT’S EYES GLARED. ANGER. “AS GREGOR HAS HIGHLIGHTED TO ME THAT WHILE PERMANENT TEACHERS PLEAD TO THEIR MASTERS THAT THEIR WORK LOAD BE LESSENED AND THAT THEIR LOWLY WAGES BE RAISED CLAIMING IT IS A GREAT INJUSTICE THEY NOW WORK SO MUCH HARDER FOR NO COMPARABLE INCREASE IN THEIR REMUNERATION YET AT THE SAME TIME DO NOT EQUALLY ADVOCATE FOR THEIR FELLOW CASUALLY EMPLOYED COLLEAGUES TO HAVE THEIR WAGES RISE TO BE EQUAL TO THEIRS! WHO EARN MANY THOUSANDS LESS & ALSO HAVE HIGHER WORKLOADS & MADE TO COMPLY TO A NEW ACCREDITATION SCHEMA IN THEIR OWN UNPAID TIME! WHO GREGOR HAS TOLD ME HE ONCE FACED THE THREAT OF NOT BEING PAID A DAY’S WAGE WHEN THE SCHOOL ADMINISTRATION COULD LOOK UP WHAT HE HAD DONE TO ARGUE THAT TWO MINOR MODULES HE HAD NOT YET DONE HAD TO BE COMPLETED FIRST! WHICH HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HIS ACTUAL WORK WHICH WAS TO TEACH VISUAL ARTS. TO HAVE IN THE PAST DONE SUCH A FINE JOB THAT ONE SCHOOL DISPLAYS HIS STUDENT’S ACHIEVEMENTS ON THEIR WALLS! YET HE HERE HE IS TO BE HUMILIATED DUE TO AN EDICT THAT IS IRRELEVANT      

TO WHOM THEY WILL SCOWL AND CALLOUSLY STATE THAT THEIR WORLDLY STATUS WAS NOT AS GREAT AS THEIRS AND SO WERE THUS LESS WORTHY SO SHOULD NOT BE TREATED EQUALLY! 

YET HOW CAN ONE COMPLAIN ABOUT SUFFERING INJUSTICE IF THEY TOO ARE UNWILLING TO SEEK AFTER JUSTICE FOR THEIR LESS FORTUNATE COLLEAGUES! AT LEAST AUSTRALIA’S ELITE CRICKETERS WERE UNWILLING TO PLAY UNTIL THOSE CRICKETERS WELL BELOW THEM WERE GUARANTEED BETTER WAGES IN THE NEXT PAY DEAL!  

NEGOTIATE FOR HIGHER WAGES UNTIL   

THE INJUSTICE     

The Great Good

‘As Michael talks about CATCH-22 I think of Orwell’s literary dystopian works such as Animal Farm and 1984. I wonder if there is a ‘great good’ to oppose the authoritarian spirit that so often prevails in the human psyche. I hark back in my ever informative encyclopaedic mind to Pythagoras who once stopped a man beating a dog who he believed was a reincarnate friend by recognizing the sound of the yelps.

‘Pythagoras was a vegetarian for this believer in reincarnation feared he may unwittingly eat any friend who had returned, as say, a lamb; a ‘scientific mystic’ who has been proclaimed by some as the father of such disciplines as mathematics, music, astronomy and philosophy. Who had even intimated the Earth did go around the Sun. With Copernicus to call his planetary system ‘Astronomia Pythagorica’.

The Pythagoreans five hundred years before Christ - at the same time Gautama Buddha was transforming southern Asia - lived in their own community at the bottom of Italy ruled by The Three Hundred; they spread their wise, peaceful governance over the Greek colonies in the west until Pythagoras and forty of his leaders were killed by a mob that was led by a man who was rejected by the Order-

“In all humility to be an instrument of the Lord is surely the highest praise! To be persecuted for the sake of righteousness is surely the highest promotion!” I again look sympathetically at my friend. Yes, a powerless hostage within the system...nevertheless history does show it is possible to surmount the direst injustices. Gregor telling us of seeing a small anti-apartheid protest group in London that stood everyday at Trafalgar Square with a sign that marked how many days Nelson Mandela was in jail; like the Springbok protesters their belief that he would one day become President of South Africa seemed hopeless. Yet there was Gregor shaking the great man’s hand when he found himself at the last minute as an usher at St. James church in the city where Mandela spoke. So it was that is was with Gregor that I went to see Ramis-Horta speak of his unshakeable belief of how East Timor would one day be free. I was to doubt. I was to be proven wrong.

 Cat The Prophet Dwells On The So Called ‘Moral Eye’ Of Australia Now So Blinded By Worldly Desire

TIMOR LESTE

Yet one still waits for the justice that has been betrayed to the Balibo Five and to Roger East who was assassinated later; that Australia will be forced to accept the meridian line between East Timor and its own coastline to be half way which international law states should be the case. To allow East Timor to truly prosper by way of the underwater gas fields rightly on its side of this line. A truly David & Goliath struggle. To have seen the softly spoken Xanana Gusmão at Pitt Street Uniting Church bitterly remark how the Australian and Indonesian foreign ministers infamously clinked champagne glasses in celebration of a deal to exploit the Timor Sea; flying over Timor while the East Timorese below were still being killed…later to learn of an Australian national security people bring to public notice how Timor Leste’s negotiators in talks regarding these underwater energy resources had been spied on by Australia so as to gain a commercial advantage with such underhanded behaviour by a nation state clearly being against all proper tenets of international law…yet to only have this principled individual as well as his highly regarded lawyer to insidiously face prosecution and even secret trials…all cynically officially justified under the name of ‘national security’. 

WEST PAPUA

The West Papuan leader Benda Wendt playing his freedom ukulele at a Sydney University screening of Punks for West Papua. Like a strumming Melanesian Orpheus, who has emerged from an undisclosed forgotten region of the underworld; to say how the cruelties committed there have been ignored by those relatively few who enjoy the comforts of an earthly paradise that has been partly built upon by such well-veiled human torments…to yearn for Australia to at least stop turning its back on the West Papuan people who have been suffering an ongoing genocide which has included the transmigration of many Indonesians into West Papua which also faces the extermination of its rainforests with the oligarch implementation of vast mono-culture palm oil tree tracts not only to be at the detriment of the environment but also for wildlife and local indigenous peoples but to well suit high level corrupt business and political interests with such ongoing intrusive colonialism insidiously disguised under the banner of ‘economic development’…to also have had an Australian mining company involved in the largest copper and gold mine in the world; which has scarred this ravaged land, contaminating the soil, bringing no real development to local people who are persecuted for the ‘sin’ of wanting to live freely in their own country; who must endure so much needless anguish, just as Bougainville had also endured a bloody civil war which involved being entangled with another copper mine.

 The human heart. Pumping blood. To keep life. Yet spilling other blood too. When human desire is not life giving, but brings on death. Rivers of blood. In the human body. In human systems. Flowing freely. Coursing through uncluttered arteries and veins, but also trickling into mangled ground or down interrupted waterways, when lands have to be bloodily cleared of opposing human habitation. For human profit. A humandesolation.

RED RIVER

Rio Tinto, a ‘red river’ in Spain. Acidic. Red from iron. Metals flowing into a once unspoiled tributary. For five thousand years so many minerals such as silver, copper and gold were mined in the mountains of Andalusia. Grandly. As if to be King Solomon’s Mines. To fuel many human economies harking back to the original Iberian peoples, and to maintain an ancient globalization with the likes of the Phoenicians financing their tributes to the Assyrians and to the Romans who used silver and copper coinage as the currency of their outstretched empire. Empires harshly built on metal. Human pollution. A river of arsenic. To mutate life to the point NASA is examining the subsurface level for the possibility of finding exotic life forms that may exist on Mars. (MARTE Mars Analog Rio Tinto Experiment using a robotic drill SOLID The Sign of Life Detector). In the water itself there is no life. In a modern era of globalized waste to have a new mining company founding itself at this very dead river, ironically naming itself Rio Tinto. Human investment attracting riches, but only for the few who have unsympathetically displaced many others to a cyclical poverty, to premature mortality, in new shadowy company empires, insidious, almost disguised, which only partly show evidence of their existence in stock market tabulations…in conquered global spaces off the radar of so many self-deceiving human consciences….destroyed sacred sites yet to learn that the white fella law still allows for mining companies to devastate Aboriginal lands to even see that there are laws that unfairly put the onus of protection back onto indigenous communities for them to provide good reason why mining cannot go ahead…to see gas fracking certainly risk the water supplies of many first nations peoples over vast areas…to ‘own’ their ancient land but not what is underneath it….to even have rivers dying for big agriculture…a lethal colonially embedded cynicism pervades…large red blood colour blotches…covering Judy Watson’s chine colle etchings of historical documents of everyday early twentieth century bureaucrat control over the indigenous…to need permission for who to marry, of where to travel, who to see, where to go, of permissible work….to view a painting titled Red Tides… Aboriginal blood murderously spilt in the water…like the blood of whales…all ‘fauna’ collectively massacred for the collective prosperity of the new colonies…the immoral contamination of a whole continent…making it morally blind to neighbourly illegalities…(…to which stands the international accusation that it also contributes…)…Nauru, Manus, West Papua…the Timor Sea…to eye only sour domestic political gain…Terra Australias…to go along an unprincipled national course…the moral corruption…what is happening-

PHOENICIA

 I am in a state of disbelief. I briefly idealistically reflect on seemingly more egalitarian, reforming times…(…although there has been no equality for the Aboriginal people…)…when in pre-WWI days there was the introduction of the eight-hour week, the vote for women and so forth…(…although there was little labour rights relief if you were non-white and women would still wait decades to obtain anything venturing close to equal work status and equal pay…)…to consider the possibility of a truly redemptive national mood to again occur. “We must still hold onto hope in this life-

“Just like with the Socceroos!” announces Michael who at Master’s place raises his borrowed half full beer glass with a Celtic logo. “What legends! Angie’s showing what can be done when you have a bit more self-belief! He’s a coach who reckons there’s no reason to let the world get on top of you! Stand up and fight! Hey! The same goes for your rights! Johnny Warren said I told you so about getting to the World Cup! I ought to take you Cat to the Western Suburbs Leagues Club over at Ashfield next time Australia plays in the World Cup! It has this big antenna with these coloured rings which light up and look as if they are going up and down it. Quirky. I never forget being in Leichhardt when Australia got knocked out by Italy. The Socceroos still did us proud. I can still see the intensity in Totti’s eyes before this football master scored the winning goal. Just like that manic face in your Roy Lichenstein poster! The Italians waving their big flags in Norton Street. Cheering in every crowded cafe like Café Sports and that little one in Crystal Street that’s all covered in World Cup pictures. A loss but a good night! Australians love their sport!” A drunk laugh. “It was only the fit convicts who would’ve survived that downtown hell hole we’re taught at school to call the First Settlement! Australia the prison show! I had to go to Earlwood Oval with Master to see the Troy Horse Ducks play cricket against a mob from the Warren View Hotel to see who would win the Blind Bat Trophy!”

Late night fitness equipment television ads. Techno music. Michael thinks of the gym he went to for a little while in a forlorn attempt to lose some weight. It had four television sets with something different on each and everyone of them. There were big mirrors on the walls which every muscle guy would keep looking at. An angelic voice always singing over the speakers. Beautiful athletic women in tights always on one screen doing calisthenics in front of the Opera House. Working on different gadgets to lose belly fat. “It’s ALL a wasteland!” proclaims Michael. “Huh! Let’s go to the Phoenician Club! The Phoenicians were the first to Cyprus!”

                      The Case of the Great Maverick Comrade Cat

 “The powers-that-be know we are not willing to stand up for what is right as long as they gift us kneepads so we can live comfortably on our knees!” ‘I stand up. Go to the window. Look out.’ “We offer only neon gods for our skulls of death! It’s a desert!” ‘I remember in my old social security job how my department refused to demand back the money that was overpaid to our poorest clients. We were stood down for six weeks and saw how sickness and disability payments were stopped.” Shoulders slump. “Governments nowadays outsource their duties and thus also their responsibilities. The vulnerable ultimately abandoned. All for profit to the profiteers!” A mad flash of the eyes. “War Communism! Remember the Kronshdat sailors who fought for liberty in the Russian Revolution! Lenin’s crack troops! When they saw they had only fought for slavery under another name they rebelled! Defended hard but were finally massacred! The just betrayed by the so called defenders of justice! It happens to this day! Verily! Verily! Ye I say unto you! Better to die on your feet than live on your knees! Victor Serge is right! That exiled Old Bolshevik Ryzhik he wrote about knew how to die in the face of his foul accusers. Who like thousands of others was spuriously accused by the counter revolution that followed the Chief’s rise to power. Ryzhik looked on with contempt at the next generation of so called ‘climbers’ who willingly betrayed the high principles of the Revolution and those who fought for them so as to succour their own careers. All in the name of the Revolution they willingly usurped it with an ever greater tyranny! How unholy!”

Rings of Fire!

 I read a letter from an overseas stranger which has mysteriously arrived through the post which promises me millions of dollars of inheritance money from some unknown relative if I only reply. I think of a spirit led Jesus who had fasted for forty days in the wilderness to be tempted by Satan with the grandiose offering of many earthly kingdoms if the Son of God merely swore his allegiance to the Devil. (I suddenly look very thoughtful, to look almost crestfallen). “We wake up and live through the day with our delusions.” (I, the manic philosopher then suddenly dances a little ditty). “Oh there will be enough rest for all of us when we are dead. The livin’ must arise from their rest and keep on living! The Devil has his ways with us but the LORD has better ways! It is a great sin to deny the LORD his lovin’ victory! Damn those who desire only a self-gratifying power! Who wish on other people the end of days to obtain their malicious aims!” (To suddenly spouse off a series of random thoughts one after the other). “NO SLOUCHING ON THE COUCH! MAN THE NUCLEAR TORPEDOES! ALL HANDS ON DECK! DO NOT BE DOWNCAST! OH MY SEARCHING SOUL! LET JUSTICE PREVAIL! LET US OUT ALL DOUBLETHINK!” (A sudden pause). “It was the great Johnny Cash who chose to sing to the prisoners of Folsom & St. Quentin jails! Yes, we are mortal! We are hurt! Everyone will be gone! In the end! A world of dust! To be singing Hurt. Yes, what will we become? YES! LET’S LIVE LIFE TO OUR FULL POTENTIAL! LIFE DOES HAVE MEANING! WE DO MEANINGFUL THINGS! IN EVERYONE OF US LET’S STOKE THOSE RINGS OF FIRE!”

U2

 U2 on the stereo. Streets With No Name. ‘Holy U2! Oh Cold War hubris! The saintly rhetoric of a downed U2 pilot who believed the Holy Spirit shone as a glowing light in the pitch black night to keep him alive in enemy waters! Blessed for doing his spiritual duty of spying on the godless! Who had righteously flown missions so angelic advisors could be parachuted to help freedom fighters liberate their downtrodden nations from the Beast! ALL to become martyrs for the LORD!”

Carnival of Souls

The record is changed. Beethoven’s rousing Eggmont. Unveiling the mind. Unveiling the particulars of everyday life like how every dawn unveils a new day. I am in a dream. Flicking through the many TV channels. The television screen. A single plane. A remote universe. With multi-views. A warning. “Life can be full of hydras!” Memory as documentary. I hear Michael tell me about Gregor coming off second-best from a hydra in his garden. “...new ferns would appear where Gregor thought he’d killed them off. He had just finished clearing the backyard when he broke his wrist tripping over a shovel on the grass. He spent three days in hospital and had a titanium plate inserted. It was the first time he had ever had a general anaesthetic. The main surgeon was of Greek heritage and he sat majestically on a large chair behind a laptop in the back corner to direct other smaller ‘gods’. Gregor was under three big bright operation lights. He said it was as if they were the Fates. He muttered the three opening lines of T.S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Pulfrok and then nothing. A dark blank. He later asked himself: is that what death is? Gregor woke up in a recovery room to see these shelves with medical supplies but his vision was still focusing. His first thought was that the afterlife had a supermarket. A nurse then said his name and Gregor was relieved he was still alive. (As he had heard horror stories of the anaesthetics going wrong during the simplest of operations). He felt like the warrior Er who had gone to the ‘other side’ and returned. He suddenly told me an artist is an archaeologist of the mind- “Live life to the full.” I glibly announce as seer. Knowledge. “Life has no reason...” A late night horror movie. A carnival. Laughing clowns. People laughing. On a merry-go- round. “In our quest for life’s meaning is any discovery merely a pyrrhic victory while death still awaits?”

     A NeoLiberal Psychotic Skullduggery Corporate Spiritual Darkness

  A bald muscly thug, who walks by the sausage sizzle, pushes pass a homeless woman holding up a BIG ISSUE, to grab from behind a tall man who is wearing a black fez one of his precious copies of the U.N. Charter of Human Rights. He mocks the slogan on his t-shirt which refers to a remark by Kant who states that violating the rights of people in one part of the world can be felt everywhere; he then swings at the man with his fist, calling him a communist. Then this underhanded brute runs off down the City Circle line staircase to go underground to Town Hall station. Such skulduggery! Shamefully. Taken totally by surprise by this unthinkable act. We had stood still. Oh impotent bystanders! Above ground. I saw across the road near the Town Hall many well intentioned so called ‘Jesus freaks’ with their loudspeakers and placards exhorting the narrow path to righteousness. “Colossians 3: 1-4. Keep thy eyes on heaven for Thine is the glory sayeth the LORD.” Archbishop Romero certainly knew this truth. When he was assassinated and lay soaking in his own blood at the altar he uttered words of forgiveness. A higher morality was also shown by those U.S. helicopter pilots at My Lai who landed their gunship and had its guns pointed at American soldiers to force them to stop their atrocities. The bloodlust of empires. Satan gnawing on the head of Judas. The human brain a morsel. The mind-lust of empires. The preacher (simply dressed in t-shirt and shorts; wearing one of his 3 for $10 sunglasses) was right to read out Ephesians 6:12: “For we struggle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Beware the false prophets in crystal churches who only talk of God’s blessings and not the sacrifices - even unto thy own Cross - that have to made to be a true follower!” It suits Satan, once the morning star of the heavens, to have the human intellect only in dark places. As a remorseful Judas had found out he could not manoeuver from a moral abyss which he had been enticed into by the Pharisees. To become by way of death the prime eternal victim of Satan’s insatiable will to inflict human suffering. Finding a bitter solace in human misery which violently surges through the whole of the ghastly inferno; much like the winds that are generated by Satan’s vast wings. As such foul gusts swept over him Dante may have thought of the historical paradox of how with any social or scientific advance that enhanced people’s quality of life there was often a counterbalancing increase in human violence. Certainly, a failed moral will, as sensed in these vile squalls, would consistently sabotage the human experiment. Satan had no light, yet he could still deceive the human mind with a counterfeit heaven. After all, in Cocytes, there is neon. An artificial light which countenances the divine light. Yes, in a realm of spiritual darkness, the intellect can be blinded, and so not knowing where to go is easily led. To head towards a false, cold light for guidance, not knowing it can be a deception, leading only to some infernal crevice. The politics of fear is rife. In the labyrinth that is Dante’s inferno the grotesque results of human deception are plain to see. Satan is also the bull god Moloch, who demanded the burnt-sacrifice of the first born, who ultimately wishes to inherit the human mind. He is the leading global brand name in this neon world, which has turned culture into a commodity, with the human spirit consumed for unjust profit. In the impoverished schools, in the crowded hospital waiting rooms, in the undermining of public transport growth, in the train delays, in the long bus queues, in the people forced off buses by overworked bus drivers compelled to do so, in the growing numbers of homeless people on city streets, in the chronically ill and disabled forced to just about beg to meet privatized medical expenses with cost-cutting ultimately in mind, in the cajoling of families to be forced to financially fend for themselves, in the growing number of casual workers forced to accept being illegally underpaid or overworked with the threat of losing any employment, in the increase in the genuinely poor, in the stripping down of public news and of public culture one sees a corporate devaluation of our humane values. Human society to be degraded, our social democracy, our social services and social institutions contaminated by a corrupting anti-democratic psychosis, to become ever more digestible for an elite appetite. To fraudently claim that the social pact can be vandalised in the name of upholding ‘individual rights’. When in fact the common individual is not respected. (Culture could be used as a stealth weapon to subversively fight back when all that is left is to vote for the lesser evil). A glimmer of hope. I saw human compassion expressed on a bus to the city where a man who was suffering from a severe anxiety attack was helped by other passengers. Who called an ambulance. There are still people willing to be altruistic.’ A distant look.

  (‘I’ve read of ex-prisoners willing to bake cookies for primary school children…of a newly arrived Syrian refugee welcomed to Canada helping to sew a bride’s dress whose zipper broke just before the ceremony started). Compassion, redemption-

 Human lives in Cocytus routinely swallowed, entering into the burgeoning oesophaguses of Satan, for nothing is no longer sacred.’

The mind rewinds.

                                                Video Reels

“In Mona Hatoum’s MCA exhibition Over My Dead Body we see a row of toy soldiers entitled Horizon and other toy soldiers placed in the shape of Infinity ∞.”

“I know infinity from Ben Casey!” drunkenly exclaims Michael.

I look dismissively at Michael and wonder about infinity. The expendability of existence. Moving towards dissolution. It is what Lisa faces. Yet, in this present world, life is made expendable. The stoic conception of the universal Logos of life globally replaced by a brandname ‘logomaze.’

“In some of her more provocative photos there is one of her stamping a footprint with UNEMPLOYED over the footpaths of Sheffield, not stopping until the actual number of stamps reaches the same number as those human beings on the town’s so called scrapheap- FF

 (Yet today when one thinks of Sheffield it is to do with the unholy felling of mature trees by Sheffield Council and the admirable resistance by residents to have this act of official environmental vandalism halted. Where is the German environmental artist Joseph Bueys when you need him? Who as an act of environmental art once had thousands of trees planted in a German town…way ahead of his time…who Gregor has proposed to me that he intends to do an etching of Joseph Bueys with his distinctive hat piloting a WWII German bomber but with Extinction Symbol markings on a bombing raid to drop trees on ugly Sydney apartments. To have nature resume its ascendency over an inhuman architecture that selfishly reflects no interest in accommodating, integrating or sustaining the natural environment. Gregor had found out that Joseph Bueys had been in the Lufwaffe in World War Two serving as a gunner in a Stuka on the Russian front). 

 “We end Asia-Pacific with some clips from a very innovative Asian video exhibition presently on at the Australian Centre of Photography. Mirror Worlds. In the brochure it is claimed the eight artists in this exhibition involve themselves with issues such as counter- terrorism, consumer subversion and create art resplendently filled with visual mischief. Reference is made to the cyberpunk author William Gibson who in his novel Pattern Recognition in which can be argued partly deals with changing perceptions of reality and history when actually nothing may have changed at all but our growing awareness (or growing ignorance) he also came up with the term ‘mirror world’. A term this commentator interprets as whereby one may travel to somewhere very different to only find that there is much the same as where one had come from due to an ever increasing homogenous globalization of human activity. I know I have travelled half way around the world to think I am going somewhere very different to only find myself in a room with the same phone, the same furniture, the same television as home and to even be watching the same news interrupted with the same ads; to be a consuming human being in an infinite Gibsonian ‘logomaze’ brand world with no end and with no escape. As this exhibition points out one finds that something as simple as a dial tone or electrical plug have their ‘twins’ in many other parts of the globe. What is also mentioned is mirror matter theory which proposes that our world of matter can even mirror an anti-matter – ‘dark matter’ - world which we can only detect through its gravitational effects on whole galaxies, stars, planets as well as down to individual microscopic particles. It begs the question: which world is more real? As this exhibition intimates: it is something which even ancient mythology considered where mirrors were also used as devices to help open up our comprehension to alternative realities – Narcissus staring at his own reflection in the pool to eventually die best serves as an apt warning to present-day, self-indulgent ‘misconstructions’ on reality. So we come to the consideration of mirrors in our modern world, reflecting not only populist political realities but also populist consumer mythologies-

The video tape arrives at a tower with a silver sphere at the top which bends out of the way of an oncoming airliner. (Bemused: being reminded of a recent video of an electrical tower skipping over the wires of two other electrical towers; with the cheeky claim this was the true cause of a state-wide blackout as at the time renewable energy was being deceptively blamed when it was a failure in the transmission of the energy source rather than the energy itself that was at blame). An aerial shot of a giant hand placing a car below it into an empty car park spot. This visual trick followed by an assortment of other video collages such as a man who is wearing a beanie who first with an apple then bounces a red ball and appearing to glide up a wall as if he is flying in defiance of Newton’s laws of gravity As the camera zooms out it is seen that this scenario is happening on a portable tv. The viewer is especially intrigued by another clip which has a man getting out of a bed parallel to the bottom of the film frame to walk into a split screen behind him. In the left half is a large alarm clock at the back of a long empty room which the man turns off and as he returns to the foreground he bends over into the other half of the split screen to turn off the portable tv to then light a cigarette and move a pawn on a chessboard. Back to more silhouettes of jet airliners bouncing off a tower (one turns into a missile after passing through a tower), to either explode into jigsaw pieces, to stop beside different towers or to fade away.

“In Shensu twenty six people a day lose their limbs in industrial accidents” I state as this video sequence suddenly gives way to Dr Who’s offsider Romana standing with a group of teenagers in jumpsuits. They are to be sacrificed to a Minotaur to save a whole world. There doesnot seem to be any escape as they are trapped in a labyrinth whose inventor has designed with moving walls to change the maze. Turning the television off. 

     Next time to turn the television on to watch the documentary Ascension with its mesmerising sympathetic portrayal of various ordinary Chinese workers in their sink or swim daily struggle to better their lives in a new capitalist global world that their political masters state will bring long lasting economic prosperity to everyone but really luxuriously benefits most of all the top-tier- 

 MANIFESTO. AGNSW. To go through four cavernous dark black wall rooms to view thirteen short videos by Julian Rosefields each with Cate Blanchett in a different central role which Cat discerned to be: a homeless man, a stockbroker, a punk, a widow, a puppet maker, an art connoisseur, a factory operator, a research scientist, a housewife, a choreographer and a school teacher. I had walked into the exhibition ‘by chance’ after exhaustively seeing a special Frida Kahlo exhibition. As it was still raining heavily outside I decided to walk around the gallery to see what else was on view. The first video with its post capitalist apocalyptic world which included two elderly women letting off rocket fireworks in a field had him intrigued; what also fascinated him was the puppet maker’s row upon row of puppets which many were of well known historical figures and celebrities of the twentieth century. After a very short prologue film with a scene of what seemed to be flames with the likes of the Communist Manifesto, Phillip Soupalt and the Dadaist Tristan Tzara being quoted…all that talk of ‘astral heights’…of having nothing to say…of everything being a contradiction…(anyway)…and…why drag anyone into someone else’s river…? The Cate Blanchett films which followed would have her quoting from manifestos written by just about every art and cultural movement of the twentieth century including many of my favourites such as the Dadaists, the Situationists and Fluxus. Towards the very end of each film Cate Blanchett’s head would fill up the whole screen to be like a modern Byzantine mechanically reciting a quote while staring directly at me; (I was always unsettled by her incantations to the point that I would often take off my hat off to pay this esteemed Australian actress due respect; I also took my hat off when Cate Blanchett as housewife prayerfully gave grace - as her family sat for a roast dinner - by rattling off Claes Odenburg’s notion of Pop Art). At first I had no idea that Cate Blanchett was stating remarks that were appropriated from earlier writings; I was genuinely impressed by the commentary which I thought truly hit the mark in regards to the modern human condition. I was very interested to find out who the contemporary author was and so was equally amazed to find out from the wall notes which I eventually read by the third film that many of the statements dealing with the growing philosophical stagnation of the West were actually from writings nearly a century old. All still relevant. It made me ponder what had been recently written that was also as potent. Nothing came to mind. Only art marketing slogans that often referenced back to past ages to disguise the cultural hollowness of this present one; which made everything that was stated verbatim from these incredible past manifestos so prophetically true. 

 To go next day to Carriageworks to enter into another black space to view four large life size screens showing an everyday life in an Iranian bazaar. The shops are in four long corridors with a well where they all intersect with a tap which people can use to obtain water. Char Soo is the name of this intersection which means four directions. It is midweek so I am the only person in the darkness: with the sounds of the market around me, watching people move from one screen to another to make me feel that the well that was in the centre was now the infinite one that is human memory; to restrict my own memory by just thinking of the other times I have recently been here:

 ‘…to see a man sing Nietzsche quotes; to see large African art installations made from throw-away-objects now recycled aesthetically which also leads viewers to consider the colonial aspect of their existence. Chance: in the vast space of the foyer a mechanized wheel of fortune looping through towers of scaffolding that rose to the roof; travelling along it pictures of babies which spectators could view a single face; when the loop stopped at the ringing of a bell to highlight the mere element of chance involved in our existence. To view as well two timers with ever changing numbers that signalled the constant births and deaths of the world’s population. To remember a Chinese artist who had placed thousands of objects from the house of his mother who was deeply grieved the passing of his husband, his father. A poignant installation as ode to a generation that had endured much hardship; to see the need to keep everything which can even be viewed as an act of defiance to the recent rise of a wasteful consumerism. Dead Heart. A play with a police four-wheel drive going over actual sand. In the old Eveleigh carriage works before any modern renovation a Thursday night budget crowd experiencing the vast Central Australian desert.

                             New Artefacts from Changing Worlds

 Although I have found some recent exhibitions overwhelmingly thought provoking I still feel a sizeable proportion of intelligent contemporary art is coming not from an art world which supports a vacuous, well established high art market but rather from global regions which in many ways are in social flux. I understand why Gregor prefers to independently exhibit as much as he can in so called non-professional spaces - such as libraries, council run galleries or bookshop-cafes - where he is able to keep his freedom which he truly desires, no matter what.

At the MCA to see a short video of the last Soviet cosmonaut who during the long time he was in space the Soviet Union itself disappeared. Learning the authorities would censor events by broadcasting Swan Lake. As it was Gregor had informed me he felt most of the new art he saw in the newly liberated Lithuania reflected a rise in open thought after the Communist straightjacket – which had restricting local cultural expression in Baltic society - had disintegrated. A catalogue of a Lithuanian artist. Darius Gircys. Anatomy of a Look. Flicking through it. Stopping at a black & white photograph of a large double-glass oval with a thick black steel border; set by a riverbank; to see what at first sight is a big single horizontal crack running through from edge to opposite edge of the oval is actually the fluctuating edge of river water that can move around in this installation.

Appearances can be deceiving. The artist considering to the possibility to be outside time for time contains the illusion of past- present-future. To see art firsthand created in the throes of inter-generational social transformation.

  A recent visit to the White Rabbit Gallery at Chippendale (which is near a plaza where a huge silver halo turns with the wind, being atop a towering pole). At this private gallery is mostly new Chinese art; some by artists-in-exile whose work could not be exhibited in China.

 A conga line of enormous life size white sculptures of Western archetypes such as Ancient Greek gods like Zeus and Poseidon, Christs - without the crosses – and the Statue of Liberty. Athena as god of war was at the very front and behind her the other figures had arms stretched out at crazy, different angles. Again I was compelled to read the wall notes by which he discovered the artist was using these figures to come up with a Western version of a typical many-limbed Buddhist deity. By looking directly from the front I finally got the point. I was reminded of Gregor’s etching of Shiva the Cricketer which was of this multi-limbed Indian goddess holding a cricket bat at the S.C.G with a row of four Indian musicians behind her. It had been done soon after India had thrashed Australia in a recent Test match. Gregor had shown it to a very bemused Master at one of his backyard barbeques which in terms of the intersection between sport and the arts I would remember the xylophone shaped as a cricket bat which one of Master’s musician friends had handmade and brought along to play. (To also appreciate a cricket bat covered in coloured desert dots placed pride of place on the living room mantel piece. Moreover, one cannot help but think that Michael’s claim that Master with his witty beer labels makes him Australia’s leading contemporary artist is certainly true). I read the Chinese artists in this exhibition were partly recognizing that contemporary art was brought to China from the West which meant also becoming aware of the fickleness of modern artistic taste; by which commercial galleries may attempt to mould, re-invent or even chase after, to echo a Warhol irony: the purpose of art is to make money. An artist proclaiming that his nation’s culture has become garbage: with a large digital print of a beautiful rural scene at sunset made up of pixels that are actually miniaturized faces that have been ‘harvested’ from the many magazines and packets that are part of the ‘new world’ industrial rubbish trashing his once beautiful traditional home region. A high thick rectangle block with rows of pale squares side-by- side each one containing different linear map contours of the world to represent together the collective memory of this planet. This particular wall produced by a Japanese artist who along with wishing to infer the rake lines of rock gardens also desired for us to consider water ripples made from deep undercurrents: the terrain of the Earth shaped just as much by the monumental fiery forces of its underworld as by the corrosive effects of wind, sun and water. Like the explosions of volcanoes our memories too may rise to the surface from subterranean depths; to always be shifting like broken ice sheets or floating like fallen leaves to affect us – both consciously and subconsciously - within the mortal confines of earthly time. To see rows of hundreds of thin blue books on blue shelves as a sort of anti-thesis to Mao’s Red Book. However, these books contain no ideology, but empty pages. To be liberally ‘filled’ with anything that comes to mind by the audience who will view them; thus allowing for a real freedom of thought. (Although, for me, maybe vacuous). If ancient gods bookended this exhibition at the beginning by the flight of stairs that have to be climbed to reach the first of two main gallery floor levels then at the other bookend of this exhibition is reached by an elevator to a top floor which contains within one large exhibition space what looks like a large actual size deflated military tank which is actually handmade from Italian leather. A wrinkled titan on the black floor with a long gun barrel impotently stretching out towards the viewer. With the wheels and tracks easily discernible it seems the rest of this seemingly crushed vehicle has been flattened by a giant. Although this large art piece was referencing the idea of ‘soft economic power’ being as intrusive as ‘hard military power’ A student exhibition photo of plastic tanks and a flower in a gun barrel comes to Cat’s mind as he cannot help but think of the Tiananmen Square ‘tank man’ who - with his shopping bag – had stood in front of a row of tanks to stop its rolling advance. He was certainly no giant, but time itself is a giant, who can overthrow all of humanity’s endeavours no matter how powerful they may appear to be. Nothing can stop the march of time, including a military that can only wreak damage on what is seen, whether it be a material object or a human being. A singular idea or the aspiration of a whole generation caneventually overcome any oppression for what is ephemeral can only gain strength from the passage of time and not be weakened until it too is eventually overtaken or built upon by another immaterial stratum of creative thinking. The role of artists and writers to help transmit ideas either of their own or of those they have been exposed too and from one form to others so as to reach new audiences so many ideas may blossom and bring change.

Horror Movie Right There On My T.V.

 LISA: ‘Cat is in today with a portable TV which has an in-built VCR. He bought it on the cheap at Cash Converters. (Yet still leaving the place giving the moneylenders a filthy look...)…I’m freezing…I’m dying…as well a a big pile of videos which he just scooped up before leaving his place…I grip this bed…life is a dream. I don’t want to wake up…he’s put on Dr Who…there he is with Leela in an underworld…(I am in my own underworld...)…both trying to sneak into the Oracle’s hideout hiding under a white sheet while sitting in a mine trolley...(I don’t bother to remind him I have seen this episode before)…Cat tells me it is just like Ulysses and his men who hid under sheep to escape from the Cyclops…(for me there is nowhere to hide)… I am told that this series is about a quest just like Jason’s…there is always the happy ending in Dr Who…I look at Cat speaking…(...seems like a dream...)…I would much prefer to be watching Augustus, there he would sit in his wheelchair at the beginning of OZ always ready to sweep away all our illusions…thrown over a wall by the police...to be left paralyzed…betrayed by his own ‘brothers’…huh, this guy with the Rafrastarian look…looking beguilely at you down the camera with his hands clasped in front of him…elbows on disused legs…using only his wits to survive in that ‘rehabilitation’ hellhole nicknamed Emerald City…(“…there’s a landscape painting by Poussin of Orpheus with his lyre charming Eurydice. With others they are in the foreground half in shadow, half in light and the viewer is left wondering if the sun will fill the whole scene with its welcoming light or will the shadow ominously advance as a foreboding sign of the tragedy that is to come. Perception leading to differing interpretation. Orpheus it is said could so hypnotize nature that the natural laws could be defied. No one could die by a snake bite when even the serpents were enthralled with his music; but it is by a snake bite that Eurydice will die. It is argued the gods themselves fated Orpheus’s eventual cruel death for they were jealous that a mortal – no matter that he was a son of Apollo and the Muse - could hold such joyful sway over the world which they deemed that only they could have ultimate control.”

“I’m listening to you Cat…yes, Greek myths...)…Augustus gave us his version of Orpheus…a beautifully sincere, love struck, supernatural musician who…yes, was ultimately dealt a pitiless end by the gods…(...my end, to be the same…no matter what anybody says…Cat was right when he yelled out death never sleeps…Cat shouting out how Cervantes was right to say that death does not even wait for us to have our final say...)…Augustus intimates the same thing as he mentions the many, varied indifferent ways the inmates will brutally die by each other’s hands without any chance of saying any last word, famous or otherwise…a hole in the wall. A reverend, although scandalized by the temptation of mammon, this prisoner was still a fervent man of faith and he now dies, slowly, holed up in between two walls, by a jilted, malicious follower. The little  devil who was cast out has sought his unholy, sly revenge. Cat was entranced, as the entombed fallen preacher clasped unto his dying breath those famous words: “…although I walk through the valley of death I shall fear no evil…” (…I suffocate…my death is evil…I will…gasp…oh God, there is the horror…).’

“Hey Lisa!” Cat cheerfully holds up a video. “We’ll have to watch this episode of Mythbusters some time! Do you know more rain lands on you when you run instead of walk? That water does stop bullets? They also show how salsa can be used to breakdown prison bars!”

                    The Forgotten Underclasses of Human History

Having gone with Gregor to see William Kentridge’s work at the Museum of Contemporary Art, then again at the AGNSW and at the large upper hall gallery in Annandale. Film loops of a world which is perfect in reverse. Rising balls always caught. Rising books caught from behind. The mistakes of life erased. Gregor especially is mesmerised. “This all reminds me of how I saw in Vilnius in a large blacked-out museum room a tightrope walker on a screen repeatedly falling off a rope between two buildings. Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring was continually playing in the background.” George Milies the first film magician. A Journey to the Moon. Giggling with Melissa when a rocket ship hits the Man in the Moon in the eye. Going to ZENO PIZZA. Surry Hills. Confessions of Zeno. A Trieste man smoking. Promising his wife to stop. Knowing the First World War is at hand. He also cannot stop the world from going up in smoke. A black hole. The centre of the world will tear itself apart. Yet living off-centre. Out of balance. Only able to look on. Or be dragged in. The centrifugal forces of history. In Kentridge. Apartheid. A.I.D.S. A coffee plunger of an executive going pass the bottom of a coffee pot to go deep down into a mine. History has subterranean stratas. Gregor snaps out of his trance. “I went to Melbourne to see a puppet piece of his so called The Return of Ulysses.” (Time to return). Subterranean histories. Unrecorded. The unnamed. All forgotten. Gregor making mention of Solyzhenitsen’s One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich at the Drummoyne poetry night. To recite desolate passages of an old man in a prison camp. (The playful absurdity of human illogic in the artistic-cultural realm whenever expressed in the political realm to no longer be humorous but deadly with the prejudicial absurdity of human persecution).

Capitalism

 ‘I, the seer, put down a copy of an academic book on unemployment. Written when the well known author still had a youthful ‘new left’ outlook of the world but who it seems has become hard right in his old age. (Yet at this moment I am not interested in his present incorrect view that the historical record of massacred Aboriginals is ‘overinflated.’. Or that one reads he thinks that the racism inherent in the White Australia Policy is also also ‘overestimated’ and that the Stolen Generations is ‘mythical’…no, his present dismal views are irrelevant to me right now as I am more keen to ask myself ask a more general question: how over a lifetime we can change so inversely what we see as true…? Yet, in a negative sense: why is it there are those who have a sympathetic view of their fellows in their youth but become so horribly self-righteous in later years; who take on board as correct what they had previously attacked as correctly odious? Still, it is a passing inquiry in my mind as I really can only think of the unemployed man I had seen today; who was obviously destitute haggling with a bus driver to be allowed on for free. To pick up another academic book. The Body In Late-Capitalist U.S.A. ‘Capital needs our body needs satisfied for its profit. Our bodies are our altars and our vices. Our shopping malls are our churches and our prisons; they are our pop art museums and our modern air-conditioned, brightly lit mausoleums; shopping pathways are our version of the ancient labyrinth. Our eternal souls are enslaved by a use-by-date society. It mass-produces throwaway objects to keep up an arbitrary eternal present. Time and decay are necessary to inspire our replace-all-thingsmotivation.’

“Hold onto your old car. The old timer NRMA man with the gravelly voice had implored to Michael. “It’s well built and made to last. Not like today’s cars. It’s why they’re so cheap.”

‘We may learn how to have unthinking happiness. In the cocooned modernity of our sprawling silent suburbs is the info-entertainment waiting for us. The products with their inbuilt design faults to make them only last a few years wait to be exposed on the morning shows appealing toour insatiable material desire to beautify our burgeoning domestic properties for investment resales.’ I delicately hold a large protruding handle from a small striped 1950s Japanese teapot. Pouring a cup of freshly brewed green tea. To think of TV hosts such as Kerri-Anne and Bert Newton with their toothpaste smiles.

‘A world filled with flattering deception; with everyone wanting to attract people to follow them so they can become a brand name or even a brand company or newspaper so as to attract the advertising dollar in a vain search for economic freedom. Smile. Never display human vulnerability. Or disappointment. Or frustration. Or worse of all, human fear. A disguised existential crisis on every digital screen. Mortal. Happiness. Desired. Out of reach. In reach. Out of reach. In reach. Out of-

“We must go on!” I wildly exclaim, yet sardonically.

Cosmic Doubt

  To look up to the heavens to perceive of large unseen elements in the cosmic darkness which through their gravitational pull influence the movements of the stars. Any stillness we visibly see in all this dark expanse is an illusion; a sleight of an invisible hand, a mental trick from the mind of God. All is in motion. Everything following various courses that are way beyond our previously ordered conceptions of the cosmos. The uncertainty of a fixed universe first hinted at by Tycho Brahe’s observation on November 11, 1572 of a supernova brightly collapsing during its death throes; the explosions of a dying star unsettling Aristotle’s and Ptolemy’s view of an unchanging, symmetrical cosmic system with planets and stars revolving in perfect circles within a series of crystal spheres with the Earth at the center.

Tycho’s observations of the Great Comet of 1577 were to prove comets do not occur in the Earth’s atmosphere and indeed are heavenly objects; ‘Tycho’s comet’ which, like all comets, to have a cosmic tail that is millions of kilometres long to smash through the invisible membranes of the Solar System. Yet a lack of any friction, of no crystal pieces showering the Earth, would suggest that there is only empty space, to conclude the ancient conception of the Universe is only an apparition; to eventually have by way of the controversial discoveries of Copernicus and Galileo to have humanity displaced from the centre by the Sun. Tycho Brahe to contrive his own mental distortion with a solar system with the planets revolving around the Sun but it in turn still orbits the Earth. (As if the physical truth for Tycho Brahe remains unpalatable. A truth envisaged long ago by ancients such as Aristarchus of Samos who in 280 BC perceived the Sun as being with the stars with the Earth travelling around it on a course that resembled an ‘oblique circle’). The Sun the Holy of Holies a fiery sanctuary that sustains all life. Having light travelling across the stellar expanse to Earth to be involved in an essential living process which converts its luminous energy into chemical energy. A food web. A cosmic web. The Sun a cosmic seed not in empty space but in a ‘soil mass’ of dark matter which suffuses through the Universe connecting it all together, to give it body, but for us to envisage it as without shape and without end. No geometry.

Cosmic material. Biological material. Of the same matter. Robert Hooke. The inventor of the compound microscope in the sixteenth century. Peering at honeycombed pores of plant cells to think of monastery cells. Yes, to be a monk in solitude meditating on the interconnected singularity and unity of everything in the Creation. Everything apart and together. Everything was understood as well ordered with a solar system of celestial spheres but with the revelatory understanding of a heliocentric solar system there also comes with the possibilities of new knowledge, new doubt in a universe less able to be readily neatly systemized to suit a human predilection for definable order. Ken Keysey’s psychedelic bus who with his prankster friends in 1964 went across the United States from L.A. to New York with Neal Cassady driving. To stay encouraged over any breakdowns the bus was named Further which was painted on the front. “FURTHER! That’s the only place all of us on this cuckoo’s nest called Earth on this road called the Universe can go! Any setback, any uncertainty can only get us to keep on going!” Looking at the stars.“Forever!”

                                          Human Perception

I rub my temple. ‘Human inquiry as a mental trick. Deception. Prejudice. Are mental tricks. Desire can succumb over what we know is the better good, as if we are ignorant, the overwhelming clutter that is knowledge accumulating to a point that we can no longer absorb it, to thus take in simpler explanations which only leads to hiding what is Truth, instead of revealing it.’

“Two heads are better than one!”

To fiddle with a small transistor. To hear a human finger has been allegedly found in a hamburger. ‘What did Gregor see in Papua New Guinea? A still-born two headed village baby who had died downstream from where there had been mining. Human ‘progress’ at such a human cost…dismembered minds…so…at the end…we will believe that the cost of peace is war.’ To tinker with a dog whistle. ‘The Reverend Billy Graham who allowed himself for a time to be a godly guide to a criminal of human history who thuggishly manipulated democracy so that God would be on the right side for the pursuit of Mammon. Mr. Nixon. The delay of the Paris Peace until you were elected. Vietnam. Cambodia. Watergate. These were your obvious crimes. Less remembered is your large election handout from a fast food corporation in exchange for lowering the lowest pay scales…’ (although there are those who talk about how Nixon thought of the possibility of a universal basic income yet to think while Agent Orange was sprawled over Vietnamese jungles he would progressively initiate the Environmental Protective Agency for the United States). 

“I have heard it mentioned that if we have not had the experience of being slaves then we will never know what it is to experience liberty.” A sardonic laugh. Trawling with both hands through a dusty shoebox filled with old cassettes. The selected tape is placed into the cassette deck. The ‘prophet’ speaks.

“The low-labour-cost-fast-food-virus incubated in southern California in hundreds of fast-food outlets mutate like malaria in the bloodstream at a rate of two thousand extra outlets a year throughout the world. At the present rate there are thirty thousand such fast food places on the planet. It is followed by mutations selling fast food coffee, chicken and so forth. Michael once took me to a fast food chicken place near his place where there was a by-gone practice of using a hand pulley to pull the drive-in meal down a small shaft. Michael would pull the money up on the same tray and then wait for his change. An antique practice for an antique regime. The low cost-low quality virus spreads throughout supermarket chains and its clones, devouring the small businesses of towns; planting themselves like castles on the outskirts of population centres to suck these local economies dry. Leading to the end of small time hardware stores. Of corner shops. Human leeches. Only resisted by the likes of small Italian towns who refuse to have supermarkets and fast food stores so small local businesses can still thrive. In Newtown where the one corporate fast food place had to close down.

CHEAPER EVERYDAY PRICES!

So are the daily wages. MADE IN CHINA!”

I go over to my fifties hand operated juicer to crush a few oranges. Take note of a TV Soap magazine cover with Ridge and Brooke from the Bold and the Beautiful dressed in exotic Mayan outfits exchanging wedding vows in a jungle. “Oh Taylor! You were such a wise, compassionate wife to Ridge! Why did Sheila have to shoot you! Accursed madness!”

‘Tayorlism as typified from the mass production and mass consumption of the Model T- Ford to the hamburger may have pleased Plato who would probably see the modern corporation as an exemplary model of his fascist Republic ideal. As to the low wages for all those thousands of teenagers who feel like they are smiling with the proverbial loaded pistol pressed into their backs it would be rationalized as a logical extension of his ‘pragmatic policy of infanticide’ which also seems to be so often glossed over as a ‘minor aberration’ by many of Plato’s modern-day apologists.’

A short wave radio is tapped.

‘…we round off the news with a story about a grandmother who had her thirty year old Holden Monaro stolen It was finally found but trashed…’

‘There is no justice…we store up our faith only in what we want to believe - much like misunderstanding or mistranslating many of the statements made by the Egyptians to Solon regarding the whereabouts of Atlantis. We assume it existed somewhere beyond the Straits of Gibraltar towards the Americas rather than in the more probable vicinity of Gallipoli. Yet, we subconsciously believe that our modern world is Atlantis. Humanity thrives on wishful thinking. In our memory is incorporated the suggestion of situations which did not really occur but become as vivid as the recorded memory of real events; yet as we enter towards a state of fatigue – not only as individuals but as a whole civilization - our minds are kidnapped by hallucinations that seem as real as this world appears as a fantasy.’

“I WAS KIDNAPPED BY ALIENS!”

‘I met two scriptwriters in a Cuban restaurant in L.A. who said they would scribe about a spaceship powered by metaphors.’

I pour the orange juice into a glass.

‘While on ‘the road to nowhere’ we often diverge onto the byway of Emmaus to receive visitations from people we do not recognize until they are gone…we stay mutually connected through common memory…a unity that encompasses everything…inescapable…like the information strips that run along the bottom of every news bulletin, that our eyes cannot avoid…that also keeps our individual consciousness automatically in tune to ever new everyday distracting trivia – or horror.’

                   ‘STEPPENCAT’S’ MAGICAL DREAM THEATRE

   (…to see one’s reality as a third person…there was that third person on that long ago ancient road- 

  A silkscreen poster of Tiny Tim with his ukulele is viewed by (Cat). “TIPTOE THROUGH THE TULIPS PERSEPHONE!”

“It was Kurt Vonnegut who thought future generations would view television as equivalent to the lead water pipes that made the Romans go insane-

(Cat) views the television. ‘My flat can be a den of bedlam but it remains pure and honest. Outside there is only a false world that tries to profit by giving meaning to itself when there is none. In a gallery in Darlinghurst I saw these amateurish pictures, all over- priced, but, the owner who - I still clearly remember with his pencil thin moustache and navy blue and white pin striped trousers - coyly saying to me lots of ‘human traffic’ constantly walks past his shop. “Having a unique picture on the wall can enhance the look of any dwelling to increase the value of the property. If you do 

____________________________________________________________________________

* (  ) for the mind occasionally to replace the ‘first person’ I with the ‘third person’ Cat.

pictures bring them in.” A little pimp. A little Judas! To cynically insult the intellect! Yes! To try to convince me the bad decorative art on tawdry display was at all meaningful! To have human values prostituted as a selling point! Which even happens at the highest end of the art market!’ (Cat) suddenly slams the coffee table with his fist. “Nothing but pretence. All is falsehood. We live in the Great Judas!” (Cat) goes to a fan turns it on and yells into it to imitate a Dalek voice. “E-X-T-E-R-M-I-N-A-T-E I-T!” Clicks the fan off. “Oh righteous rage!” A far away look. “RAGE! RAGE! Oh Johnny O’Keefe! RAGE!” To suddenly think of his Dalek voice relaxation tape. Laughs. To be a little calm. ‘To be an exile who seeks for what is true. Camus is right to consider those who cannot identify with the absurdist world around them are strangers in their own land. To live not of this world. To understand only one’s self. Thus to be misunderstood. To even arouse an envious hostility. Yes, to live as an outcast, as if in exile.’ To eye the flat. Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf. ‘My place of exile from this society is my domain, this sanctuary. To resist. To revolt. Against the shallowness. To perceptively discover on my own terms, with me personally responsible, with common sense, the exquisite purity of life. To acutely experience Life.’ The eyes now sight a laminex cartoon wall plaque of a Latin woman wearing fruit covered head gear like a Copacabana dancer. A comic bubble beside her shows what she is thinking: COME ON! SPIN ME A 7!

“Yes!” sardonically laughs (Cat). “Spin me a seven! God’s perfect number!” A whiskey is sculled.

“The flipper!” giggles a drunk Michael. He has stood up to childishly throw a small grey plastic brain as if spinning a cricket ball. “Ritchie! Warnie! McGill! O’Keefe! Ahmed! Come in spinner!”

(Cat) calls this spongy toy which fits perfectly into a human palm ‘the brain of Morbius’. ‘Morbius the renegade Time Lord who wanted to directly interfere with history.  Defeated. Destroyed. His brain saved by a crazed scientist Solon who worked at  restoring the brain of Morbius into a new body. Morbius had promised to reveal the secrets of immortality to those who would help him in his rebellion; to obtain eternal life would be motivation enough to restore an avenging Morbius. A monstrous being made from many body parts - including a large claw - certainly this Dr Who storyline echoes Frankenstein. Yet, I see other reverberations.’ [For in (Cat)’s mind everything in what is the apparent superficial world of popular culture is a populist Trojan Horse that can contain historical residues significant for humankind. After all, an archaeologist will dig deep into a supposed barren desert, to discover under such a dry surface hidden jewels of knowledge. For (Cat) the human mind is worthy of equivalent investigation. A mind shaped by history, knowledge, culture as well as by selfishness, ignorance and idiocy. Ads for weight loss programs intermingled with articles on human tragedy]. ‘I was taken aback by the name Solon. After all, Solon was an Athenian reformer whose laws would prove to be the precursor to the introduction of democracy for the citizenry. Yet here was Solon the mad scientist making a hideous creature in a Faustian pursuit for physical immortality. Absurd. Is life truly just a Samuel Beckett play…? To go to A then to B back to A then back to B and then…finally, at last…to nothing? It was Albert Camus who spoke of human absurdity. Or rather of a human inability to face up to the fact that this beautiful Universe is absurd. For what was the real point of it all when everything would eventually dissolve? When all that life aimed towards was for it to end? Yes, there was regeneration in the creation of duplicated life forms but for each individual specimen there was only one Alpha and Omega. An infinite birth followed eventually by a finite death. A human physical survey whose end was always denied. Life can go on. More sunny days. Yet there would then be an interminable eternal blank. Silence. Nothing. Not even the experience of nothing. Unless one believed in God. Heaven. Hell. Camus did not believe. Did he regret this? It does not matter. As he is now nothing. Regret. Does Sisyphus regret his defiance of the gods? Who yearned so much to continue enjoying life’s delights that he refused to head back to the Underworld until he was divinely forced too? He who even sought to steal the secrets of the gods? Who all cursed him with a rock for all the ages? That he still lifts up. That he sees still roll down. He would have had once chained Death? Camus is right to call him a hero of the absurd. Who forever toils achieving nothing. Straining. Always. As we strain to also finally arrive at nothing. Yet must meaninglessness lead to madness? No. Madness is found in those who do not recognize a meaningless world. Who conjure illusions. Sisyphus would surely have no regrets for seeking only after life. His own decision. The gods have decided their retribution upon him. How can Sisyphus regret what he cannot control? How can we regret that we will die? When we cannot even stop to age? All that we can control is to choose how to live. It is better to live without mirages. (Although as Zorba once inferred, it is better for people to be happy with their illusions rather than not be happy at all). To embrace everything. To not live for a heaven that may not even exist but live for a heaven we can have in this life. Life is too short so lets experience it to the full recognizing that the only ‘eternal maxim’ which we should abide by is justice. If there is a God. So be it. Yet any Creator who we may entertain to be both good and just would only agree with a humanity that strives for what would be common aims. Life. Love. Peace. Equality. A Universal Good. The paradox being that by being less evasive about death we would be encouraged to enhance our inner lives once our basic material needs had been satisfied. True quality of life would see a balance between the needs of both body and mind to seek out an ultimate mature humanness. To be truly spiritual. To even see nature as a guide to new revelation.’ [(Cat) then briefly thinks on another tangent as he considers the humble gekko whose attributes have inspired new technologies. To even understand that from the Ancients to the Moderns the Laws of Nature are seen as the Mathematics of God)]. ‘As it is in our overtly material world, which can demean human nature, culture is seen as a second-rate aim. A luxury or a wasteful diversion, for the economic rationalist (to whom bread is all) only sees any value of the human creative spirit when it serves the  distractive role of circus. (Culture to only have value if there is money in it. Aesthetics. Meaning. Morality. Beauty. Of no consequence. Nature only to really conceptually valuable when humanly useful as a source of metaphors to seductively ‘describe’ destructive economic behavior: as if this ephemeral human concept that is an ‘economy’ is like a growing plant that needs to be watered; if only this was truly the case for the irrationality of any modern day industrial economy shows that the earth’s water is often left contaminated, while plants with no economic value can simply die; with farmland to be laid to waste by fracking; to have whole rainforests insanely acquire ‘economic value’ by being ripped down; the metaphor that an economy is a machine is truer although this ‘machine’ is unthinking, which only crushes; it really has no controlling mechanism (such as levers) - as implied – as if it can be consciously manipulated by some rational means for human benefit; truly an ‘economy’ is no ecosystem or well-designed machine but merely a flawed abstract that is publicly allowed to run amok in people’s minds so those with the most power can utilize it for themselves to greedily obtain ever greater material gains; yes, human monsters to be ever dominant over victimized others who lose ever more their rightful ability to control their own lives. Human control is only a ‘right’ for the elites who ideologically will not waver in their ironclad ‘freedom’ to be privileged. Yes. Human beings as predators who must be outmaneuvered; such is the course of history). Television is entertainment. Television is advertisements. Television exists to make money. Television is mind control. Television is education. Television is news. Television is many things. Yet any good it serves is to only pay lip service to the foul mouth of Moloch who desires most of all to consume our souls. It does not matter if we can enjoy ourselves and even learn a little along the way with the manufactured sense of freedom Moloch uses to deceive us. (Moloch does not even mind if the masses openly read and debate something as subversive as a book like 1984 because this all consuming god knows a humanity so conditioned to his material whims will even make our full awareness of Big Brother a celebrity consumer product. This is the new passive ‘freespeak’). Pandora’s Box. That television set of the gods. Pandora should have  quelled her natural human curiosity and left this box well alone. Instead we have suffered the ‘entertainments’ of the gods since the beginning of human history. The likes of Nietzsche and Camus consider the cruellest trouble to be divinely gifted to humanity is hope; that somehow we can bear all by believing that beyond our immediate comprehension a rewarding future awaits after we have survived the sufferings being inflicted on us in the present; yet only to ultimately discover there is no happy future – only oblivion. A finality of despair. The gods laugh at us. Divine mockery. (Best now to change the television channel away from nihilist philosophy over to home renovation). Human history is filled with the struggles initiated in the name of hope to only end in totalitarianism. The mass murders justified as very much needed to bring on the coming utopia which is to be for the good of all. (Yes, I have been reading The Rebel by Camus). The human paradise that is to come is for those who rightly toe the party line. The Party whose ideological disposition maybe along any point (most probably extreme) along the usual political spectrum whose leaders care above all else to ‘take care’ of those they populously proclaim to serve. With blood and iron. With retribution. (The threats must be dealt with harshly). So with real power always kept to the few in the name of equality for all. Thus there is Solon dismally making his monster Morbius in the name of life. A blasphemy. (All is blasphemy). Morbius. A name the scriptwriters derived from Forbidden Planet. Dr Morbius in his utilization of alien planetary knowledge summons up a murderous invisible force which is entwined with his own subconscious id. (It seems such Cold War sci-fi points out any road to a thermonuclear hell may well be filled with many good intentions from scientists.  Although the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Nagasaki with the callous ‘good intention’ to avert a Soviet war on Japan). Magic. It is what came before empirical science. (That which is unknown is a mystery. To be both revered and feared. Death the greatest unknown. Religion, alchemy as magic over the mind. Priests and alchemists as magicians). Before the forbidden planet was the forbidden island. Prospero. Ariel. Caliban. The human mind a magical tempest. We have to learn and relearn two wrongs do not make a right. To betray justice in the process of seemingly righting a grievance leads only to further tyranny. We must come to our senses as the Duke of Milan did to discover that only by showing forgiveness can we be truly saved. (To be a humane magician to raise the human ego above individual human foolishness to adhere ever upwards to mutual human compassion. Selflessness. Altruism). Cat suddenly takes off a vinyl 45 rpm single. Paint It Blue by Living With Robert so as to put on some Led Zeppelin. ‘Scriptwriters are also magicians. A film historian has mentioned how in the 1946 film Stairway to Heaven which deals with a WWII pilot played by David Niven - who hovers between life and death awaiting divine judgment as to his fate – whether he will live or die – is now backed by neurological science. It seems plausible that human consciousness may exist beyond death). “I will knock on heaven’s door!” He shouts. A glazed stare. Thoughts typically tumbling. ‘I once helped a fifty something Afro-American woman carry a door through Kings Cross which she was going to use as a table at her gallery opening. There was a real sense of dignity about this woman. I met her out of the blue on the street. It was one of the many inexplicable, strange unexplained moments of my bizarre existence like seeing a bearded woman walking down King Street, she was wearing an old blue singlet and King Gee workers grey shorts and I wondered even then what would some intrusive Judas say to her? Or to the one-legged elderly man in Glebe who with his cane is always cursing and lashing out at the world? We are all Judases! Although The Bold & the Beautiful is to be applauded for revealing Myra as Myron!’

[FF]

‘We have the innovative spirit of Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Show coming to Parramatta Goal.’

“Hey Cat put on some Cruel Sea next!” implores Michael who is still in a cheerful, hysterical mood.

(Cat) just starts to absurdly sing how fools can fly, how water can be made by dreams, and that clouds are made of the sky.

“Hey Cat you going crazy in your mind.?” caustically interrupts Lisa paraphrasing some Deborah Conway lyrics with a soft, chilling voice. “When you sober up will you miss me...?”

(Cat) gazes at the forlorn female figure stretched out on the sofa. “That ditty is by Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentlemen. Very good cabaret. You’d like to see them. They have a Rubber Man who can fold his body and limbs like Gumby.”

“Hey Cat!” continues Michael. “What you’re singing reminds me of that gypsy movie Black Cat White Cat or do I mean Underground!” Laughter. “Life’s a black market! There’s no rebels with any real causes these days! It’s all ego! It’s all the id! That’s who you are Cat! The Wizard of Id!”

                                                  The Good Thief

The top of another bottle of Jack Daniels is unscrewed. This prophet sculls his whiskey. ‘I must hope Lisa will ascend to heaven like Dan Cooper. The ‘good thief’ who hijacked  a Northwest Boeing 727 in 1971. He had $200,000 strapped to his waist when he parachuted over Ariel, Washington State. Cooper has never been seen since.’

The shot glass is slammed onto the coffee table.

‘Four parachutes he asked for! The FBI thought this was so he wouldn’t get a dud one yet I know the other three weren’t for any crew members but for the Father, Son and Holy Spirit!’

“WARNING! WARNING! DANGER APPROACHING!”

 Reading how in the early 50s there were congressional hearings looking at a possible link between comic books and juvenile delinquency. Pressing the remote. A LOST IN SPACE re-run. Viewing the robot. A flashing head. Claws out. “Warning: this century already contains too many graphic images!” Another sci-fi. Another damned state of mind. “THEM! I had seen THEM!”

“Let us go then to the Burning Man Festival in the Nevada desert. To talk of Last Judgements at the Golden Calf Café!” I pant. ‘A towering glowing green ant almost touching the ceiling in the Haymarket gallery. The giant ant is made of low emission nuclear beads. It strikingly denotes a monstrous mutation of nature brought on by the disturbances of the natural order which we inflict on it. I think of Where the Green Ants Dream by Werner Herzog that is set in the Australian desert. We mine out the earth’s soul. We also risk destroying ourselves…Jesus when he wandered in the desert was not tempted to take up the offer of riches offered to him…I see images of unnatural disasters…dying worlds…massacres…a photo by Rosemary Laing of black dolls lying on the bottom of a mining crater-”

“Unholy Riches!”

‘On the North Island of New Zealand was a longhaired, bearded Californian, he was the remaining member of a commune that had ascertained that in a cusp between two ranges it would survive any nuclear cloud that enveloped the world. New Zealand was seen as the end of the world where it was hoped over which such a deadly global pall would have dissipated…his hexagonal house was self-sufficient for energy, he wore sheepskins, grew and tended his own food, tobacco and animals. He also had bow and arrows. Yes, when the killer ants arrive from L.A this modern day John the Baptist will be ready…the old man in Kurowasa’s What the Birds Knew which was screened at the gallery…living in fear of an imminent nuclear holocaust…wanting to go to Brazil to escape the coming tragedy…to take his family…yet he was locked up in the asylum…the lunatics that was his family…that is all of us in modern society…living with the bomb as if such a life is normal… this one sane man unjustly driven to madness…staring up at a blazing sun shining through his window…a furnace ball of light….believing it to be a new world for him to be sent too…joy in escaping this earthly craziness…a traditional Chinese landscape at the White Rabbit Gallery painted on top of a light box hanging on a wall. A modern cityscape with moving trains and cars is amidst the mountains and clouds. A zeppelin floats in the sky. It explodes. Then disappears. Leaving everything as before…the catastrophe is ignored…the artist perhaps is signalling much like the certain coming ecological catastrophe is conveniently being presently brushed out daily from all human awareness…the Sun to be wholly eclipsed by a coal darkness…we are sleepwalkers. An installation with ink passing under eight separate wired shopping trolley wheels representing the eight Taoist - seemingly drunken - Immortals who defeated their enemies conceptually connected together by all leaving black circular marks on the one large white piece of paper asking the question who is the creator: the maker of the robots or the robots themselves?’

“The Spartans fought the Immortals!” (I still pant). ‘Donny Darko…your ‘imaginary’ Frank the demon rabbit is the darkness…oh for the innocence of Jimmy Stewart’s Harvey the invisible rabbit! Beasts of this world brought on by our insane disturbances of the natural order! Atomized ants attack L.A!” I go over this pile of videos. Women of the Sun on the top followed by the Mr. Hell Show. Lifts it up to see what else is below. “Aaagh! First Men In The Moon! They discovered giant ants on our lunar neighbour!” I throw this 1964 film which is based on a H.G.Wells story at one of his many piles of books that are on the floor. “Ants have perfected the fascist society!” To rummage through the collapsed literary tower which had at the top A Land Unknown: Hell's Dominion. To spot two economic books by the same author who despite the best of intentions in political terms may have skewed his way. I maddeningly flick through both books. Reads one sentence in particular. “Yes! It was Nietzsche who inferred that what we think is true is merely an illusion reflected onto us by those who have power! We are mesmerized! We stay powerless!” (Yes, to still fear that a minotaur to globally envelop the world in which the weakest will undeservedly suffer. Yet one must also think of that other refrain by Nietzsche who warned that one may become the monster which they fight against, to be found looking into the abyss to only have the abyss look into you…). I throw both volumes onto the floor. From where I stand I cast my eyes, beyond neon signs, onto a distant white circle in the night sky. “Neo-libs with their free-market profit-take- all ‘anti-ethos’ white ant civilization! The godless forever burning alive in cubes in hell! A nuclear mutated dinosaur destroys Tokyo! We are the greatest beast! Destroying this whole world! GODZILLA save us from ourselves! Deliver us from Hell!” A wild look. “Time is memory!” Hovering back to the window. ‘Deliver Lisa…’

(eternal return)

    “Abysses…”

American Beauty 

(With a Cold War sheen)*

 ‘I’m going insane. Like the photographer Don McCullum thought he was going insane when he saw the grey brains of men. Hanging out. Of their skulls. Who saw the mashed bodies of men. Trampled over by tanks. Who saw the madness in the shell shocked soldiers. In the weeping civilians. In the elderly. In the children. In the women. In every male. Acute. Terror. As clear as hell could be on a cloudless, blue day. A blue as vivid as the Coyacatan electric blue painted on the sacrificial warrior victims who had their hearts cut out. On top of Maya pyramids. Bodies rolling down. Without heads. Without hands. Without feet. Headless.  Torsos.  The  Eye  of  Providence  looking  upon  them. That pyramid 

_________________________________________________________________

*Perhaps one way to describe this particularly lengthy meditation is to view it as a probing musing by Cat on the more tempestuous activities of this ‘great beauty’ mainly dwelling on that especially amoral two-way polarizing post-war period known as the Cold War while also making a few cursory references to its fragmented multilateral aftermath including both historical and reputational legacies which to those most critical has had to major extent quite a pejorative semblance…this ‘serpent’ with various skins always shedding to look at one particular skin covering while always slithering by any means towards the high ground where it can globally have the best advantages and which from its point of view (one supposes) where it can also as well have the best defences…  

encased eye in the sky. On the American dollar. Which sees all. Which guides all. Which brings destiny to all. Reigning madness. On us all. Iweep. Inside myself. My heart. My mind. Weeps. Lamentations outsourced from the New World to all of us. To the whole globe. The Battle of Hue. Don McCullum was photographing. The insanity. The violence. The barbarity. All the sacrifice. Which would come to nothing. For everyone. There is never any victory. Only survival. Only relief. To still be alive. Even with the nightmares. Waking. In fright. The screaming. The cold sweats. The sleepless nights. The torturing. Of human souls. In wars. In hells on earth. Manufactured. With precision. Howls. Scientifically. Produced. Bodies. Infiltrated. With pain. Yet left unmarked. A macabre conjuring trick. In secret rooms. The intelligence techniques of madmen on the sane. Learned from human beasts. In the name of democracy. To end democracy. Unsavoury. Deceit. America you Siren. Your false beauty leading all of us astray. Those Ancient Greeks unwittingly predicted you thousands of years ahead of your time. Hollywood’s mainstream studios manufacturing your Siren songs; entwined with all those glamorous visuals for a whole world to see, to be enticed to take in, on a subliminal level, your diabolical messages. We are constantly distracted from the bitter reality that truly exists for many because of your sleight of hand global trickery. Yes, you are a conjurer of mass misery like every other privileged power. 

Noble laureate playwright Harold Pinter made it so clear to anyone who would listen to his Nobel Literature Prize speech. Remarking how the human rights crimes of so many others are advertised so clearly while your inhumanities are only mentioned in the media’s small print. In the contract that history has feebly devised with truth, your devious nature is only highlighted in the edit margins; for it to often be the case that individual investigative reporting being involved to finally reposition any atrocious act towards the centre. (My Lai. Comes to mind). Yet, even then to be officially portrayed as ‘isolated’ incidents not truly symptomatic of any underlying widespread moral degradation.  (Abu Ghraib. Comes to mind). To inevitably magnify respective widespread apocalyptic hells that cannot be hidden from public view. (Along with the glaring examples of Vietnam and Iraq already elicited from one’s generalist knowledge there is also Afghanistan from recent times which despite all your well publicized positive rhetoric specifically in regards to women’s education there is also the clandestine ‘kill or capture’ night attacks with you allying with abusive local paramilitary forces targeting so called enemy suspects in rural villages but often killing innocents would nightmarishly become a military norm - as if any apparent decline to still commit to a universal moral ethos could also be hidden; to thus, while also maintaining a corrupt governance, predictably help to fully erode any previous public goodwill, whether that be in Afghanistan or the West, for any ongoing ‘‘rehabilitative’ foreign military ‘defence’ presence which had been aroused immediately after the striking terror of ‘9/11’. 

 At My Lai there would be that U.S. three-person observation helicopter crew who once they horrifyingly realised what was happening below them would descend to escort Vietnamese villagers to safety as well as do all they could to stop the massacre including training their own guns onto murderous U.S. troops. 

While Vietnam was seen as an unjust war with U.S. involvement there was in what has been commonly viewed as a war which the U.S. was justly involved another U.S. airman Howard Zinn who became critical of his country when, as a WWII bombardier, he found himself on a U.S. air raid over a French ancient city whose ultimate strategic value, as it turned out, was to help the promotion chances of those who had ordered this unnecessary bombing; (an aerial killing of mostly innocents as if to be deliberately echoed in Catch-22 when a self-seeking Colonel Cathcart wanted an innocent defenceless village bombed so as to have the best chance of having photographs of perfect bomb patterns in order to elevate his chance of becoming a general. An order Yossarian’s bombardier made sure was not carried out). One cannot help but think of such a questioning war veteran come maverick intellectual as Howard Zinn who would after World War Two in the Cold War and beyond until his death (in 2010) work to magnify as well as expose the way you framed your interventions in the affairs of many countries as the ‘spreading of democracy’. A readily recycled headline which would actually be seen by many as ‘a bright shining lie.’ To steal the title of Neil Sheehan’s book about his maverick U.S. advisor friend John Paul Vann and the debacle that was Vietnam. It was Gregor who drew this account to my attention when he told me of going on the back of a motor scooter in the Mekong Delta down narrow dirt back roads to the site of the first full scale conventional battle won by the Vietcong against the AVRN. The scooter was driven by an elderly silver haired short stocky Vietnamese man who Gregor simply remembers as ‘the Colonel.’ “So you are an Australian? To be safe we will tell the villagers that you are Swedish. A neutral. That way no hostility. This village strongly supported the VC. Many bad things happened to them from the Americans and their allies...” After reading Neil Sheehan’s book Gregor was keen that while he was travelling through Vietnam that he go to Ap Bac where U.S. helicopters had also been shot down wholesale for the first time. Gregor visited a memorial to the Vietcong who had fallen on that day way back on January 2, 1963 to then meet many of the villagers who turned out in a small village square to greet the Colonel. A grand man. Regal. He cheerfully spoke to them. Offering small gifts. A little ‘hearts and minds’ victory which included telling those present how Gregor had come from far away Sweden to honour those who had fought against the U.S. backed Diem. Smiles all round. Gregor acutely aware that although so many years had passed there was still a strong, very sad historical undercurrent of the enormous human pain that had resulted from this massive war against the great America. Of how Australia was complicit to this horror. Of how these smiling peasants could still not bring themselves to ‘forget’ this long imperial inspired nightmare nor ‘forgive’ those who mercilessly perpetrated it. “Sweden.” Gregor had mused to me. “Like youCat, all I knew about Sweden was Wallender, IKEA, The Seven Deadly Sins by Ingmar Bergman, Ingrid Bergman starring in Casablanca and ABBA winning Eurovision. With that said, when I was in Nicaragua the recent assassination of Sweden’s PM Olaf Palme was blamed by some Nicaraguans on the Americans because of his strong support of the Sandinista cause but the Swedish police suspect it was a local Swedish man who killed him. Not the Stockholm Syndrome but the Lee Harvey Oswald syndrome…”.

Yet. I must try to be fair. For I also became aware of how the Great America was not only a nation capable of enormous exploitation but was also capable of great forgiveness. 

 ‘Who in the righteous name of God, in the name of fighting that Great Satan the Soviet Union, who, it was supposed, was spreading its unholy tentacles to many regions where the U.S. already had enormous influence, the U.S. could casually forgive the vile likes of Klaus Barbie the S.S. Butcher of Lyons. A human beast who zealously sent over forty Jewish children to Auschwitz, who personally tortured men, women and children and who was ultimately responsible for the deaths of many thousands including the revered resistance leader Jean Moulin. Yet what did Barbie’s personal barbarism really matter when he could be used in a new righteous war against the godless? After all, as the Great America would argue: didn’t the French Resistance have in its ranks a helluva lot of Reds? The United States in its magnanimity would generously offer Barbie and thousands of other Nazis the possibility of redemption not on any road to Damascus but on a boat ride to Rio to do Washington’s bidding, or for some a very discreet straight through Do Not Go To Jail entry to the free ways of the land of Monopoly and Thanksgiving turkey. (A strange love indeed). The good Lord said we will know his followers by their fruits and ultimately through his counter-insurgent expertise Barbie would deliver for the Americans Che Guevara’s corpse on a Bolivian slab. Von Braun’s V2 expertise - which involved the use of slave labour in the construction of Nazi launch sites - would deliver the Apollo landing on the moon, while the enhanced interrogation techniques of the Gestapo would deliver the same ‘non-evidence’ torture program for the CIA in Iraq’s Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. (Strange fruit indeed). Thus it was ironically talked about by critics of all the ‘blessings’ the U.S. had bestowed upon the free peoples of the world such as what Gregor had witnessed inHonduras when he saw U.S. aid first hand by way of a platoon of Honduran soldiers in well pressed clean uniforms with shiny U.S. helmets and M16 automatic rifles uniformly marching pass male campesinos desperately scratching to find some seeds in the dry soil on the side of a dusty road. To see Tegucigalpa blessed not only with a global high homicide rate but also with far too many Protestant bookshops by which the good religious people of Honduras could learn about a smiling fundamentalist right-wing Jesus that theologically well suited U.S. strategic social and political interests. The magnanimous blessing of the School of Americas at Fort Bragg where Latin America’s military officers – including those who would become future dictators - could rigorously learn counter-insurgency and torture techniques thoughtfully laid out in portable manuals that would help them to properly ‘defend’ their submissive countries from any internal communist threat. Mad eyed Rios Montt would prove to be very efficient in establishing strategic hamlets in Guatemala as he proceeded with committing genocide on the Maya. While the Atcatal Battalion would, after a recent visit to Fort Bragg assassinate six Jesuit priests in San Salvador as well as a housekeeper and her daughter who had witnessed these murders. (A massacre in the free world which had occurred only a few days after the smashing down of the Berlin Wall). Alas, was it not forewarned in Revelations that the Anti-Christ would be disguised as an Angel of Light? Thus from the U.S. point of view: what better guise could there be than liberation theology which encourages a ‘social gospel’ to be seen through the eyes of the poor and not through those higher authorities that rightly ruled over them? Social justice arising through the campesinos themselves, being involved in uplifting social change, can only be viewed as ‘biblical Marxism.’ The U.S. knew it had to keep its military guard up for ‘Western values’ even though a week earlier the Berlin Wall had been bashed down by West and East Germans together. Although this symbolic downfall clearly signalled the end of the Soviet  Empire, it was also clear that Satan could still rely on devilish subversive means to bring about his rule on earth. The Cold War had been a very useful excuse for the expansion of U.S. hegemony but then there would be new excuses which would soon come into play…a war on drugs…on terror…’ *

Yes, at times to verify such a less than positive view of liberty in the West which often sees itself as wholly humanist;  yet to critique the West not so as to to adopt a nihilist approach to ruthlessly destroy what has been built up which has been the nightmare case in the recent past if one harks back to the differing totalitarian movements of the first half of the twentieth century but to have what already democratically exists improved upon by liberating the West from its own moral and political hypocrisies that still exist within it, and along with reversing, for say, a rising new xenophobia towards those who seek to go to the West from other many troubled regions for safety-first reasons to also partly do so by bringing on even further a genuine restitution to those outside the West who have suffered from a colonial legacy by which over so many previous centuries so much of the West’s burgeoning wealth was founded. To therefore have a new geopolitics which would have as a core dynamic an economic reordering between the Global North with the Global South which can aim towards a new and stable global egalitarianism and by which the many various political structures that presently exist in the world can in a general thematic sense shift each within themselves more so away from any oligarchical strictures and towards the  institutionalised adoption of truly liberal democratic values that at the very least may also variously differ in appearance depending on the long standing cultural traditions as well as differing historical overtones of each individual country.

__________________________________________________________________________

In relation to these observations some of the draft notes/reflections/musings compiled for later review written on loose leaf papers placed at the very rear of thy holy Book of Quotes: ‘Thus I write, ironically and incisively, coherently taking such celebrated essayists on American life as Susan Sontag and Joan Didion as my role models (…having been the only ones I had thoroughly read…). Attempting to write my own ‘alternative history’ of the grand ‘American politik’ in my Book of Quotes but one which will still try to differ from what is usually written to take into account what is not well known by all, although much is already known by those who have suffered even unto death from the official so called ‘helping hand’ of American exceptionalism. Thus from what would be general observations relying on what I would remember I as a meticulous researcher would then over time try for awhile have only days which would then be spent writing only on the U.S.A. while my one ‘splurge visit’ to the ‘land of the free’ is still very vivid. My time there had felt exotic for although on the surface the U.S. seemed very familiar ‘just like on TV’ I instinctively sensed subterranean psychological, cultural and social forces at play that differed very differently to the way I thought the world should really be. A vibrant, exhilarating, almost macabre experience, was one way to define my time there. It had left this ‘inner-city cowboy’ fascinated. What I desire now is to focus on what I know maybe seen by the mainstream world as a somewhat extreme view although I do not share the extreme view of some of the U.S.A.’s critics who want it to exist no more. Rather what is better to set in place reforms that would hark back to the ideals of equality which would truly democratize American society from the bottom up including also a democratization of its race politics to come to terms at last with its slave legacy far beyond what was achieved only within certain limits regarding civil rights so as to still leave much real power in white hands-

 To patiently peruse information available for public review on the internet and in libraries; while also thinking back over particular conversations with Caterina and Gregor. (Why after all, is there even a need to have so many aid benefits which they would constantly attend or help Yet, I had not learnt as much as I would have liked as while I had attempted to focus on those educational requirements that would give him entry to a good public service job. (How I have    longed  for  the  days  when universities  provided  a  truly  holistic education as had existed in

  (Cat looked down at all he wrote and thought that it was good and although he knew what he was suggesting was idealistic he also knew that it was better that the world as a whole moved towards what he suggested and which there had been historical intimations in the recent past such as (i) with the Bretton Woods Accords from 1944 which despite there still being global inequality was,  at least, a first worldwide attempt to better evenly regulate national wealth but which all started to unravel in the mid-1970s and so to be abandoned rather than rectified leading to an increasingly privatised world that has caused an even greater disparity between rich and poor on both national and international levels (ii) while there has been as well the post-war establishment of the United Nations which despite all its faults has been a global attempt to idealistically give an equal voice to every nation and which, in Cat’s eyes, rather than be dispensed with due to its many corrupt and cowardly failings there needs to be the political will to have all its forum structures authentically overhauled and fully reformed so as to better able meet its original aspirations. To even take up Albert Einstein’s suggestion to democratize the United Nations by having delegates directly elected so  as to be answerable to the world’s populations rather than to governments of whom there are those whose interests do not line up or are even in opposition to the humanitarian ideals of the UN which includes finally putting to an end the direct invasive takeover of territory of one country by another country and to then have the invader - as a ‘national right’ - to also claim his wrongfully acquired land as its own ad infinitum).   

_____________________________________________________________________________

Medieval Europe. In one political science lecture I had heard the argument that since Sputnik western education had narrowed down to focus on ‘useful’ technological knowledge at the expense of the arts. Now, it seemed, education was to serve only business…yes, to think now of another social forgetfulness. How in in Australia, so many socially progressive and cultural reforms pushed through in the short Whitlam era in the 1970s seemed to be constantly facing obliteration in the decades hence from an increasingly conservative swing in mainstream politics which would even become extreme…to think now how I would eventually work for many years in Social Security. There I witnessed the lives of those at the very bottom of society. It had opened my eyes to the extreme poverty that so many people had to endure but kept relatively hidden in an affluent country like Australia. Now, much older and a little wiser, and with more time on my hands, due to a surprisingly much larger than expected family inheritance (I am not rich but I can for the foreseeable future live in relative comfort as long as I am astute with my income and frugally live well within my means) can use that precious commodity known as time in whatever way that pleases me. 

 Yet the truth would always seem extreme at first sight in a world of lies. What is truth?’ It is the one question that always plays on my mind. What I do know is that ‘truth’ has many dimensions, and no one human being has a hold on every facet of reality. (It is important to try to encompass an all round view of the world. To take into consideration many points-of-view. To take into account variances and complexities so as to seek a ‘multi-truth’. To avoid being an echo chamber to one’s own views). Yet, even if some of what I write down would prove to be at variance of any human-constructed reality, it is the general thrust of my preliminary discourse that, for now, matters to me. That the world before me may not be what it seems and what I want to learn is to have new ways to see...to have revelation. To at least discern what is ‘partly real’. After all, from what I have read and seen on videos so far debating the past, the many differing, conflicting narratives of a same history are often so one dimensional, so seldom in agreement, as to have me think in one glib moment that there really is no history, ‘only PR packages’. (I also know I have to deal with the human tendency to seek out information that reinforces one’s favoured views rather than any opposite evidence which would seriously challenge them).

 ‘…What truly depresses me…yes, what is depressing…is that it seems to be much easier to view the negative trends of human history - which often pulls towards fascism - as always gaining the ascendency rather than movements heading towards a natural justice which always have to strive against the odds to succeed and then be maintained against always rebounding regressive forces…after all, I am always lamenting how so many victorious modern day liberation movements have devolved into corrupted regimes…while in Nicaragua the former Sandinista leader Daniel Ortega has become President only to show he is more interested in holding onto power for himself than in truly realizing any revolutionary principles; former Sandinistas now bitterly fearing with Ortega’s increasingly more authoritarian, undemocratic stance that this impoverished country is heading back to the Somoza days (as Gregor has mentioned to me is typified by Ortega’s grandiose schema for a grand canal connecting the two oceans which will be an environmental disaster and which will over-ride the rights of many including the indigenous; such is the concern it is has led to the formation of unlikely popular alliances even between left and right all against Ortega who has recently resorted to paramilitary death squads – which in the past has always been infamously associated in Central America with the extreme right - to literally kill off dissent against recent attempts to implement unpopular social welfare ‘reforms’ which display a general thrust to neoliberal austerity appeasing to facilitate international monetary commitments with hundreds already dead; with many others arbitrarily arrested including former Sandinista resistance fighters and commanders and with journalists wishing to reveal what is happening also regularly targeted. Building up a personal wealth succoured by building upon a secretive oil deal with Venezuela’s Chavez which channelled money outside the national budget to his own interests and the transfer of Sandinista finances, land, businesses etcetera to himself and other high ranking officials after being ousted out of revolutionary government in 1990 and personal power succoured by manipulating the legislature and constitution to guarantee him endless power as as his social programs to appease the poor never proving enough to lift them out of their endless poverty, without adequate education, without adequate health, without adequate employment, without adequate housing…now my mind goes to a recent exhibition at the MCA of the grand South African photographer David Goldblatt who stated that the ANC had proved to be a disappointment with the social catastrophe that apartheid had so inhumanely brought about not yet overcome but even prolonged by ongoing corruption exacerbated by those self-seekers now in power administering more for personal gain rather than for the nation’s good…). 

  Central America the land that time has forgotten. Death brings its own tranquillity. While a ‘living death’ is hell. Limbo fosters only despair. Yes, for now ‘south of the border’ there really is no appetite for idealistic talk of a ‘new society.’ One must scratch out a living within a whole region which has ‘democratically stabilized’ into a politically impotent purgatory. After the ‘second September 11’ – the first having been the overthrow and murder of Allende in Chile in 1973 - Central America has been forgotten. It can be presumed that Washington is pleased that this is so. On that chart of hell which is called human history other infernal avenues leading to other horrors are to be presently ‘explored’. A conflict- fractured planet shimmering with ‘crisis points’. The United States like a multi-eyed divine creature of Ancient Greek mythology which has to be attentive to so many possibilities throughout the world. The war on terror keeps the mortal mind focused so as to be inattentive on other worldly issues. Yet, as noted, the vision of the United States is omniscient and while it attends to today’s overt threats it understands - that as ongoing global shocks to the money markets can testify - there are powerful subterranean forces working to erode its enormous foundation. The world’s economic tectonic plates are seemingly shifting financial power away from Wall Street to Shanghai, and if the United States were an Ancient Greek god it would be universally viewed by the people of Central America as Hades bleakly keeping dominion over a ‘backyard chasm’ whose ‘citizens’ are cloaked in an ever oppressive darkness.

To be invisible.

 Yes, in these new tumultuous days the people of Central America are nowhere to be seen, no limelight for them on a world stage, which although is always moving its most dramatic scenes to ever changing international sets (take Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria as three obvious more contemporary prime time ‘war theatres’), Central America now stays well behind-the-scenes. Hades is left to do what he wants, as he has always wanted, following ‘his Word’ the Monroe Doctrine, knowing that if the scope of his control diminishes in other parts of the world, his so called ‘sphere of influence’ which is Latin America, has been restored ‘to normality’ after dealing in the Cold War with so many rebellious ‘godless underlings’ in such countries as El Salvador, Guatemala and Nicaragua. (Cuba still resists with some cynical commentators insinuating that whenever there are U.S. carrot ‘sweeteners’ instead of big sticks they are only being used to breakdown an ever weary, wary ideologue resistance. Beware of all Trojan horses from all empires. Yet, there is too from within Cuba itself resistance to all overbearing state control and one assumes from a generation that also does not want to go back to the Batista days while a softening of heart from the U.S.A. should also be welcome if it brought about a relaxation in the relationship with Cuba which in turn would bring about a psychological relaxation within this island which so long has had to feel ‘on guard’ living so close to such a hostile giant. Yet, to hark back to Central America it does make the news these days when refugee column after refugee column make the regular land journey to reach the United States driven by a despair due to the breakdown of the social and economic cohesion of their countries that is most vividly reflected in the media reports of gang violence and whereby it is not mentioned, as if to be forgotten, that the societal tragedy unfolding in Central America is a direct legacy of the not too distant Central American wars of which the United States was involved in…). Political kitsch. The ‘moral imperative’ of an iron ‘hand of God’ working through the murderous likes of the Atcatal Battalion and the contras ‘divinely’ fulfilled for the United States its ‘manifest destiny’. (These days any imperial geo-political interference in the Americas is conveniently maintained through the ‘wars on drugs and terror’). Thus for now, a self-righteous Hades can brood a little less that within the smoky, illusory ‘hall of mirrors’ that is the globalized economy, this dark god can – at the very least – have working for him again a compliant ‘backwater underworld’ south of the border. 

 Although politics can be seen ‘as life’ it is hard to imagine what relevance my present obsession with a vast nation a whole ocean away could have for Lisa. Nevertheless. Only time would tell. For the whole world is related to every human being. If only in part…if only in a small…but significant way…(a madness)…I am feeling out of this world…to feel it out…(thoughts that are on the back of an imperial surreality)…affecting all…

‘...to hear of battle hardened Texan soldiers dealing with Italian Communist resistance fighters as the Germans retreated up Italy’s war ravaged, bloody spine. The Italian Communists along with the Communists who had fought in the French Resistance to be deviously collated by a paranoid Washington into the next batch of U.S. enemies who were in the ranks of those who had actually fought against Nazism. (A paranoia heightened by the calculated claims of captured German intelligence chiefs such as Reinhard Gehlen who exaggerated Soviet military capabilities. Gehlen to become a Cold War spymaster who would utilize former SS personnel). To help deal with these unwanted co-liberators the United States would encourage the Corsican and Sicilian mafias to violently harass starving strikers in Marseilles and to ruthlessly undermine the popular PCI in Italy in its legitimate electoral efforts to win government. The Sicilian mafia by way of then U.S. imprisoned mobster ‘Lucky Luciano’ was sought out before the 1943 invasion of Sicily to gather useful intelligence on the island, as well as to identify both fascist sympathizers and communists who would then be dealt with. Lucky Luciano would eventually be released to return to Sicily to build up the international heroin trade along with the Corsican mafia. In ruthlessly defeating the Communists in Greece - who did themselves no favours by also being so brutal - the Truman Doctrine would set down an intrusive Cold War template that would justify political subterfuge and military violence and be internationally extolled by the U.S. to Vietnam in the 60s through to Central America in the 80s. (Human history is surely to a high degree amoral. The Greek Communists thought Stalin would help them but they did not know that their country was in the British ‘sphere of influence’ of Balkan Europe which Churchill in Moscow, October 1944 had shown to ‘The Chief’ on a scrap of paper. A secret agreement between a dissolving colonial empire and an emerging totalitarian superpower. Stalin amicably ticked the note given to him by this old man who vainly sought for England to still play a significant global post-war role; as he would have a free hand in other countries such as Rumania and Bulgaria. Ultimately, Eastern Europe as a whole would be abandoned to the Russians who would crush any national revolt as well as to eventually overcome the various partisan insurgencies such as in the Baltics, Poland and the west Ukraine which emerged and persisted for years. (A vague memory of a report of German soldiers in such partisan groups fighting until 1953, just a year before the death of Stalin). For Pax America the rest of the world not under any direct Communist rule would be its sphere of influence, which clearly was its God-given right. As it is, no U.S. President to this day has ever really been benign on a world stage of deadly conflict, and certainly Texan Presidents such as George Bush and his son would vigorously continue the same Truman ‘defensive’ imperial strategy when the ideological turf war against the U.S.S.R gave way to the U.S. defined ‘war on drugs’ and to the ‘war on terror’. That other Texan President, LBJ, had previously helped to further escalate the Truman Doctrine in South Vietnam; and, following on from C.I.A. groundwork (also in the Kennedy era) to support a coup in Brazil in early March 1964 when it was absurdly feared this country would democratically transform into a ‘second Cuba’ simply by seeking to establish a national destiny independent of what the U.S. preferred: ‘Surely, if you are not willing to be for the ‘democratic overtures’ of the United States then you must certainly be despotically against us. You thus legitimately leave yourself open to the inevitable international accusation that you are in league with the Soviet Union, even if you try to deceptively reassure us otherwise, or vehemently deny that you are not, for you cannot be trusted. Thus, for your own good, and for the good of all, it is best that your outstretched arms with clenched fists are cut off to be replaced, for your protection, by military ones supplied, controlled by us; that your blinkered eyes be plucked out to have in their empty sockets bright glass balls with television retinas which will guide you, and make you understand how it is far better for your dismembered self to be living, fed and clothed in our ever abundant free paradise, rather than have you hellishly go full body into a communist underworld that leaves you working as a slave, that leaves you tortured, both in body and spirit, hungry, diseased and with no decent clothes, and for your down-trodden life to be further wasted with dreary waits in long bread lines, with an endless yearning for a decent home, and with a numbed mind schooled day after day only by fatherly big brother lies. Yes, it is for the best that you do not become a treacherous example for other wayward, weak souls to follow, to also end up lost on a wide, winding rocky road that leads only to totalitarian damnation, you to be made an example of, so as to keep the fainthearted, the easily misled, on a straight narrow asphalt path of a globalized U.S. led free market salvation.’

Narcotic hypocrisy. After the heroin trade in the U.S. had nearly died out due to the strict maritime controls in place during the second world war the way was again made open for its unholy resurrection by the mafia, mainly by way of the port city of Marseilles, due to the mafia’s much appreciated services to the Allied cause. Starvation. Low wages. Inflationary food prices. Would remain for the people of Marseilles who had to understand that while before a siege army had to rely on tower catapults to subjugate a city a modern superpower could be far more sophisticated in an underhand way to achieve thesame aim. It did not even have to base itself outside the city. Or even outside a whole country. Or continent. To gain the ascendency. Today it is optic fibre sourcing cyberspace which is the siege weapon of first choice of any global entity. Television towers. Radio towers. Were the media siege tools of the latter half of the twentieth century. Throwing their psychological barrages at the free people of the world. To lower their mental resistance. To let them know what was good for them. What wasn’t good for the people of Marseilles was to rely on the French Communists who, like their Italian counterparts, were perceived to be in league with the devil the U.S.S.R. (However, I know of two rather regal Italian women who were communists in this post-war period who consider themselves and their comrades as moderates, who abhorred Stalin’s crimes). Certainly, Stalin was a devil. Yet to defend against any apparent militant threat with a counterfeit democracy propped up by political subversion, murderous criminality and false propaganda can also never lead to true human freedom. The insidious emergence of a corporate, elite neoliberalism certainly portends to ‘democratic tyrannies’ yet to come. Worse still, for the French at the time, was a counterfeit socialism in the pay of the Americans to usurp the communists.

To really want none of this to be true but it is true…’. I lift my biro from the page. ‘Historical echoes. The German Revolution. Another conservative socialist collusion with a set order under threat. A violent counter-revolution against truly revolutionary forces. The Freikorps to put a bullet into the head of Rosa Luxembourg. A woman of genuine democratic principles-

‘…I feel sorry for the powerless…(…to think of casual workers like Michael…)…they who have to make unwanted compromises with all those with power over them…(…who all, amongst themselves, are so different with different demands, to be as if a multi- headed beast…)…to not even to seek an advantage but to just survive the day…ostracized if they do speak out-

(To think also of all the trusting, who are betrayed, damned).

‘…counterfeit social forces still at work…ideological trojan horses always at play…neoliberalism is white-anting some unions…striving for relevance…so called leftist parties…1918…Egbert the SDP leader of a new government after the Kaiser had stood down…yet who wanted to bring the old aristocratic military elite into the new parliament…to ‘reform Germany’…not to destroy it…not peace itself…but a call for peace can be a Trojan Horse…which may only lead to further conflict…a desire for stability…to betray peace…to stall what is perceived as radical transformation…to suspect it can only be achieved by violent means…to lead…to a fear of the worst…yet…the stillness…longed for…that is calmly embraced…to only be a short pause…before a long storm…unwieldy, chaotic…for change cannot always be stopped…Luxembourg did not trust the ‘moderate’ Egbert…he was acutely aware of the revolutionary threat…who…to secure an iron peace…used those armed veterans…those brute precursors to the national socialists…that early January, 1919 week of bloody Berlin street fighting…Karl Liebknecht also to be murdered…(…they both suffered together the ultimate ‘ostracization’…)…her body was unceremoniously thrown into a canal…she also did not trust the Bolshevik Lenin…who wanted total command-

The fragile, frugal peace of Weimar (…this, a national pause before further moral disintegration…that would be played out in Berlin’s cabarets…then hyperinflation…Kristalnacht…Nuremberg…the Munich Pact…)…to then fully open the gates of hell-

(To look over what has just been written. To continue-).

   ‘Deceptions within deceptions. Television walls of political smoke and mirrors for it is said (& with some truth…) we the ‘unsophisticated masses’ need to be constantly deceived. We really do not know what is best for us and must place our long term faith in a future contrived by those who patronizingly govern over us. (So the elites say).

Right now, to also feel empathy for the prosecuting magistrate Pierre Michel who was gunned down in Marseilles by the mafia in his quest for justice. A justice not sought after by some of those in higher offices of civic trust than himself.’

To continue. To feel insane.

Yes. I am going psychotic. As I learn the Corsican mafia had gained control of the wharves for their drug trade due to a complicit U.S.A. That it’s drug labs were protected by French intelligence services for over twenty years. Liberty. Equality. Fraternity. The American way. I howl. Inside myself. I am one of Ginsberg’s angel hipsters. Going insane. Crazy. With the foul knowledge that I am learning. Pressing down hard on my anguished brain. Of the ‘dark politics’ of ‘democracy’. Of the multitudes of poor Afro-Americans who are arrested for petty drug crimes. To be used as a labour force. As the Chinese use those in their massive prison system to produce cheap goods the Great America does the same. Woe unto us who refuse to fully confront an industrial aristocracy, one which the likes of Adam Smith, Benjamin Franklin and Alex de Tocqueville feared would arise in any age of rampant capitalism, that would impose corporatized restrictions on many lives, the likes of which the feisty female textile workers of Lowell in the mid-1800s fought against in regards to wage cuts, rent rises as well as to bring down the long working hours of their monotonous labour. These women with the collective intellectual audacity of ancient Penelope - who also with a spinning wheel, outwitted her would be male suitors - would engage their vibrant minds to further learning by rebelliously having literary pieces to read, which they had stealthily stuck onto their spindle machines, who would stimulate their intellects after work by attending lectures and visiting libraries. Much like the peoples of Soviet era Eastern Europe a hundred years into the future would smuggle to each other forbidden novels to read, in Lowell there was the emergence of mobile libraries to pass on ideas and knowledge to the mind starved workers. Although it would be a hundred years after the Lowell Mill Girls, this Massachusetts town - which has been labelled the cradle of the American Industrial Revolution - would bear forth a holy son who through his jazz prose would rebel against the automatism and atomization of the new factory age; there was Jack Kerouac who would become no one’s mere conventionalized wage slave, who in the so called golden age of 1950s American prosperity would argue the case for a truly spontaneous life.’

 (I am bemused). 

‘Who would have thought that Nietzsche’s ideal Dionysian free spirit ‘superman’ who would rise above the mediocre masses would prove to be a hard drinking literary French-Canadian…a world war two merchantman…a star college gridiron player…a bisexual lover…a state forest ‘dharma bum’ on the lookout for wild fires…who would actually despise the Dionysian spirit of a well-off, psychedelic generation who had been inspired by the recklessness of his pure on-the-road search for life’s beauty? Kerouac the lonesome traveller hitchhiking on the byways and highways of an expansive country with a pseudo-criminal mindset – of which Nietzsche would have discerned – that rose above the mediocre nations to become a pathologically, schizophrenic superpower. Up, up and away U.S.A! After WWII you should have taken heed of Nietzsche’s warning that whoever fights monsters must in the process make sure of not also becoming a monster; who when it set up the Nuremburg trials it would take heed that it was also meant to be a warning to all the victors that if they also committed atrocities in future wars they would also face the death penalty-

 (To frown).

 ‘Yet what happened Jack to your own life...like at the end…? When you became famous for all the world to examine you…looking out of sorts on William F. Buckley’s The Firing Line…although witty also bloated, drunk…were you just swallowed up by the big soulless machine Moloch you were methodically banging your typewriter against? Despite any success, disillusionment seems to still await many of those in any quixotic attempt to slay the Chimera that is the Great America.’

“GIANT SPIDER STRIKES! CRAWLING TERROR 100 FEET HIGH! TARANTULA!”

‘There you rise America above the skyscrapers of ‘Manhattenenge’ not as a noble eagle but hawkish as the Ancient Greek mythological creature who had the heads of a lion, snake and goat. Multi-formed. Yet always universally breathing fire. To be updated to such B-Grade movie monster as the three-headed flying beast Ghidorah who fights Godzilla, both imaginative products of the new human psyche of the nuclear age which you unashamedly bestowed upon an already militarily ailing Japan, and to the rest of the world. Deformed beasts which the Chimera can represent. Who is a sibling of the three headed dog Cerberus who makes sure no one escapes from the underworld which he guards. Past. Present. Future. To be perceived by each head. To give an account of what can be happening simultaneously at each time-tense; Cerberus standing between the living and the dead. Cerberus making sure the dead do not leave to tell the living what suffering is to be inflicted upon them. Past. Present. Future. Presented in a different way to the living. That Cerberus in the Cold War could be seen as the Berlin Wall which was the Soviet Union’s most visible imprisoning device is certainly true. Yes. Eastern Europe was an underworld. Yet what was disguised were other underworlds in the so called Free World upon which those living in fifties America were made unaware or even portrayed as paradises. (Exotic girls. Sandy beaches. Ancient temples. Rainforests. Just turn a blind eye to the poverty-stricken behind-the-scenes poor human rights and work conditions). Just as America and Western Europe was a paradise for those in an emerging middle class, for it was they who could afford it, Cerberus would devour those who did not understand they could never join the ‘holy elect’. (Consider not only Brazil, but also the Dominican Republic). Only those Cold War refugees escaping from an Eastern Europe underworld were graciously welcomed. To maintain the mirage of a vicious global bipolar delusion. A political fantasy devised to guarantee material acquisition, which ironically led to a unique generation of affluent middle class young people who felt technically connected with each other through pocket radios and television, so as, en masse, to question a technocrat society, which although economically comfortable, was still very much socially restrictive. The resulting intergenerational social ferment infiltrating to the marginalized who sought after social equality as a first step to social mobility. In the American South there was the emerging black civil rights movement which - despite facing fierce and brutal state opposition - with its clever non-violent tactics successfully did away with racial segregation. So many social causes as well as the sexual revolution coming to the fore. Women’s rights. Native American rights. Gay rights. (Highlighted by the Stonewall Inn riots in Greenwich Village from June 28. 1969). To have a young black boxer vocally refusing to fight in Vietnam for a country that still oppresses his people; bravely doing so when domestic ill feeling towards the war was not yet in full drive-

 I look for my Norman Mailer book The Fight but I cannot find it. Instead under a video of Wait Until Dark (which stars Audrey Hepburn and Alan Arkin)  I find a Magnum book which I suddenly open up to a famous 1937 photo of an orderly row of impoverished Afro-Americans all wearing long winter coats and hats with many holding bags to be filled with relief goods. They are all queuing in front of a large billboard which shows in a new sparkling car a smiling WASP family (husband, wife and the obligatory two children plus a small dog with head out the window) driving through the rollicking hills of the great America with a by-line across the top that says WORLD’S HIGHEST STANDARD OF LIVING and a statement over the hills which says There’s No Way Like The American Way. Although I have to admit that this photo was taken by Margaret Bourke-White during the Great Ohio River Flood but it is still a time of great economic hardship with this photo clearly suggesting who were clearly the most off then and who in many ways are still so now-

‘…anti-nuke protests. Calls to protect the environment. Calls to end the draft which was sending mostly men of poor backgrounds to Vietnam as well as increasing numbers of those who had finished a college education. (Yes, the highly educated did not want to fight, yet one may argue were only resisting now when their lives were at stake and not when the less well off were being recruited). Mass anti-war protests. On campuses. On the streets. Against a likely unwinnable Asian war, whose escalating savagery was being directly beamed into American living rooms. So much social protest happening against a loud, reverberating backdrop of electric guitar music. Rock music emerging from slave music to inspire the white middle class young of the Great America. An alternative consciousness accelerated by wanton chemical use. A ‘new age’ of spiritual engagement, especially with eastern religions. All in esoteric contrast to the ‘small mind’ moralism of Puritan America. (If the Nietzschian statement that the Christian ‘God is dead’ was now gaining resonance it seemed that many other gods were presently emerging from a thriving mystic background to take his place). It was Theodore Rozak who had argued the counterculture was responding against the soulless technocracy of the military- industrial complex; but Moloch would wreak his revenge: for by the mid-seventies a liberal spirit would largely give way to a more conservative social mood as the economy stagnated due to the Oil Price Shock of the early 70s. Despite all of the psychedelic rumination for social change much of the West’s psyche still remained encased in a fossil fuel straight jacket.’

 I re-read my last sentence, although true, this conclusion is despairing. (I wryly smirk). ‘Nevertheless, I consider Gregor’s musician friend from his poetry nights - simply - but reverently - remembered now as ‘the-man-with-the-black-fez’ - who in his late sixties now lives in a shipping container on a country property outside Kalbar in south-east Queensland. Gregor recently informed me he has just set it up with solar panels. His self-sufficient, renewable source lifestyle being a welcome living link to the more halcyon - perhaps communal - idealism of the sixties. Nevertheless, the ‘swinging sixties’ in America also had it’s many dark moments.

‘…the four Kent University student anti-war protester deaths. The Manson Family’s ‘helter skelter’ ritual slaughter of a pregnant Sharon Tate and her three friends to madly try and incite a race war. The latter sixties had also, against all expectations, experienced a much higher than usual crime rate with many homicides. Many who died were Afro-American males who also suffered a high death count from the race riots that swept through many U.S. cities. Detroit in late July 1967 when, after five days of battle havoc, there were 43 deaths, 33 being black. Although the famed 82^nd paratrooper division had also been called in by LBJ along with the national guard to help quell the rioting, violence and looting, it was the city’s police who had been ruthlessly brutal during the mayhem. (Yet those with a long memory would not be surprised as during the Detroit to Dearborn Ford Hunger March in early March, 1932 there would be police, along with Ford Motor Company security guards, who would shoot dead five of the five thousand marching unemployed workers as well as wound another sixty – and those who carried out these ‘official murders’ would all get away with it. To think of Diego Rivera’s large murals at the Detroit Institute ofthe Arts which painted in 1932-1933 venerate the workers of Detroit; to be treated so heroically by this Mexican artist who would have kept in mind how they had been treated so brutally by their own authorities. 

 (Yet, I think it a great pity to learn that this great Mexican artist poorly paid his own workers who helped him with these magnificent frescoes leading them to protest against him. I also think it is a shame Rivera’s mural: Man, Controller of the Universe which was originally painted at the Rockefeller Centre in New York was left unfinished and then destroyed due to its anti-capitalist theme; then again I have surmised no human being could hope to control this universe as this present age was proving it seemed very important the human race adopted a measured, humble response to the vast cosmos which encompasses this tiny, fragile planet).

‘Motown Detroit’ had been considered a leading northern city for white-black relations, with a burgeoning black middle class as well as relatively good wages for blacks working in the auto industry; but amongst the still too many disaffected blacks there was very high unemployment; a lack of affordable housing, underfunded schooling and, despite attempts at reform, a still mainly white police force which lacked any ‘cultural diplomacy’ at best and was ‘criminally harassing’ at worst-

 I belatedly smile. I had recently gained some inkling of what such harrying would feel like after surprisingly being stopped in my tracks by a policeman who was standing by his motorcycle on a footpath opposite Sydney Town Hall. It was assumed the police motorcyclist was keeping an eye on the busy traffic going along the main road which was George Street. I had just impatiently crossed an empty, narrow road alongside the town hall when the pedestrian sign still said DON’T WALK. In the interest of public safety I was prosecuted for jaywalking. It was a hefty fine. It felt like an ambush. (Why, at least, was there not a warning notice that this crossing was a pedestrian deaths black spot?) This police action was seen by anybody I mentioned it too as purely a revenue raising exercise. It also intrigued any listener to learn that the policeman also had a webcam camera with in-built microphone clipped to his shirt. My criminal act had been visually recorded. For all the courts of all the land to see. There was no defence. 

 …It stood to reason how resentment against the authorities would steeply rise in a poor neighbourhood with an intrusive police force; which constantly enforced an array of minor misdemeanours as an excuse to demean and punish a disadvantaged population. Who once having been jailed would lose for life the right to vote. 

 However, what I was smiling about was the actual timing of my absurd interaction with the law. On a Saturday morning after having viewed a Sydney Film Festival documentary at the State Theatre about the lively debates between William F. Buckley and Gore Vidal held at the time of the Republican and Democrat Presidential conventions in 1968; which was the sort of political theatre that would wildly improve ABC’s third-rate ratings. 

‘…to forever turn politics into a stage show with every politician vying to win that ultimate TV rating commonly known as polling day. To win the prize of having the destiny of the world played out as a personal reality game show. ‘Who will survive your next four years? Who will have to be exited? Who will be trumped? Who will be rewarded? Who will win the million dollars from your executive hot seat? A reality game show that is always rigged. For we know who always gets the money. The corporates who footed the bill for your campaign. We know who has to exit. Whoever the corporates see as disposable, (who are of so little consequence it does not even matter if they die). We know who will survive. Those who convince the corporates of their ability to work cheaply, of their ability to consume profitably, so their existence is still deemed as worthwhile, for a little while longer. Moloch presides. Moloch judges.Moloch regulates. Unholy. Human lives only seen as worthy on an ability to consume. On an ability to conform. On an ability to be a cog-’

(To disavow my mind from its own rhetoric. To cast my memory back to the high drama, edge-on-the-seat verbal sparring between the two political commentators who saw themselves as the ideological extreme of the other, of which they were). 

 ‘Yet to be even more fascinated at the documentary’s inferences of how two like-minded political opportunists, Nixon and Reagan, cleverly, (one may even say insidiously), exploited the American people’s increasing zealotry for law and order in a country that appeared divided, where there was an ever-growing fear it may tear itself apart. The Great America needed to be held together by firm hands. Who needed a Charlton Heston Moses to come down from the holy mountain firmly gripping two stone tablets clearly marking out the way an increasingly idolatrous people could turn back to the American Dream. What was the social hallucination so desired? What would be in store again for America under the guise of law and order? Whose law? Whose order? Bloody Sunday. 7 March. 1965. When teargas and truncheons were used on hundreds of Afro-American marchers who chose to ‘jaywalk’ from Selma to Montgomery simply to highlight the desire to have the right to vote. Who would humbly line up as lambs to the slaughter, to be pushed back like nine-pins, by columns of policemen blocking their way, who felled the defenceless, beating their bodies, blinding their eyes. America the pure, which must stay pure, to always be pure, an American purity, a pearl white cleanliness, that shines, reflects the glory, the holiness of the Almighty, whose grace and wisdom abounds like the sunshine, yes, the sun shining down on the sparkling helmets and gas masks of the Alabama police righteously beating the unrighteousness into a bloody pulp. These custodians of the law who murdered a man of God, because Jimmie Lee Jackson was black, seen as not worthy to have God’s light shine on his dark skin. The black must stay in the dark, to only go out when needed to work for the righteous, then slink back into his hovel, to know thy dirty place, to be free in name only. How can such a lowly creature be equal to the elect? To even elect, or be elected? Blasphemy! BEAT! BEAT! BEAT! BEAT UNTO DEATH! IF NEED BE! WHITE JESUS! WE WILL KEEP YOU CLEAN! YOUR WILL SHALL STAY PURE! THIS IS OUR DEMOCRACY! SWING REALLY HIGH TO SWING DOWN REALLY LOW WITH FULL FORCE! TO RIDE ON STEEDS LIKE THE APOCALYPTIC CAVALRY OF OLD! INTO THE UNCLEAN! SMASHING RIBS! SMASHING SKULLS! BLOOD SACRIFICES LYING BRUISED, BATTERED, STILL, ON THE DIRTY GROUND! BY THE BRIDGE! FOR THE WHITE ALMIGHTY! SPOT THE BLACKS! DEATH. BURNING CROSSES. FOR THE BLACK JAYWALKERS! FOR PUBLIC SAFETY!’

Andy Warhol’s Birmingham Race Riot. A black and white photo silkscreen of a police dog shredding the trousers off a black man.

Martin Luther King who went to the mountain top and saw the freedom he desired for his people. The forceful man of non-violence who would be shotdead-

 ‘…yes…in Detroit, like in so many other cities, social discrimination was still rampant and any progress was seen as too slow and this at a time when LBJ was pouring money into his Great Society social programs to provide support for the underclasses. While there had been the psychedelic praise of a flowering Age of Aquarius at Woodstock there was to come the Hells Angel stabbing of a well dressed, gun wielding Afro-American teenage male at Altona. The white guardian of the Rolling Stones who was charged with murder was to be acquitted on the grounds of self-defence. In the cities where impoverished Afro-Americans had rioted their social conditions would only steadily decline with their urban areas to become even more ‘ghettoised.’ In such no go zones therewould also come the day when unemployment could only increase as American corporates ‘pragmatically’ moved their factories offshore to that low pay zone known as the third world. Yes, all that would be on offer for the poor of the ‘great society’ were punitive ‘law and order’ policies. The forgiving grace of God was only to be displayed by the likes of Ronald Reagan on Thanksgiving Day when he would give a turkey the traditional Presidential pardon. Looked upon on one occasion by an all American boy with a feather in his cowboy hat whose daddy had said to this chuffed B-grade actor that his son had remarked that the reason Ronald Reagan was the President was to stop all those ‘give away’ programs. The war on poverty would eventually make the very people it was meant to help its very victims…yet, it would be worse...to be the enemy. The poor masses to be demonized as ‘welfare criminals’. A threat to the very moral fabric of the nation. Civil rights. Civil strife. Mixed results in the social flux of America’s domestic history which would keep the social theoreticians of all political flavours debating the pros and cons of the sixties to this day. For Moloch there was no debate. The human sacrifices on assorted conveyer belts would simply continue through the coming decades. To feed his insatiable appetite for empire. For oil. For blood. For diamonds. For minerals. For money. For power. For hate. For love. For peace. For war. For agriculture. For land. For rivers. For people. For movies. For equality. For slavery. For forgiveness. For retribution. For race. For sex. For debt. For space. For seas. For territory. For culture. For beauty. For freedom. For liberty. For life. For death. For God. For destiny. For fate. For ego. For id. For business. For steel. For drugs. For sport. For health. For competition. For monopoly. For skyscrapers. For uranium. For technology. For celebrity. For atoms. For television. For truth. For lies. For democracy. For totality. For being. For everything-

(I have to catch my hurried breath). 

‘Along with the third world slaughter-

 (I have to catch my hurried mind).

 ‘…in Indochina, Indonesia, Angola, Algeria, Biafria, Rwanda, Guatemala, Congo, Lebanon...the ever too long list goes endlessly on as to where powerless people were dragged out into the streets or fields to be butchered. Many of these places often being where pre-twentieth century western colonization had taken a firm hold.

Yet, now driven out in this ever swirling, bloody post-war world, by those who had been exploited.

Yet, often to remain exploited and even massacred by their own elites who would usually prefer to brutally secure their nation’s ‘independence’ by aligning their militaries to the United States or some other foreign superpower.

(Yet, the Great America especially offering to ‘help’ anyone who wanted to fight the Soviet devil who obviously through ways known only by the dark arts was utilizing third world liberation movements to bring down the Free World).

In American eyes anyone who desired to be genuinely independent was a real threat. There was to be only one freedom. To trust and obey the United States. This is what Moloch demands. Moloch had seen in the sixties the social crises occurring in the United States and although state violence had been used against its lowly blacks and any other ‘gutter human refuse’ it would deal differently with those in the higher echelons of society whom Moloch actually needed by a media process of mental submission to thrive. For Moloch to prosper. For Moloch to dominate. Fully. In a far more subtler, but still efficient way. It was one thing to use brute force to keep people as slaves but it was another thing to convince people to use the force of their own minds to be slaves while they comfortably lived with the delusion they were free beings-

 ‘Think globally, act locally…’ Cat is in a hurry to catch anything of human endeavour resembling human sanity. Nothing comes immediately to mind. However, his mind continues to move forward through recent history from the sixties to the eighties.

 ‘It is Susan George who brings to my attention in a university auditorium the miseries of an economic pandora’s box flung out onto the poor of the world. Whole continents such as Africa and Latin America thrown into overwhelming debt by an international banking system controlled by first world free market profiteers. Social upheaval. Mass poverty. Mass disease. Mass death.

(Thus I write down my forlorn summation of such global wretchedness). 

‘…European banks ‘burdened’ with Arab petrodollars at the start of the eighties lure third world nations to borrow huge amounts of cheap money. Yet, it is a trap. Interest rates go up. Third world exports decline. For the first world suffers a cyclical economic downturn. There is the case of Senegal which was exposed to a typical ‘austerity pillage’ from the World Bank when its thriving groundnut exports was exposed to unforeseen falling prices. Foreign loans could not be readily paid back, (while in the U.S the peanut farmers there could stay economically unscathed with the aid of subsidies). Green pastures to abound in the first world while fields in the third world to become derelict, left to suffer the dusty ravages of desertification. The poor of the world are burdened to repay an ever rising debt mountain which in geological terms is akin to the colossal rise of the Himalayas with the clashing of the Indian and Eurasian continents. Now it was the rich nations in a huge financial collision with the poorest. To make matters worse, in many cases the impoverished had received no benefit from the loans originally on offer. Corrupt elites had spent the money on themselves, or on grandiose national white elephant projects or on burgeoning militaries who if they were not loyal to those in power would often grab power for themselves-

Although I am well versed in the political duplicity of those in power I am still astonished as to how dictatorships are tolerated as long as they maintain policies that not only do not threaten the security interests of the first world but by which the rich nations can profit from dealing with such single minded regimes that can adeptly control their subordinate populations. This is especially the case after the end of the 1944 international agreement of Breton-Woods which although had given the United States a leading role in global economic affairs it had at least allowed governments some control over capital flight. Established so as to avoid another Great Depression Breton-Woods was made redundant by the ‘Nixon shock’ of 1971 when it was announced that international exchange rates would no longer be fixed to the American dollar which had become overvalued due to limited gold reserves, the enormous financial cost of the social programs of the Great Society as well as due to the ever increasing astronomical military expenses of the Vietnam War.

‘…the floating of international currency exchange rates was to help provoke global deregulation to the extent, it has been argued, that the IMF and World Bank have simply become gatekeepers to a world finance system that chooses to first serve trans- corporations who had no interest in maintaining an egalitarian level of international economic development as had been occurring-

Yet one has to suddenly surmise that no historical narrative can be straight forward. For in a warring post-war world where there was so much human suffering, brought on by those seeking supreme power, there were also many who had been receiving the social benefits of a more even distribution of wealth brought about by a previously regulated global economy. Yet now seemingly ending. For instance, to see the rich nations of the European Union railroading debilitating austerity programs on its less well-off members. Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain going under what some may see as the demeaning acronym P.I.G.S. To see for the first time a so called first world country such as Greece to horrendously face a vicious Brussels inflicted economic apocalypse. Unnerving, to this observer: ‘The state kills. The state feeds. The state cares. The state despises. The state lifts up. The state oppresses. History is schizophrenic. The same power used to keep people in their place can also be used to help those who are seen as incapable of helping themselves. Social progress in parallel with social devastation. Chaos. Disorder. Harmony. Stability. Peace. War. A human mix. A fluid everyday reality. (That is not so apparent when the chapter titles are neatly written up for the history textbooks recommended for public school use. Never to bring to the fore the bloodstains regularly left by human activity: when one glibly reads in one sentence on a bright white page or on a shiny screen pad that a medieval Russian city was besieged by the Tatars one cannot really grasp the true haphazard nature of war with its casual barbarism in much the same way one sees the same violent event portrayed with all its historical griminess in Andre Tarkovsky’s ‘Andre Rubylov’).’

‘…one may presume any upward social cohesion is to still ultimately serve the greater good of the strong-

Although I see merit in a continental organization that has allowed minorities such as the people of Catalan to be officially represented and to have mostly kept a sort of peace thus far for over half a century I sullenly discern it is still very much up to the whims of those who are on the management board of the human asylum we call society who still determine the fate of the inmates – both globally and domestically… 

‘…yes, there is world history tabulated by the powerful with their ever controlling self-serving evaluations of the less powerful. (To keep any light away from shadow histories…to history’s repeats and rhymes…). Which usually meant maintaining a strict diagnosis on the inmates. To vehemently keep the most unruly in solitary confinement. (Cuba). Or allow the very ‘low risk’ into large play areas with the supervision well disguised so as to not upset the well manipulated mental underpinnings of the many who do not even know they suffer from mass delusions. (Western Europe). Holding small nations hostage to the ‘greater geopolitik’. (Cyprus in 1974 when the nuclear threat in the region was raised after the Turkish invasion. This small island - invaded by one NATO country Turkey after another NATO country Greece had incited a coup - would become a sacrificial lamb in the name of regional peace and NATO stability as well as warding off a feared threat of an exploitative Soviet incursion into Turkey if the Cyprus turmoil had further escalated). Richard Nixon remonstrating on his forgotten hidden Oval Room tape recorder to Henry Kissinger the possibility of using nuclear weapons on North Vietnam. Ford and Kissinger giving the go ahead to Suharto to invade East Timor so as to be like Cyprus during the Cold War another sacrificial lamb on the great alter of ‘regional stability.’ Keep history simple.* Us and Them. Let God sort it out. Who should go to Heaven. Who should go to Hell. After every massacre. Mindless. Human. Misery. Propped up by so called ‘necessary illusions’ to justify unnecessary realities. For the world is not real. It is a fabrication made up by insane minds who have been allowed to unleash their mania on the rest of us. Not a Social Darwinism with ‘evolved superior minds leading the way’ but devolved psychotic ones.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

*Yet history is very complex as evidenced by what I saw with Michael at the annual Cyprus commemoration wreath laying service at the Cenotaph in Martin Place in Sydney held on the anniversary of the Turkish invasion of north Cyprus which decades later and with the Cold War now long gone still remains occupied for after viewing to the side the small suburban brass band play various well known soundtracks and popular culture pieces including the main theme to Jesus Christ Superstar I turned to see the Greek Cypriot organisers welcome representatives from the Ukrainian community; thus the victims of one invading power displaying sympathy to the victims of another invading power; this mutual solidarity was important to both communities even though there was the political irony that at the time of this occasion while NATO – including Turkey - was supporting Ukraine who had been invaded by Russia that decades ago it had not worked to favour Cyprus when it was attacked by one of its own members who would remain to occupy in the north just over a third of the land mass of this small island. Nevertheless, putting all such tragic historical irony to one side it was essential that NATO was not making the same grievous moral mistake as it had with Cyprus by now doing all it possibly could to assure Ukraine would be free from the Russian yoke. Michael had told me that although NATO had betrayed Cyprus he could see how for Ukrainians and for people from the Baltics, Poland and Finland that it was good that NATO existed whilst having to deal with an imperious neighbour and so it was important to take a particular regional view rather than an overall continental monolithic one when it came to looking at any major military crisis in Europe ranging from say Cyprus through to the Balkans and finally to Ukraine. “You never know Cat when people see how NATO is helping Ukraine it may in the long run work to Cyprus’s advantage as its asked if the occupation of Ukraine by a foreign power is not to be tolerated by NATO for even a single day then why does it remain the case that a part of Cyprus is still occupied by Turkey who is in NATO after so many decades…? It kinda ‘amuses’ me how for all these fascist lefties you see around these days – Gregor and Caterina both like it how I call them ‘trojan horses’…they call them ‘tankies’ - who will maliciously harp on that Russia was somehow ‘coaxed’ into invading Ukraine by NATO always never mention the ‘Cyprus problem’ which to me just shows that Cyprus doesn’t matter to them if they can’t use it to as well to sneeringly go on about U.S. imperialism while they ferociously defend Russian imperialism in Ukraine as well as what the Russians also badly get up to for Assad in Syria who kills his own people with chemical attacks and barrel bombs while the Russians bomb hospitals just like they target civilians and civilian infrastructure like energy plants, apartment buildings, theatres and even playgrounds in Ukraine…hey Cat!  Free Cyprus!”  

‘…by 1973 for the corporates their global straight jackets had been removed. They would be loyal only to themselves, who would now regularly displace and move their capital around the world to maximize profits. Who will sour the earth, cripple human lives, manipulate legal codes, shower the already wealthy with dollar bills by way of increased shareholder profits and profusely urinate on the poor with toxic chemicals. This is the way of the world. This is the way of morality. In the modern century. Moloch is in charge. Moloch knows to become more powerful. The weak must play their part by working and consuming. Then dying. Only Moloch will remain strong. To live forever. Luxuriously. In a Swiss chalet. Or in a top price New York apartment. In some rarefied atmosphere away from the filth produced for riches. It does not matter the world is becoming a rubbish dump as it is the vultures who will still survive. To the corporates a subversive today is an honest person. Who can be cut down just as easily by character assassination as by real assassination-

‘After all,’ to surmise a hypothetical corporate point-of-view, ‘…litigation is judicially clean…legally seamless…it is just a question of money. Which is no problem. How dare any David voice any unfair complaint to ‘victimize’ any Goliath? (Amongst all the other protest posters I saw in Norton Street, Leichhardt there was that environmental one. On a traffic light box. A man with a slingshot dwarfed by a huge wood chipping robot destroying the forest around it. Towering to the heavens!). With the right result the newsworthiness of what was an adverse situation exponentially increases to the good in the eyes of those who wish to sympathize with us…publicity raises demand, which increases profit…’

I do wonder to myself how much are outcomes in any expensive legal system based on money rather than on the truth or on justice ormorality…?’

___________________________________________________________________________

 Listening to Michael I could see how he was dismissive of those who only had a one dimensional, intellectualised – if that is the right word – short term view of recent history; who only saw what was presently politically happening in the world through a narrow, reductionist Cold War or even post-Cold War ideological prism; yet as if all in reverse with ‘light’ not splintering into a rainbow of many different colours but to be bundled back together to one white light to suit their sterile monochrome and static political view of the world…to not understand that a long term view was needed in which agency must be given to those who live and very well die in the troubled zones that one only reads about or clinically views on the digital spectrum of reality that is now presented to us on electronic streams…often dispassionately…digital dots that form a dead human being…a wailing relative…burning vehicles…blown out apartments…a row of dead children…soldiers beating up a civilian…a wasted landscape…then a supermarket commercial…a car commercial…a travel commercial…an insurance commercial…a health benefit commercial…a mobile phone commercial and so on…a house loan bank commercial…a television series promotion…now a news item of starving children…and so it goes on…until we turn off the television or laptop or smartphone and casually manoeuvre to some other domestic activity including having dinner, maybe reading social media…(…yet to be pro-actively self-critical so as to be reassured that what one reads will actually  measure up to reality rather than to a mental echo chamber…this perhaps becoming the main mental challenge of the new century…) while here is Michael who tries to make me understand that human reality cannot always be only understood in the abstract…that to understand the human motivations behind what happens in the human present is to go back in time…to look beyond recent events…to human history from aeons past…for me, ironically to proceed to the internet to view university lectures that before the digital age would not be freely accessible…(the upside of the internet)…to learn the background histories and cultures of countries that now war with each other…to see how it is perhaps much better to frame the Russian invasion of Ukraine through a nineteenth century lens which in turn the Russian Empire which then traversed over national territories that are now independent nations along Russia’s borders sought its rationale to conquer and expand from its very beginnings in even much earlier centuries to thus view the rise of the USSR as an appendage to such a much longer history rather than as a purely new political formation with the reality being the then ingrained ideological cover used to ‘justify’ this latest metamorphosis of Russian expansionism was what was only uniquely new…(something perhaps best understood by East Europeans rather than Europeans who live in the West who focus more so on how Russia has had to deal with two major ‘strongman’ invasions from western Europe in the last two centuries – by Napoleonic France 1812 and Hitler’s Germany 1941-1945 respectively - which of course has made Russia naturally wary that this abusive geopolitical pattern may yet occur again in a new century especially when any new invasion would now directly proceed onto Russian soil now that it has lost political and military control over its once ‘buffer satellite states’ on its long western border when the USSR still existed…‘states’ that were actually Russian occupied countries and who since gaining their independence have an equivalent concern as all their preceding generations that they too may again be swallowed up by a re-emerging ultranationalist Russia…which suddenly brings to mind how Stalin despite his iron grip over the populous knew that to invoke saving ‘Mother Russia’ as the national stimulus to fight the invading Germans rather than to solely frame this titanic struggle on the Eastern Front as a fight between fascism and communism would help him win this apocalyptic war…and which to this day it is referred to in Russia as the Great Patriotic War…yet these days it actually looks unlikely that there is any real inclination from the West to invade again especially, although I comment from afar, when much of Europe has rightly or wrongly invested in uniting itself by way of the European Union so as to suppress any nationalist urge to wage another devastating land war on its own soil (which, of course at times has caused internal tensions especially when it seems an exterior bureaucracy imposes rules which do not seem either fair or well balanced as if giving advantage to one country over another another although the premise is to be equitable yet when perceived as inequitable can lead to nationalist surges such as in the case of the United Kingdom seeking to reinstate full autonomy for itself or in the case of Greece at the time of a great national crisis one saw the rise of a independent spirit in response to the austerity measures placed upon it strictly instigated by more economically powerful EU members such as Germany; yes, one can see why there can be resentment but one can also see why it may be for the best to advocate for internal reform rather than for a  total abandonment of this unifying project; much the case also for the United Nations which has had many abject failures yet if reformed rather than abandoned can also still serve as a useful pressure valve for geopolitics. Yes, it seem, again rightly or wrongly as I start to further mature in age my revolutionary spirit is mellowing out so to be more so a reformist, anyhow in modernised societies people seem too comfortable to have a revolution although, for instance, an energy crisis coupled with the climate crisis may get them out of their ‘comfort zone’…yet one still sees that in a dictatorship with no genuine democratic institutions in place to initiate a revolution despite the unwanted human cost to overturn the mechanisms of oppression and those who operate them may tragically be the only viable option); while I learn that a potentially militarily capable country such as a re-united Germany has chosen in recent decades not to massively re-arm (thus attempting to turn its back on its devastating militarist past) but more so in recent times to involve itself in a more open policy of rapprochement towards Russia which pragmatically by way of trade the two former protagonists of the Great Patriotic War could replace mutual hostility with mutual respect and trust (and maybe even to outright friendliness…which while looking at what Deutsche Welle News has to say would have been unthinkable straight after the Second World War when West German Adenauer did all he could to bring his country into the bosom of the United States and other Western allies in what was known as ‘Westintegration’ and so to be as far away as possible politically from the Soviet Union (apparently no sense of war guilt on the part of Adanenaur in regards to what Germany did in the Soviet Union during the war which had left tens of millions dead; a sense of historical guilt which would in later decades surface in the national consciousness to drive German policy towards Russia…)  while the Social Democrat Willy Brandt in the early 1970s thought it best with what became known as Ostpolitik to improve relations with the countries behind the Iron Curtain and which would eventually lead to the notion of rapprochement in the following Schmidt era whereby the psychological foundation was laid for Kohl and Gorbachev in the 1980s and early 1990s to allow for what seemed like a miraculous reunification of Germany and the withdrawal of Russian troops from East Germany to occur without the prospect of war (which enabled Gorbachev to generally be seen positively in the West while the withdrawal of Russian troops from eastern bloc countries which were part of  the Soviet Union itself such as with Lithuania and Latvia in the Baltics would not occur so amicably with civilian lives lost so as to have Gorbachev to be seen far less favourably by these now independent nations; after all Gorbachev brought in his heralded reforms to save the Soviet Union not to have it unwittingly disappear on him but so this became the case as historical forces outwitted Gorbachev and the hardliners in the Russian military who went beyond Gorbachev to clumsily attempt by way of a few targeted military actions in the Baltics to avert the Soviet Union from falling apart; it is argued if the chain of command that led to the deaths of civilians by Russian arms at the Vilnius television tower went all the way to Gorbachev – Gorbachev himself states he did not know about this incident until the next day – of which, of course, there would be Lithuanians who would find this claim of non-involvement very hard to believe -  yet, even if one was to believe Gorbachev on this matter for many East Europeans he has still not done his historical reputation any favours for he has never publicly condemned this grievous Russian action or apologised about it, having even refused to co-operate in later years with a Lithuanian inquiry which, at the very least, would have been a gesture of goodwill towards a newly liberated democratic nation which had suffered under occupation for many decades from the country he had once led; incidentlly, an inquiry which in terms as to who was responsible would get as far up the chain of command as Defence Minister _   who interestingly enough would be one of the hardliners who would attempt a coup to overthrow Gorbachev in August but which thankfully would fail with Yeltsin famously imploring for democracy to succeed on top of of tank – who thanks to Yeltsin and friends persuading a tank commander – had its long gun barrel pointing away from Russia’s parliament building rather than at it as had been intended by the coup hardliners. 

for democracy to succeed…     

but what is known he had earlier approved of more Russian troops to be stationed in Lithuania when the country was officially advocating for independence as well as instigating an energy blockade which led to . Thus Gorbachev at the very least contributed to heightening rather than de-escalating the tensions that was already permeating between Lithuania’s citizens and their Russian occupiers which would psychologically enable a direct confrontation to far more easily occur which is what happened tv tower and of which Gorbachev said he was not involved (which of course many Lithuaininas findhard to believe but in any case Gorbachev can still not be seen in a favourable light as he never publclcly condemned what happened etc  

never condemned.     

any further confrontation  between Lithuania’s citizens and their Russian occupiers    

 was involved in the chain of 

 wasdirectly responsible for these military actions  

personally approved of such military actions 

need an enemy – pitin etc-  NATO is that enemy etc 

as he had earlier chosen to only impose economic restrictions on say the Baltics to stall any shift to independence and as it was Russia’s hardliners would even eventually attempt a coup to oust Gorbachev yet Gorbachev cannot be seen in any case in 

a favourable light as he had never denounced these military actions by Russian troops. It was at the time of the withdrawal of Russian troops from East Germany would allow NATO to expand to take in this territory which was once behind the Iron Curtain but there was no thought of the time of the possibility that NATO would expand even further as the Warsaw Pact was still in place.  Thus there was no outright promise from NATO to Russia that it would not expand further eastwards as later claimed by Russia although not by Gorbachev himself who in hindsight perhaps regretted not formerly seeking such a reassurance although for him the possibility of the whole Soviet Union dissolving as it soon would was still deniably unthinkable. While the eventual expansion of NATO should not have been taken as a signal by Russia that there was an intention by the West to eventually threaten Russia sovereignty there was the hubris of the West which by winning the Cold War should have taken more seriously any Russian anxiety who was now seen diplomatically in lesser esteem by no longer being a superpower – which in fact had now left for a time the United States singly as a ‘hyperpower’ -  as to hurt the pride of one’s former’s enemy would provide the excuse of any nefarious political force to take advantage as had clearly been the case after Versailles.  

Yet Gorbachev would 

Countres can be sacrificed yet Baltics etc by being included in nato there is a commitment that other major country s hav to defnfd them depite their own motivations eg. although in 1990 was hoped by west tht russi n dlithianing could come to some sort of resolution, yes geopolitics works to defort its own interstss but smaler countries cn tke advantage when lartheir and larger intersts cn align etc as is the case f ukriane whereby Russian aggression stopping is the common denominater etc 

Look at three artices

Of pcuse putin woild not want to wait in line for nato membership and when he started to see othe countries join nato it was not the threat that bothered him but the opportunit lost to attack these countreis to regain them that would have more offended him – a mixture of hubris from the est and a mixture of humilatuon and calculated lost opportunity by putin which would be a bad mix and only those who projected imperial ambition themselves such as Kissinger would tlkae heed of Russian concerns of expamsionims while those in the Baltics only knwew to well athat nato would prove to be a lifeline to secure them rom Russian imperialism while it was all to late for Ukraine which had at leas democratically fened off Russian interference etc which frustrated him and which by appeasement form the west putin too kthe trisk to invae assuming it would  be aquick victory as the wst had not truly interfered from 2014 etc employed same poliiies as back with ithuanaia etc

Yet Germany ignored russias other invasions in alorfder to go oon with detenet etc détente etc which although the us continued with the rsoviet union it would ultimately suspect with rusia as it became a spoiler to us. Foreing policy as would be the case in the middle east easpecially with Syria etc 

Excuse it was as putin would come along for whom the dissolution of the Soviet Union was a humiliation and the threat he would pose should have been taken more seriously and not appeased too etc his invasions of gerogeia etfc  earnestly after all, the same premise was at play whereby a nation that felt humiliated would be able to acquire the political capital to ustify it acting aggressively even though it was clear there was no moral justification for its action, but human beings do not always see the world through a logical lens but an emotional one and the populist politician knows how to utilize people’s grievances for one’s own purpose or to transfer grievance over to empowerment which in this case is to make Russia great again and one is not refeecning the soviet union but the Russian empire of tsarist times etc national pride so for this reason one maybe able to motivate people to go to war although of victory can be quick but it was not and the risk then people may query when the see theur country is not capable etc and so when the promises of greateness start to appear hollow then the populist may then be under threat  .  

Yet alwo projection to envisage that Russia would of course not tolerate any nato expansion which was legitimate as it involved states simply looking for their own defence to not ever offence russsia who would like to think that one day it could again retake these terriotoes

Just likethe onroe doctrine of the united tates 

The grat game – individuals could be sacrificed a said in the Burea which cat had happened to be atching – individual lives lost to like in Lithuania in order to obtain greater security interests etc  

any Russian concern as to the    

the hubris that would   

that Gorbachev was assured that        

 rather than Gorbachev 

 and the violent actions committed on Lithuanian and Lativan citizens by hardliners in the Russia’s military may have not    

it is sometimes lost         

Trying to fit narratives to ft netly into like squares in a round hole the finite into the inintetc whn aeveryting is eally mesy et 

Adenauer

Adenauer

)              

Mention European union etc which aimed to suppress national urges which of course casuses internal tensions etc with aespecially when there is an  exterior buracracy which lays down rules which seem to oipose too much and do not seem well balanced  not livingin Europe it seeme d to cat etc resentment 

It is only the privileged who can afford to have ideals while the poor suffer as they must with no time to have ideals  who can comfortably adopt an opinion with no consequentce to themselves etc 

yet these days it actually looks unlikely that there presently is an inclination from the West to invade again and in recent times I have educated myself by finding out how in the case of an economically powerful and potentially militarily capable European country such as a re-united Germany has in recent decades involved itself more in a policy of reapproachment towards Russia by having it help to meet its energy needs with the Nordstream gas pipelines which directly link these two countries together like umbilical cords which could reassure Russia that rather than view the West as an ongoing threat it could potentially be positively seen s a benefactor that would help enable Russia to be prosperous so as to have nothing to fear and all to please and by becoming so dependent on Russian gas why would it be envisaged that Germany would want to be so hostile towards Russia as to threaten being cut off from this energy source even if the United States as a leading entity in NATO suddenly became voraciously hostile towards Russia…? Yes, why deliberately attack the hand that feeds you…?

In this hall of mirrors that one walks into when discussing any foreign policy response towards Russia when siding with the West makes you run the risk of appearing politically archaic it has to be said yet again that one must battle against any imperialist no matter its source and that behind every imperial impulse is a nationalist outlook that always works against the very humanitarian values one would want to support in order to have a better world 

so one fights against imperialism purely in defence of such humanitarian values and those who will uphold them and not…)…     

here was certainly no present inclination by the West to do so again (while one thinks that in the case of a powerful and potentially militarily capable European country such as Germany there had in recent decades been a policy of reapproachement towards Russia by having it help to meet its energy needs with the Nordstream gas pipelines which could reassure Russia that rather than view the West as an ongoing threat it could potentially be positively seen as a benefactor that would help enable Russia to be prosperous to thus having nothing to fear and all to please. A German view that one supposes would be seen as naïve by a small country such as Lithuania which was working hard to break all energy links with Russia so that it could never be held to ransom by its imperious neighbour. As it turns out Lithuania was correct to be wary  ).  

Stalin knew to fight the war not defending communism but invoking mother Russia 

Yet to look at timothy snydeer Ukraine etc 

Gregor noticed ta work that those who most applauded PK were those with permanent jobs who could afford the luxury of liking him as they would never bear the brunt of casualization etc 

seem to care about Cyprus   

Cyprus doesn’t seem to matter or ever get mention by those

those who criticize NATO as if it has 

those apologists who defend Russia’s invasion and criticize NATO never mention

defend Russia’s invasion and criticize NATO never mention Cyprus…I guess it doesn’t fit in with what they are really on about which is   

all those apologists for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine who somehow think its NATO’s fault that it happened never mention     

to at least give an imperious Russia  

due to the common threat that was Russia and by which the unprovoked invasion of Ukraine had shown 

their fears were not imaginary . 

Michael had told me that although NATO had not saved Cyprus he could see how for Ukrainians or for people from the Baltics and Finland it was good that NATO existed due to the common threat that Russia was which although it had been invaded twice in recent centuries by the West there was certainly no present inclination by the West to do so again (while one thinks that in the case of a powerful and potentially militarily capable European country such as Germany there had in recent decades been a policy of reapproachement towards Russia by having it help to meet its energy needs with the Nordstream gas pipelines which could reassure Russia that rather than view the West as an ongoing threat it could potentially be positively seen as a benefactor that would help enable Russia to be prosperous to thus having nothing to fear and all to please. A German view that one supposes would be seen as naïve by a small country such as Lithuania which was working hard to break all energy links with Russia so that it could never be held to ransom by its imperious neighbour. As it turns out Lithuania was correct to be wary  ).  

as an ongoing threat it could see the West as a benefactor to enable Russia to be prosperous.

partner to enable it to become as prosperous 

s own economic development.  

 which had the military capability to  

while Russia still expressed a strong imperialist impulse to ‘rightfully’ occupy .  

to be in NATO or to have NATO’s support as with the case with Ukraine to  

could be favourably seen as a saviour      

Russian imperialism would fail.   

in Europe unlike then NATO would not make the same grievous moral mistake and this time   

now unlike then it was vital that in Europe NATO  

whilst this had not been the case decades ago when Cyprus was militarily attacked by one of its own members and who still occupied a large northern portion of this small island. 

been a ‘defence organization’ which had not worked in Cyprus’s favour when one of its own members    

that while NATO had not worked in favour of Cyprus it was essential that NATO was prompted to at least not make the same grievous moral mistake and this time to actively work in favour of Ukraine. (Thus as a ‘neutral observer’ to tentatively surmise that it also had to be recognised that the underlying historical sources of the regional tensions that had brought on what I supposed were avoidable tragedies for both Cyprus and Ukraine actually went back a far way even aeons and so    

 and thus for me as a ‘neutral observer’ to tentatively surmise that the regional tensions underlying these two distinct conflicts were recognised by both the Cypriots and Ukrainians as going back historically far, far further than any superficial binary Cold War or post-Cold War framing which was a narrative in the present circumstances a reductionist and one-dimensional one but which was orchestrated by charlatan apologists for Russian imperialism     

to which the charlatan apologists for Russian imperialism wanted to remain to the fore in order to justify the unprovoked invasion of Ukraine. 

simplistically only allowed for a one-dimensional reductionist narrative which especially in the case of Ukraine served the charlatan apologia for Russian imperialism.      

 for me to tentatively surmise that whilst NATO had not worked to Cyprus’s benefit  

To have Michael tell me that although NATO   

 for a still occupied north Cyprus the Greek Cypriots welcoming the attendance   

charlatan apologist narratives for Russian imperialism

‘…yet, there are also many martyrs…so many South American environmentalists who have been murdered for taking a stand against the wholesale vandalism of their continent. So many trade union leaders killed in Colombia-’

  Power begets power…(…and of course power corrupts…)…

 ‘…Dante believed that an all powerful human empire would reflect the omniscient power of God by desiring to do good for all. After all, with everything unified under one supremely controlling entity it made no sense to desire even more when all that was needed was already obtainable. Such an earthly empire could only be but just, for it would be content with all it had. There would be no need to be even more greedy when all that was wanted had already been obtained. A sensible view in a sensible world. However, the world is not sensible. It is mad.

During the Cold War there was the deterring policy of mutually assured destruction or MAD. Whereby both superpowers knew they could not win a nuclear war if the other side had nuclear parity. Both sides would be vaporized. Nuclear peace prevailed not due to any grand justice but due to a grand fear.

A Dantesque unity was paradoxically created between two ideological opposites equal with each other on an atomic level. Mutual controls had led to a mutual sanity. For the corporations there was no mutually strong opposition. No one. To overrule. Or push back.

The amygdalae in the brains of U.S. and Soviet generals kept their fears of a global nuclear winter at rational levels, which dissuaded them from mounting a first strike. These two almond shaped regions of the human brain which are important for our memories, choices and emotions are believed to be smaller in a psychopathic brain. An obscene consciousness which has no fear. No empathy. No pity. No guilt. No remorse. No responsibility. No forgiveness. Only deceit. Only revenge. Only self-satisfaction. A cold blooded mind. Heartless. Yet, has a heart for itself. A self-love. With a loathing for all. At the expense of all. To have the human dignity of all never respected. To not even care for any human life. Other than its own. To even take away life. Simply for pleasure. If it so benefits. The corporate mind has no normal amygdalae. An evolutionary malformation. Which allows for an insatiable greed. Which is never satisfied. Dante’s malevolent Satan, unchained. Who, unleashed, will still want God’s eternal kingdom. And, even more. Just to sell for a fast buck. The pre-eminent global model of the human economy in the latter decades of the twentieth century along with the beginning years of the twenty-first has been to have the pathologically strong to dehumanize the sane weak. The sociopaths control the asylum in an inverse of a good willed designated morality which states human liberty should be pre-eminent over human tyranny. Yet, in today’s world, an increasing proliferation of private wealth to only a few people is the new human ‘normalcy’. At the expense of billions.

Narcissus peers into his pool. Reveres his supple reflection. Does not look beyond into the dark watery depths. To the multitudes of drowning souls. There is only the surface beauty. It is said Narcissus will himself drown. Nevertheless, it is a demise that will be willed by him alone. Although the death of Narcissus will be welcome when will it come? What of the human cost in the meanwhile?’

(I am delusional. I know it but I go on, I must go on…with a hope of an eventual saving of humanity…or is this hope in vain…?).

‘Yet the pool will dry up before Narcissus eventually decides to ever end it all, as the myth goes when he realizes that all of what he desires cannot be gained. Which is himself. Or withers away. As the multitudes wither away and who will turn to dust as Apollo the Sun bears down upon humanity with a brutish heat. The world will disintegrate. The wide reaching environmental catastrophe – forewarned by the many who have been killed for stating we must repent of our vandalizing ways – will overtake Narcissus. Yet it will overtake us all. Yes, the asylum will be gone. With only a very few to emerge from beneath the rubble of its collapsed walls-

(I grimace. The truth pierces me. It can no longer be avoided. Bringing on an unbearable sanity).

‘…it will only be the physically strong…who will survive…and if they are morally insane…? The past tells all…in the eighties it was demanded of the indebted nations to earn more money by increasing their exports even if this meant selling at a much cheaper price due to falling demand. Spending less money also became an imperative which meant cutting back on social services and pensions. Public utilities also needed to be sold off to help raise the money to pay off national debt. A barren world with the wealthy holding the poor to ransom. Moral insanity. However, it was the first world’s financial system which bizarrely held the moral ground. Up high. Looking down below at the multitude. Yes. I am mad. To think that people have moral rights. To have a right to say no when asked to take their sweat soaked shirts off their backs and give it to those in silky suits in Zurich. In London. In Brussels. In Frankfurt. In Wall Street. There they are the shirtless. Covered in soil. Deep in pits. Dug out with bare hands. To find minerals. To barter to those financial gods standing above them. Over them. Who do not yell. Who seethe. Who have no pity. Who want not life, but metal. Blood to be spilt. Sacrifice. All is sacrifice.’

“MOLOCH!” I go once more to my little black Magnum photo book. 

 Sebastiao Salgado’s black & white photos of Brazilian gold miners. Men as ants. In their thousands. With loads of the earth’s heavy rubble on their backs. Monumental human streams climbing long ladders set against high cliffs. As if this mass is a besieging army. Assaulting the earth. Yet, it is they who are being assaulted. Being besieged by those in ergonomic offices. In shiny towers. Half a globe away. Who are looking at expansive spreadsheets withundulating graphs that are incisively measuring the rise and fall of such impoverished, beaten men in an unimaginable underworld, who are suffering, collectively, Sisyphus’s cruel curse. 

 “CURSE YOU MOLOCH!”

  The earth is hollowed out. To hollow out the world. To hollow out human souls. It is the neoliberal goal.

Structural adjustment has taken over from strategic bombing. Bombardiers Zinn and Dunbar would recognize the same suffering innocents. Who will die. In wrecks that were once nations. Who have been ruined by the laws of supply and demand which can embody as much destructive force as bombs that are hurtled down by the law of gravity. Absolute natural precepts which once humanity has harnessed for its use it can no longer reverse the process. Just as falling bombs cannot be made to ascend back to their bomb bays, falling nations cannot be saved by irreversible economic forces that have been deceptively unleashed, to be used to destroy them. A high flying vulture’s squawk for national ‘reforms’ so as to claim the establishment of sustained growth is akin to being a vocal trojan horse that is really bringing on only sustained pillage, to have whole societies devalued, to make them ‘ripe’ for the picking bytransnationals.

A world in vertigo. Millions of lives deliberately forced to spin out of control. Losing their balance. Falling over. To no longer be standing up but living on their knees. Dizzy from starvation. Nauseous from being thrown out of work and into poverty. Vomiting from preventable diseases that stay untreated.

(My mind is in free fall).

Twirling skeletons. The dancing dead. Liberation in an after-world. Where they float. Freed from earthly burdens. For on this earth they had been prey. Jose Guadalupe Posada. 1852-1913. The Mexican printmaker whose satirical ‘calaveras' prints were especially very popular with the illiterate of Mexican society. I find it apt to look at them in my Mexican Revolutionary Prints book. While Greece had become the Truman Doctrine’s template for ‘low intensity conflict’ it was Mexico in 1982 which became the perfected perverse neoliberal model to economically scourge poor nations. A Posada print of a smiling skeleton on horseback knocking over many other skeletons as if they were skittles. This is what was happening to the Mexican people as they found their economy unravelling: Although there were increasing inefficiencies and inflated pricing with these over-protected local industries the sudden stripping down of a tariff shield - that had allowed for a domestic ‘Mexican miracle’ over the last forty years - had only led to many so-called uncompetitive factories to close down with the ranks of the unemployed massively rising in the hundreds of thousands. (So many to go try their luck in the United States which is not what Washington would have wished for; Mexicans having to migrate illegally due to the strict U.S. migration quotas introduced by law in 1965). Investment collapsing. Exports further declining. With the peso ever more devaluing. While under the banner of ‘competitive wages’ real wages were also drastically falling. This national decline in incomes also affecting professionals. Teachers now tried to work three shifts day and night to earn a salary which remotely resembled their former incomes. Bloated government administrations were also cut but the axing went too far with a loss of many jobs that were actually needed for public services to function properly. As it was overall subsidy cuts led to deficiencies in health, transport, housing, etcetera as well as leading to a rise in food prices. Even staples such as tortillas and beans became expensive leading to an ever multiplying poor to suffer even more from a dire lack of nutrition. Child mortality rates astronomically went up. Millions of peasants had no work for most of the year. Structural adjustment also emphasized the growing of cash crops that could be exported so as to help raise the national income which in turn was to be prioritized to paying off the national debt. Local food production needs would take a backseat which can make anyone who is sane and fair minded to only wonder if the neoliberals really do believe if it would be better for the human race to just eat money. Money, it seems is all that matters. Government for the general welfare of society was being replaced by governance solely for the welfare of the financial market. An ever increasing privatized world had no concern for ‘social functions’ for they did not have any economic value. (After all, something as materially ‘ephemeral’ as ‘human culture’ or ‘social justice’ cannot be listed on the stock market). Profit value. Not social value. Is what a free market is solely concerned about with any human activity. While the supreme human act on a national economic level is to: maximize efficiency. Minimize cost. Cut the fat. (Including even if that ‘fat’ was human). Yet, after so much sacrifice Mexico’s national debt only rose. Cheap labour. Cheap industries. A desperate economy-

 …alas, a country as an experimental human lab on how to euphemistically ‘succour’ it for multinational takeover. Yet, more so than testing out any duplicitous economic theory is the inhumane conduct in moral hypocrisy. Trickle down theory. Those who are the most enterprising shall receive the most money and some of this concentrated wealth will seep onto society’s lower rungs. Capital investment. Employment. To occur when the wealthy have far less tax to pay; with their ability to create even more wealth is freed by deregulation. Less government interference is good for big business. Big business is good for everyone. Including those who are now lowly. The freedom to make more money is what is defined as human freedom by the free market. Yet why so much increasing income inequality? Why do the wealthy have even far more money? Why does the rest of society have even less? Is it because the wealthy do not invest? That they keep the extra money for themselves? To be worthy self-beneficiary consumers who are spending money that otherwise would only have been handed out to the undeserving poor? Apart from some luxury items, only buying things the rest of us buy at the supermarket, at the same quantities, meeting the same individual needs while not meeting the societal needs of a whole nation? Ronald Reagan. His first inauguration speech. Who spoke of making America great again. As the American dollar was no longer great. The economy had to be revitalized for America to return to its post-war global grandeur. Taking a conservative direction, which would have certainly pleased Barry Goldwater (who had spectacularly failed in his run for the Presidency in 1964 but helped to steer the Grand Old Party from clinging onto any New Deal residue to start going down a more extreme conservative path which, perhaps, would have mystified the Republican Party’s first President: Abraham Lincoln). Reagan would return to the unequal capitalist project as it was before Roosevelt’s New Deal, as it was before the Great Depression. (In the time of Coolidge – who Reagan admired - when a yawning economic inequality prevailed between rich and poor even though he had been a President who had expressed sympathy to African Americans and to the American Indians). If there was any failure this time it would not be blamed on the rich, but on the poor. Reagan wanted everyone to work so all may share in the bounty that was to come (after all, it would only be those who did not work who would deservedly suffer, never mind if there was no work for all). The government had to get out of the way so the innate drive for success of the American people could be unleashed. Government would no longer be the problem for it will only be the shirkers who would hold the Great America back. Government assistance had only stifled the country’s moral courage and now a lack of government interference in the personal affairs of Americans would inspire one and all to seek out new opportunities to better their lot. Opportunity. It is what the free market demands. Every human was free to do the best they could and it was a ‘natural law’ that those who worked hard would thrive. Those who remain impoverished had obviously not tried. They deserved no sympathy. No help. While the wealthy received tax cuts the unemployed received cuts to social services. The poor must not be rewarded for not working. Those who were homeless had made that ‘choice’. They couldlive by it. On the streets. Where they could die. That is their freedom. Those who were exploited had to understand that they only had themselves to blame. For in a psychotic led society to be able to exploit others was a quality peculiarly applauded. One had to be strong. One had to be ruthless. One had to show no charity to the weak. Who were weak because they did not do unto others as they should expect others to do unto them. Might is right. It was how thirteen colonies had expanded to the West. To clear it of the savages. To Mexico. To take half of it away from an obviously less able race. The moral strength of America had to return. The counterculture of the sixties was perceived by conservatives as a valueless meandering in unbridled hedonism (as distinct from the U.S. inspired unbridled savagery occurring at the same time in the third world). Thus this alternative idealism was seen by the emerging neo-cons as a truly radical threat to a standardized ‘family values’ view of the American Dream. The family had to be protected, or rather specifically the white heterosexual alpha-male head of the nuclear family needed to re-secure his hegemony so as to continue a white alpha male domination of the world. Submission to such a supremacist vision does, as has already been inferred, go all the way back to the mass removal and slaughter of the Indians after the War of Independence while carrying out a prescribed manifest destiny of occupying and exploiting this new continent from coast to coast - doo da doo da - to the heightened posturing of the Monroe Doctrine in the 1850s which justified New World invasion in the name of Old World interference - doo da doo da - to John Wayne with the U.S. cavalry saving defenceless children from the Apaches in RIO GRANDE…doo da doo da…America you sweet, dimply good guy cavalry rider with the strong white steed…doo da doo da…you courageous defender of those too young to defend themselves against all those marauding loathsome high and mighty evildoers…doo- oh America…just how do you get away with it? What bright coloured shining (media) balls do you keep juggling up into the air to keep our wayward attention away from all the horrendous things you actually do on ground level? You give everyone the opportunity of free expression. To think only of themselves. Of no one else. To self- improve. It is all good for promoting self-consumption. If we cannot be rich we can imitate those who are. The American daydream. On everyday television. To look towards the advantaged. (Certainly, away from the disadvantaged). The celebrity icon. Andy Warhol would silk screen print. Marilyn. Elvis. Elizabeth Taylor. Liza Minelli. Boticelli’s Venus. One can never be sure what went on in Warhol’s mind. Being both commercial and philosophical. In private thought. In sardonic word. In mass production artistic deed. Who said that only in America could the richest person down to the poorest hobo buy the same bottle of Coke. The President in the Oval Office and the derelict in a railway car both savouring that cocaine inspired taste which no amount of money could ever top. This was the great e-quality of the Great America. Who through his celebrity images was perhaps paradoxically both upholding and subverting the American ideal that success came to those who truly deserved it. That Americans revere those who have made the most of their opportunities. That society could only progress when everyone had obtained the ‘opportunity’ to be rich and famous. This is what is meant by equal opportunity in the land of milk & honey. Social equality individualized by the thought that we could all strive to be wealthy. (All taking our turn to have our proverbial fifteen minutes of fame). The ‘lucky break’ is out there for anyone just like the proverbial imaginary pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. (It doesn’t exist. Even the rainbow is an illusion of light). Look at all those smiling marching girls twirling their pompoms and marching sticks on the Fourth of July! Some Hollywood director is going to spot you on the television or on social media and track you down to make you an offer! You can be an extra in his film and in the next one be the star! Plucked by the gods! (Just like Marilyn!) To savour MountOlympus on Sunset Boulevard! To go with a sense of deep solemnity and good humour on cable tv talk shows to talk about your overnight stellar rise from supermarket checkout obscurity to supermarket magazine celebrity! It’s what we all want to happen! We all deserve it! America! You are the grandest rainbow of them all! Land of the big parade! Bless the marching girls! Bless the big bands! Blowing their trumpets! Like on Judgement Day! Oh God! Bless the Great America! We are so grateful! To live in the U.S.A! ‘Cause we’ll all be saved! When the trumpet blows! To raise us! Hey! Bless the television camera that’s scanning the television studio audience! That’s scanning the stadium crowd! All cheering! For recognition! Hey! There I am! GO TEAM USA!

I read that Andy Warhol was patriotic. Maybe its true…it could help explain the way he spoke so ambiguously. So evasively. As if to imitate those state department officials who at any White House press conference would smile and provide polite opaque answers to any direct questions that appeared to undermine the American way of doing business. Especially in foreign lands. Especially when striking down anonymous evil doers with anonymous drones. (Killing at the same time thousands of anonymous innocent civilians. In Pakistan. In Afghanistan. Because the U.S.A can!). Especially when the business at hand was the overthrow of a legitimate government. A most dire international circumstance especially when American lives were at stake. Yet it did not matter when seven hundred thousand so called communists were massacred by Suharto. In the interests of Cold War freedom for the free states. So many lives did not matter.  Americans were dying in Vietnam. That’s what mattered. It was only recently that I was reminded of this forgotten moment in history. A history purged of so much blood. When millions did die in this ‘bloodless period’ of global tension (because for awhile not much of the blood spilt was from the first world). The blood was trickling in Africa. The Middle East. Latin America. In Indochina. In Asia. It was blood pouring away that did not bear thinking about. Of lives that were of no consequence. Suffering not only from war but from a first world induced widespread global economic pestilence. The blood did not reach Disneyland so all was well. The Fantasia score drowning out the screams of frightened Indo-Chinese village women and children, of a grief-stricken sitting elderly Middle-Eastern man beating his forehead and chest, surrounded by the dead bomb blasted bodies of his family. There I was across the road from the Haymarket. A Sunday night. People carrying white Asian lanterns walking by. I did not know why. I did not have the chance to find out. I walked into the small gallery. Went up the steps to see a bare chested Indonesian man. In his fifties. Serene. Speaking of the deaths of hundreds of thousands. A ‘footnote’ in (western view) history. Only to be viewed as a few black and white images of bodies lying on the ground. Beside rice fields in news reel film clips. Barely seen now. While reel upon reel of the deaths in Vietnam are never far away. Where millions of Vietnamese died. Tens of thousands of Americans. The hundreds of Australians. Lives squandered. The blood of the sixties. I heard the Indonesian performance artist speak of Suharto. Of the Americans. Of the dead. Then he sat down by the back wall. A small pyramid of little flour bags lay in front of him about two metres away. He closed his eyes. Crossed his legs. Hands down. A living Buddha leaning his back against the wall. The audience of forty to fifty people were invited to throw a flour bag at him. This silent protest against the spilling of so much innocent blood. A few people tentatively stood up to each throw a bag above his head. For the white flour to slide down or puff all over him. I took my turn. To throw. Many took their turn. Half an hour later the flour pyramid was gone. We saw a sitting man all in white. A human statue. The power of the silence overwhelmed us. Stillness. Like the many dead. Eyes open. Elation. Remembrance matters.

Official silence. No answers. Nothing to remember. It’s the way those in power want it. Their moral negligence to be forgotten. A coy Andy Warhol. Leaning against a Factory wall. It was so true of him to say that the best art is making money. That America was the best artist. America the performance artist. Making all that art in Indochina. With agent orange. With napalm. Spraying over the teeming innocents. Fighter jets with spray cans. Protruding from metallic underbellies. Graffiti artists. Vandalising. Human beings. The earth’s soil. Plants wilting. Human bodies on fire. Those screaming naked children running down a village road.

“Mmmm…we cannot confirm. We cannot deny…”

MAD. The madness. The heart of darkness is quiet. It does not pump blood but hard cold stone. Moving around. Like minerals. That make money. The squandering of life. The endgame to bring countries to their knees. To even sign up to their own damnation. “The Trans-Pacific Partnership.” 

(I have listened to the spokesman of a right-wing think-tank speak frankly to an audience whom it was presumed were all of like mind). 

“The orthodox Washington view is the TPP can be seen as the economic architecture for the renewing of the American presence in the Pacific.” 

(I had noted that remark in the spy-book that is my mind. A spy. Secreted in to this meeting by an informed friend who worked in high places. Who received special invitations. Who would always like to bring me along. An old university friend. To catch a glimpse of the inner workings of the corporate state. At other times going to public gatherings that provide a glimpse into the workings of empires). 

 To hear a former Prime Minister - who as if a Sino apologist - speak about China returning to the status of being a major economic power as it was before the Industrial Revolution; who had to now deal with American exceptionalism which sees itself as the only rightful global power; to not even be able to imagine that another power may only be interested in guaranteeing its security rather than dominating whole regions; for all nations to comprehend a shifting of political tectonic plates in a new century as the world moved to a multipolar global reality hopefully moving on from the previous bipolar world of the Cold War days without a major conflict. An old Cold War paradox still at play whereby unlike at the time of World War One which was when European leaders had no real idea of the power of the weapons they were unleashing, modern world leaders understand only too well the weapons of total annihilation now available to them and would prefer to not use offensively; for me to understand how dialogue between nation states such as the annual gathering of national leaders from the Asia Pacific basin could help to keep the peace. Yet I think how Australia needs to strike out a more independent strategic course; to no longer be dazzled by flattering American razzamatazz otherwise the nation may become like a lapdog hypnotized by car headlights before becoming road kill. Another Prime Minister, Paul Keating, also of the appropriate belief that Australia should not solely couple its foreign policy to U.S. strategic interests…(…yes, and to also appropriately talk of a national need for a more independent-minded, less ‘US-Eurocentric’ Australia  to  more so acknowledge the region in which it exists so spoke of his pragmatic liaison with Suharto yet for me to be troubled that this upfront voice of the ‘Redfern Speech’ which was so very much welcomed by Aboriginal communities did not recognize or acknowledge that to garner a strong trusting relationship with this Indonesian dictator was also to betray a then still occupied East Timor, as seems to also be the case of Australia apparently dismissing the sovereign and human rights of the peoples of West Papua…)…to also jocularly reminiscence about Bill Clinton the President of the United States playing the saxophone at the first meeting of APEC at Seattle; only invoking in me the culture campaign of the Cold War by the United States that it was a ‘soft superpower’; of negro jazz musicians playing in East European cities behind the Iron Curtain; an irony much like when Jesse James won all those gold medals at the 1936 Berlin Olympics to undermine the Nazi claim of Aryan superiority; yet for this Afro-American athlete to return to a country where he could still be treated as a second class citizen and in some states still be lynched if he looked at a white woman the ‘wrong way’. Nevertheless, I think of Gregor telling me how he saw in Moscow four Afro-American jazz musicians with their big instrument cases board a train heading to Berlin). I think of Orpheus who could charm every living being and be able to have trees dance. Yet, in the end, he could not forestall the power of the Underworld from denying him his only love…to close my eyes. Blankness. A mindful search for nirvana.

 There is a war between the worlds of emptiness and fulfilment. Between the spiritual and the material. Yet also a need for co-existence. Eyes opening. A can of soup. Campbells sponsored Orson Welles to do radio plays after his celebrated War of the Worlds scaring of America. A nation terrorized by an illusion. Yet illusions can be good for profits. (Any company can see the benefit in that). It was also a good idea to invent national mirages to maintain full control. Painting a soup can was Andy Warhol’s excursion into the non-material. (An anti-thesis to the capitalist state). To paint nothing. Andy Warhol said a can of soup had the essence of nothing. No meaning. Yet meaning was configured upon it like a Duchamp bottle rack. Art gave ordinary life meaning. Human meaning can sell. Anything. Is. For. Sale. Andy Warhol. Knew this. He painted everything. Sold everything he created. He was a commercial artist after all. Advertising. Our modern culture. Everything has worth if it can sell. Just make it meaningful to the buyer. Yes, advertising can do that on behalf of the seller. A five-star rating nirvana. Like all the stars around that roaring Paramount film male lion. The beast sells entertainment. The beast sells dreams. The stuff of modern nightmares. Produced in sweatshops. Veiled by glamour. We must return to the fire. Where it all began before the city. Before the village. In the wilderness. When people first gathered in the smallest groups. Archie Roach at the Ashfield Park Carnival of Cultures. It is raining. Lisa says it is why it is so tranquil in Master’s backyard when everyone gathers around the barbeque fire he makes at twilight. A primal sanctuary from so much present day dehumanizing human overdevelopment.

Concrete. Madness.

(Serenity. Yes. To have serenity. Yet it is not seen. It is not grasped. Human illusion prevails. Andy Warhol said that the playwright Bertolt Brecht wanted through Communism for people to think the same way, meaning in a good way. Yet people behind the Iron Curtain were forced to think the same anyway, in a bad way, while in Warhol’s public opinion in the United States people think the same way anyway without the authorities seemingly even having to try hard to make people to do so. According to Andy Warhol there is no need to be Communist as everyone is thinking and looking the same anyway without seemingly any outside control. Andy Warhol with his celebrity icons. As if imitating Byzantine portraits. The secular control of the mind through advertising where people’s minds are manipulated to think they are making free choices when no such thing really exists.’

 I believe that many of Andy Warhol’s celebrity portraits were knowingly not registered correctly. Partly a deliberate aesthetic policy against the ethos of ‘artistic perfection’. Partly due to haste to produce as many as possible due to the hot demand that needed cashing in. (Human motivations are always complex. To even, at times, be contradictory). Thus always minor variations in the way different colours lined up. All looking the same but also all slightly different. Like the individual, conforming world around him.

‘What has been said about limiting free speech…? Apparently, it has been suggested that a clever way to control public debate is to have the mediator set the boundaries in which anything can be discussed; thereby underlying power structures will not be seriously questioned while still nominally allowing a free-for-all discussion in any public arena thus helping to keep up a strong democratic appearance thus affirming the way the wold is rather than what it still could be for most people will feel no real need to consider some alternative form of participatory politics; to even have them feel it is necessary to also have politically motivated legal restrictions in place to protect all law abiding citizens from any fantastical social chaos-

(I am bemused…am I law abiding…?).

 ‘Yet one often sees these days in any political discussion program that only particular people are invited to speak often too often leaders and spokespeople covering an assortment of various organisations from civil society who may even be in competition with each other; who to be in the positions they hold that except for the occasional exception clearly hold to certain status quo assumptions so do not even feel really compelled to question the social reality in which they exist for they ‘naturally’ support what benefits them and those who will be more forthright - any dissenting voice - is silently not even given the opportunity to have a place in any such media public forum. Yes, for me many such policy debate shows are just TASS for the managerial class-).

  (A bitter laugh).

‘To self censor ourselves to the point of passively continuing to trust our domineering institutions rather than act on our fair minded intuitions. A mirage of democracy is kept by our ‘choice’ to never extend ourselves outside the boundaries of what are the accepted confines of ‘freespeak’. Acceptance is desired. Not punishment. Reform can be permissible - to a point. Not a radical overhaul. The possibility of a new society never to be raised. Revolution is a dirty word; especially when it includes riots in the streets. Yet revolt does not have to mean a resort to violence; that the state be overthrown so as to simply incur a new maxim of authoritarian control. It was Asimov who mentioned that resorting to violence is always the first reflex of the incompetent-

 I ruefully rub my chin, feeling I must add to the last point: ‘Perhaps, only as an alternative when forced to physically self-defend… A frown. Best to get back to main points. ‘To have the freedom to truly speak. To discuss how things really are. To discuss how things can be really changed. To see where there is unfairness. To see how the social equities that have been achieved now regress. To redistribute equitably social power and social wealth. Peacefully. Smoothly. Cohesively. To really speak one’s mind, could it be possible? To do so without harm coming one’s way from those who feel their power is being threatened?’ (My buzzing mind goes into the usual mental overdrive). ‘To not incur the wrath of those who do not want the edifice of a false democracy torn down? Who want us to simply shout, even critically so, but as long as we don’t actually do anything that really affects those who have their hands on the levers of this human machine we call society?’

Unscrewing a whisky flask.

‘When we can affirm real social transformation then we are free…yes to freely think…to have everything unravel is not wanted…to give excuses for those in control to concentrate power…it is better for everyone to have sources of power constantly flowing…to have free expression…no hate talk, just talk of liberation…to see inequalities and prejudices done away with…to open up alternate public spaces…take for instance co-operatives…to be all equal…this to be our only measure…to move away from a democracy that is really only for the privileged-

I am frustrated. Talking in abstracts is unsatisfactory. To always be foundering on the never ceasing internal rhetoric of my whirring, discordant mind. To suddenly think of Michael taking three boxes of baby milk formulae to a women’s refuge in Redfern: “A friend of mine who doesn’t want to waste anything where she works at a disability support organization asked me to take these spare parcels over from her work. She just didn’t have the time. The woman at the refuge said with the way funding is these days they’re always grateful for any donations. I also take them to a youth social welfare place at the Addison Road which has single mums as clients and even the Food Bank is happy to be given tins of this baby milk powder.” 

 To look over at a large sepia colonial-like poster with an obese well suited man with a fine turban-like hat and drinking splendidly from a cup of tea, being solemnly carried in a high chair with outstretched poles by his strong local servants. Four muscular men looking elegant wearing red vests and loose, long white trousers that balloon out from the thighs down. Here was a visual metaphor for me that could conveniently apply to all my social observations. After all, it would not matter to their master what they talked about for it was all peripheral - on outer margins - to him, as long as they did not debate the idea of putting him down or question why they were lifting him. After all he was a fair man who had convinced them that they were being paid a good wage, a reasonable amount of time would be negotiated so as to travel from A to B, their rest stops were long enough, they could eat and drink what they liked, that he had provided them with adequate health benefits, that the colour of their skin did not matter nor their religion, culture, nationality or even their sexual orientation, that he would also be prepared to provide gender equality to their ‘noble profession’ as well as make sure everyone had an adequate education; they could even vote on fashionably changing the style of their clothes and haircuts as well as the bright colours of the poles they had to use to lift him. There was no problem to innovate using new materials such as lightweight fiberglass to make their job easier. Everything was up for consensus as their master believed in making things as comfortable as possible for them as this also made his life easier by making it much easier to have them ultimately always obey him. A loyalty could be so strongly imbued into these servants that one day when their master’s (or mistress’s) power and wealth was ever under ‘evil threat’ they could dearly go and fight and die for him (or her); after all, it would be their ‘choice’ to do so such was the sense of egalitarianism being fostered in their hearts and minds. Those who did make the ‘supreme sacrifice’ would be respectfully remembered and the generations that followed would feel heroically compelled to emulate their brave deeds when new terrors arose. Sometimes the servants would see their master has been replaced due to ‘internal changes’ in the manner in which those deservedly more honoured than them chose who should be carried around. It was truly extraordinary when the day came when they could even choose to lift a master or mistress of their own choice; or when occasionally a servant became so favoured that he or she too was granted the opportunity of being humbly lifted up into a high chair by a previous master after having entered into the highest positions of their ‘egalitarian’ society. It is what every servant secretly hoped for, to be so deserving (as those around them were obviously not); it is what they saw - with their blessing - happening with many of those who had ably helped to be useful negotiators with their masters. What could never be questioned was the need that some people always needed to be lifted by the many – an ‘inevitable’ natural order of human organization that could never be changed. A societal ‘fate accompli’ like evolution itself which always showed how nature automatically worked best with any healthy species when there was a strong hierarchy in place. However, there need not cruelly be any suffering involved unless it was sadly ‘unavoidable’ such as the case when it ‘had to’ be accepted that one day there would no longer be any need for so many servants when the master would have a car and would use only one servant to drive him around. Unfortunately, the unemployed will have to go onto the street and starve and die. It is only understandable that they do not become an expense to those who have been so ‘generous’ to them in the past. Although every attempt would be done within ‘financial reason’ to help the underserving poor so no undeserving accusation could be made that the ‘more deserving’ were uncaring and selfish; at least such former servants were being kept alive just enough so they would not become desperate enough to question or even – God forbid – try to revolt against the ‘natural order of all things’. Such is the far sighted, forward thinking of the well-off to be so noble, progressive and charitable. It was something to be considered when human technology was reaching again the same conceptual point of the historical cycle as the first industrial revolution with the servants now not to be replaced by unthinking machines but instead by thinking robots, to even have cars and other vehicles such as trucks not needing drivers. When the human processing of the world also faces being increasingly expanded by virtual reality which could hark to ‘fully living’ in a whole state of digital illusion. The technological development of algorithms that can exceed the diverse capabilities of the human intellect from say stock trading through to internet searching through to fighting on the battlefield; to have Dallas police improvise an exploding robot to kill a black sniper suspected of murdering five white police officers-

(Nevertheless, despite what the doomsayers suggest, which, of course one must take heed of, I still think of the blind getting around in driverless cars; I am encouraged to see on television a man unable to be at the birth of his child can still, from many hundreds of miles away, witness this important event by wearing virtual reality glasses wirelessly connected to the internet; to feel he is actually at the birth to provide support to his partner. More inspiring was to attend a University of Technology performance of the Australian Piano Quartet at a Frank Gehry building – an architectural wonder nicknamed ‘the paperbag’ - which had as a guest musician a young woman with cerebral palsy who could use the latest eye technology to control a board which allowed her to musically contribute. Lisa and Melissa were also in attendance along with Michael, Catrina, Isabella and Gregor and were all in awe as how such advanced instrumentation could exalt the humanity of this gifted woman. Violins played Mozart afterwards and I thought during this finale how technology itself was neither good or bad but rather the choices made with it. A sharpened rock can be a flint to incite fire to provide warmth or be a knife to be used as a weapon to take away life). Human intelligence can be creative for joy or pain. In a future where the dark side of human nature keeps prevailing there may only be the need for highly paid compliant servants to provide compliant software to keep artificial intelligence in place so human history can continue to retain, despite so many ‘unnatural revolutions’, the basic master-servants social model which, in the present day, is so much more cleverly disguised. Thus, human intelligence is certainly a weapon of humiliation when others allow themselves to be domineered by others. It was Michael who told me how he went to a work party where everyone appeared to be on the same playing field but it was the temporary workers who would behave instinctively as puppets to their masters when they were cheered on to dance evermore wildly, to overcome any self-conscious robotic stiffness, as if for the amusement of their cheerful bosses beckoning them on. To please, being preconditioned so as to not lose the chance to keep on serving those who stand over them. Yes, to instinctively behave robotically. Understanding how the cues, the programming works in the modern, corporatized world. With its false democracy where there is only the pretence of power sharing like there is between a student council and a school administration. You need to have the money to be elected, you need to have the money to interest the lawyers to really fight for justice. (God bless those ‘legalinistas’ who work for the disadvantaged pro bono). Yet, when one thinks of the porters what would happen if the servants did extend their conversations as to why they had to lift this one man in his litter at all? What would they want instead if they questioned their roles? To just have the roles reversed? To have the servants become the masters? Yet history is littered with so many bitter examples of how this has not turned out well with new servants for new masters. This would certainly not do in any true egalitarian scheme of things. To consider that maybe a better example is to perhaps consider everyone in a rowing boat equally as a collective rowing it together. A coxswain would steer the boat but he or she would not be seen as above any one else especially when all can suggest where and how the boat should go. As someone else may be best to navigate; another more astute as to the weather conditions and to the water currents. All have different skills but all working together equivalently for a common cherished goal: the good life – as the ancients hoped. (I laugh). It is all idealism. Yet it is an aim. To dutifully consider how Cicero influenced the American Founding Fathers to affect a constitution which did genuinely aim for the ‘public right’ of universal human freedom; it being even a divinely inspired ‘natural law’. That Aristotle took in the notion of a well developed community whereby it is recognized people are different in their interests and capabilities and so shouldn’t be forced to all think the same way and do the same things; everyone can continue being individuals but conscious of the whole with society mutually respecting everyone, treating all with the same dignity and to arrive at the fairest distribution of the benefits wholly and individually achieved. As the feminist Gloria Steinem has inferred a world modelled more towards a flat circle rather than as a pyramid which she says has occurred in the past. Another American maverick is cultural historian Morris Berman who pessimistically infers the America Empire that despite its never ceasing fierce hustling (he reminds us the first image to ever come up onto American television was the dollar sign) within itself and on the world stage is already in deep, irreversible decline, so akin to the last days of the Roman Empire which fell so terribly apart. A new dark age. From the first one medieval feudalism arose in which then came the Renaissance, then the Enlightenment then the Industrial Age (with its developing stages from steam to coal to oil but facing stiff resistance from self-interested elites to now move on to renewables) and with capitalism having now presumably entered its advanced stage it may in turn horribly disintegrate for a humanity in a general state of post-traumatic stress to probably, unfortunately, only arrive at a new, but yet unforeseen, master-servant model. Yet, if one can allow the mental luxury of being optimistic: perhaps there can also be a break from such a ‘pre-set future’; so there can be an ‘organized chance’ for many to experience a historical divergence towards a more equitable lasting, circular form of beneficial social transformation-

 To have another thought. A vision. Of seeing on the nightly news elderly Greek villagers who although they are facing much hardship from the economic austerity being inflicted on their impoverished country, by inhuman economic forces, they still feel compelled to offer hospitality to some of the thousands of refugees streaming into Greece from the ongoing Syrian civil war. No matter the cost. “We know what it is to suffer. It is the human thing to help. To welcome our fellow human beings.” the old man firmly said as he and his wife had a couple of refugee families poignantly gather around their large kitchen table to offer them a feast of food which they had gone to great trouble to prepare. On the edge of Hyde Park what did that elderly woman say at that small picket against Australia’s bullying of East Timor over the meridian line? That there is stoicism but the world should lean more towards the practice ofeudemonism.

“What is that…?”

This wise woman smiled. To let go of the long banner she was helping to hold for a moment. A swig of water on this hot day. “It’s an ethical system that is quite simple…the best things always are…” Another smile. “We just simply do things which at their crux have the moral value of encouraging each other’s happiness. Just acts always do that. Goodness should be our actual reality. Not this-

 (My mind suddenly goes a black blank).

‘Illusion is in control for human reality is too hard to bear. Better to think one is free than realize that one is not free at all. Oh you New World America Andy Warhol you were so right to say it is where the U.S. President to Elizabeth Taylor to a hobo on a train cattle truck could all drink the same bottle of Coke. (Never mind that the President and Liz Taylor could drink considerably a lot more…Andy, you left that out)…equality, fraternity, liberty…in the Paris riots of 1968 radical students fought not to escape relentless impoverishment like the workers who also protested but for the opportunity to have upward mobility…to have their aspirations fulfilled, while a factory worker wanted guarantees that the most basic material needs be met as well as retaining a semblance of human dignity…(…in today’s neoliberal world with its gig economy it is often thought by those who live precariously that those who have regular, steady work and may even have permanency still don’t seem to have any real idea of the life experiences of such casual workers who daily labour for their bread in work situations that are still underpaid, physically and mentally abusive and with no ultimate security).

“WE CAN ALL STILL DRINK COKE! WE CAN ALL EQUALLY THINK ABOUT THE SAME THINGS!” Cat grins. His cynical mood is prevailing.

‘…we can freely consume. Freely live in a ‘make believe’ reality…to even pretend that we are liberated…or radical…or hip…yes, people could think they were non-conformist while thankfully, remaining non-threatening. Especially where it truly counted: in the workplace. Everyone only appearing radical without really being so. An ‘after-hours freedom’ is the greatest cultural achievement of the American Dream. Yes. Dreaming is for the nocturnal human spirit while in the daytime the corporate state controls your body, and your limited thinking mind. (Daydreaming is not allowed). Nine to five. Five days a week. (You are welcome to work only four days if your productivity is equivalent to a full week). Spend the weekend enjoying the consumer items that you buy to keep the dream going, to even consume some ‘illicit soma’ (just be discreet). Go chase your personal dreams. The American Dream wants you too. (Just never entertain the thought of encouraging a collective spirit). The only nightmares allowed are of the celluloid variety. In dark places. In cinemas. In late-night living rooms. There are all those B- grade monsters - again.

(I suddenly pour over other private writings with the idea of integrating them into my present notes. All my literature to perhaps be reworked in a way so his somewhat provocative point-of-views may one day be considered worthy to be read by anyone who would care to take a curious interest in what I damningly think of this world).

Post-war Hollywood sci-fi films representing on a subconscious level the ‘other side’ fought against in the Cold War. Overtaken by the sociological ‘hostile other’ who is to be fought against to this day in a seemingly never ceasing procession of little ‘hot wars.’ The existential threat that U.S. society must thrive on as it remains on a semi-military command, which as the most cynical say, sets to keep the economy upbeat. This national imperative is what was learnt from World War Two. War has been considered good for the American Dream. (Even though the Vietnam War proved to be a national disaster. Yet, this lengthy unnecessary conflict with its catastrophic loss of life and material devastation was rationalized as a ‘strategic hiccup’. Iraq. As well. Not that it wasn’t morally wrong to invade for self-interest. (Or as for the case of Afghanistan there was even a strong moral case to invade in the beginning. Although by the end there was no morality). They just didn’t turn out to be interventions that were very cost-effective. Cost- cut invasions have always been a better, more risk aversive course. Low intensity conflicts. Drone assassinations. Should always remain as the best selling points. Whenever possible use surrogate armies instead. Let them take all the major risks. That is the other great lesson that is learnt. It worked so well using the contras in Nicaragua. Keep the spilling of American blood to a minimum. The mothers of America demand this one thing, let all the mothers of all the other countries we have manipulated their sons to fight for us let them weep when their sons and daughters die. Their tears do not matter. Foreign lives do not matter. (Black lives certainly do not matter). As some would cynically claim the counterculture unwittingly proved to be good for one thing: for the military-industrial complex which it was against. It helped increase the drug trade. Money for drugs was good for the C.I.A who for many years needed such secretive dirty funding to keep their wholesome underhanded activities for the American Dream going. Illicit agricultural fields in such far away places as Afghanistan, Turkey, South-East  Asia, North Africa, Colombia were supplying the hallucinations of rebellious freedom all naively stoked up by the Beat Generation. To the cynic social rebellion was good for the CIA’s bottom line as it fought the good fight destabilizing the world to then save it for the good ‘ol U.S.A. Yet, there was only an appeal to a chemical alternating of the mind as it had to deal with a deadening of the soul in the banality of a suffocating post-war industrial moralism; with real live burnt flesh and decapitating death in a battle scarred, defoliant soaked Vietnam where ever more maddened U.S. soldiers desperately turned towards a synthetic solace from the inhumane horrors of an insane war who in turn, like some plague virus, to introduce and spread their malevolent, pain killing addictions to a cocoon middle class neighbourhood America when they got back home in body, if not in mind. The threat of drugs on the home front. Richard Nixon said civil society had to be saved. The parents of America demanded it as their children experimented with the hallucinations available in their hallucinatory age.’

“Napalm still raged! Innocents burned!”

‘Although it has been said that drug use was on the decline Ronald Reagan ramped up the war on drugs as a veil to keep people’s attention on the marginalized as the true threat to American goodness. The ever so powerful immoral corporate core of the Great Society to be hidden by a seemingly moral crusade to keep the crust glimmering with righteous cleanliness. A media illusionary disguise. Delusional. The Great Actor knew how to play his part. No one need to probe beyond skin deep in the body politic that is American Beauty.

Skin marked by needle points. An abomination.

Yes, fatal judgment before non-judgmental safety. HIV needle programs were not to be initiated in the maelstrom of the drug war. (Evil must not be encouraged, lives are not important on this matter when the very soul of the nation is at stake). The righteous shall gloriously survive as the ‘morally weak’ duly perish. Oh yes! Evil shall be swept away! Rightly so! God bless America! God showers his deadly bacteria on those undeserving of his love! The cursed get what they deserve! The Moral Right can wash their hands clean! A vile hypocrisy. An insidious moral climate seemed to be manufactured whereby it was inferred it was okay to turn one’s back on the sickness of the age. AIDS victims only had themselves to blame! Let them die! The land will be clean! Let the sacrificial victims be in their millions! The whole world is in his hands! America holds it! We are God’s hands! AIDS is out of control in Africa! We must keep our hands clean! Let Africa die! Let the ghettoes die! Immoral people must die! The law must reflect the wisdom of an all powerful God who proclaims the righteousness of the mighty! Who are mighty as God is mighty! All powerful! All seeking! All expanding! Throughout the whole world! To cleanse it! Everywhere! Yes, God to even proclaim himself within the dark hearts of those who commit criminalities within the impoverished recesses of our city streets which must be punished! Punishment is love! So today in the prohibition drug war by which the drug trade has only increased a disproportionate number of low income, disaffected Afro-Americans are incarcerated in U.S. prisons.

The Wire. Baltimore. Structural racism. Depressed city estates wallowing in push down psychological misery. Poverty. Murder. Disease. On the increase. The police in turn disproportionately shooting young Afro-American males, as well as children.

Armour-plate cars. Police in military gear. Not in Iraq but on the streets of Ferguson. Black lives do matter. Yet to also learn that in the last decade over five thousand people of every ‘race profile’ whether it be black, white or hispanic have died by the enforcers of the law. A domestic war in no go zones of the Great Society practically ignored by that vast gated community dubbed ‘middle-class America’. To read of a black journalist arrested for filming the police of how Afro-American sportspeople are vilified, receive death threats for publicly supporting #BlackLivesMatter by doing something as simply raising a fist; going down on one knee or refusing to stand during the playing of the national anthem. An unarmed young Afro-American man shot dead by police standing by his car. Turning to look at a news image of a young Afro-American woman in Baton Rouge standing gracefully in front of three heavily protected policemen in their riot gear with helmets and full body plate armour.

“Here is America’s Statue of Liberty today!”

‘Yet to also think any of a mob of hateful Arkansas white women viciously screaming at a black female teenager walking down a country town road may also be a model of an antithetical American Statue of Oppression. The Al Jazeera news. Terror bombings. Civil wars. Refugee migrations. Economic crises. Celebrity deaths. Upset sport results. A program showing a struggling single mother in Bulgaria wanting the best for her daughter. Risking her life everyday weighing flammable gunpowder that will be placed in bombs to be nominally aimed at military targets but also set to kill innocents in far away lands, dying as inevitable collateral damage. Fathers. Mothers. Adolescents. Children. Babes. The young die as much as the old. All unfairly. Without justice. Without recompense. Only the weeping scours above a stony human silence. Oh God, oh God…why have you forsaken me…? Left me abandoned. To the vultures. Glorying in my death. Stripping away my dead skin. For endless profit. The young single mother steadily measures the delicate, volatile gunpowder on scales like an ancient god weighing a human soul. Always in fear. A woman in fear wondering if she will see her daughter tonight when she will change her clothes to go sing till dawn at a wedding feast to help make ends meet. To pay the rent. Black rings around hollow eyes. Tired. So tired. A soul hollowed. Out. Nothing more to be weighed. Nirvana.’

“The wealthy rest in their heavenly spas. Relaxing!”

‘…to have to ‘love’ the bomb when one has no choice. 

  A terrible surreality.’ (My face cringes).

‘A zany guy. A black thin curled up waxed moustache on an elongated, thin face. Cape. Walking stick. Amusing his fawning audience with his red lobster telephone. A pink sofa with Mae West lips. Attempting to give a lecture in a deep sea diving suit, yet nearly dies as the oxygen is running out. His naïve fans initially misinterpreting his gesticulating and unheard pleas for help as part of the act. A near death as comedy act, undiscerned. People to be conditioned in an insidious Pavlovian way not to be able to comprehend any nihilist reality. The artist as social conditioner. There he is in a photograph seemingly floating in mid-air along with a sprawling trail of water, three cats, easel and a chair. Defying gravity, disguising reality. Dali lived luxuriously in Franco’s Spain. While Picasso refused to set foot in the country he dearly loved while the dictator was still alive. As it was, Picasso died a year before Franco. Only sighting it once from inside the French side of the border, like some Iberian Moses looking at the Promised Land. Spain. Where Lorca - who Dali had been friends with - was murdered by Franco’s men. Yet, after the civil war was over, this appalling act did not get in the way of Dali meeting Franco. To even thank Franco for his political repression over ‘forces of destruction’; to send congratulatory telegrams to the fascist dictator when unjustly carrying out death sentences on political prisoners; praising the execution of Basques on Spanish radio; to diligently pray for Franco’s health at St. Patrick’s Cathedral whenever he was in New York. To make the public claim in his ‘secret life’ autobiography that Bunuel was a Communist. A damaging remark to make which had Bunuel proclaimed as the Antichrist by the Archbishop of New York to MOMA where Bunuel worked. The slitting of an eye. Ants sprawling from a hole in a hand. Seminal images from Un Chien Andalou a film with no apparent logical progression which Bunuel had made with Salvador Dali in their youth. A slit eye and a hand with ants based on dreams which intertwined these two artists who also shared a mutual friendship with the poet Lorca. A surreal film which was meant to shock even the surrealists but which surprisingly brought acclaim to the two men. (Dali must have realized that shock was a good publicity weapon). Bunuel was disappointed, as he had expected that the film would elicit a hostile response (as evidenced by his pockets full of stones to fend back an expected angered audience) as it was meant to be an attack on the intellectual pretentiousness of the avant-garde; instead the Surrealists applauded Bunuel and Dali and adopted them into their fold. Bunuel truly wondered what to do with a bourgeoisie sentiment that was so shallow in its artistic sensibility that it saw ‘higher poetic truths’ even in human activities that were actually demeaning to the human soul? Only because it was proclaimed by the so called arbiters of cultural taste as ‘new’ or ‘progressive’?

  (I sigh. ‘An elitist phenomenon which still so much happens today…’).

 The Antichrist knows how to falsely accuse and to cast any true disciple out into the wilderness. Bunuel who was resigned to leaving MOMA eventually went into a sort of self-exile in Mexico.

Dali, the showman, the celebrity artist genius who ‘wittily’ ‘broke’ the social rules; to be a superficial role model for the sycophantic chic who would appear to be ‘radical’ but who never really threatened the business and political power structures that ultimately held sway over them, after all Dali was good business for the art market, there goes Dali naming names to the FBI, betraying friends; the Spanish Catholic who embraced the Atomic Age. Who marvelled at the mushroom cloud that rose above Hiroshima. To become a ‘nuclear mystic’ an ‘atomic realist’ who was inspired to see how quantum theory could explain the Ascension of the Virgin Mary. A deplorable matching of religion and science to give validity to human faith. Yes, God exists. The Atomic Bomb is the evidence. Visionary quantum religious paintings. The nuclear world as life affirming. Beautiful. Revered. A surreal world. Dali’s Supreme Being is a surrealist. A doting world embracing Dali’s philosophically vile but visually beautiful surreality; the perfect insidious cultural propagandist for a fearful age that needed empty reassurances; that needed psychedelic, visual distractions. So, with a Dali art book on one’s coffee table one may live more comfortably with the Bomb if one can understand: it’s atomic energy is the source of life? That all death really must be is a mystical transference of living energy? From one dimension of existence to the next? That spiritual belief can be perceived in a social vacuum? That one can also accept any scientific knowledge without the moral ramifications of any new discoveries? To perhaps even comprehend how in one blinding flash one hundred thousand citizens had simply passed over to the bosom of God? Blessed is the Bomb! On the nightly news one can see a nuclear missile devoutly sprayed with holy water by a kindly American priest. Wearing holy robes. Chanting holy verses. Right there on the T.V. Surreal world. The Atomic Age, a Daliesque mirage. With the real possibility of human beings to be split apart into a trillion trillion particles. For human freedom. In the here and now and the beyond. The American Eternal Dream. Holy! Holy! Holy! No longer the altars on top of Mesoamerican ancient temples for human sacrifice to appease the gods thirsty for blood but long, thin hidden missile silos in the North American soil housing projectiles with arrow nuclear warheads sanctified to carry out the mass sacrifice of whole foreign populations in the name of the mass salvation of whole local populations-

The Atomic Age, a Dali publicity stunt. Dali’s pseudo scientific religious art providing the assurance that life can remain beautiful, that it will continue to somehow persist, despite the prospect of atomic mutual annihilation. We may all return to God. By way of understanding a divinely created quantum metaphysics that allows the Bomb to exist. If God has allowed such a universe then we must not fear it.

To live without fear. It is what humans hope for. Another ‘necessary illusion’ to coin a phrase used by Noam Chomsky who he had borrowed from a supreme 1920s ad man who believed that the masses could be manipulated by inventing dreams. No need for guns, simply jingles. George Orwell remarked that there was something wrong with a society that could allow an ‘undesirable’ such as Salvador Dali to blossom. A genius artist who was a disgusting human being. Manic eyes. Manic mind. Lying in a hospital bed in a bookshop in Manhattan with actors dressed up as fake doctors and nurses all around him. Promoting The World of Salvador Dali. Wired to a machine recording his brain waves. People could have a reading of it if they bought the book-

(I feel further enlightened. ‘The American Dream is surreal. Puritan capital.  Glamour celebrity. A primal subconscious prospering in a way never before imagined in the waking consciousness of humanity).’ “To be mad in the everyday. To live in a daytime nightmare! Truly it is in our waking hours that an influential subconscious powerfully exists!”

‘Dali you ultra-conservative, you charlatan artist, you false prophet, you snake oil man…yes; Orwell was right to think Dali’s phantasmagoria and the mass attraction to it showed how far possible it was for one’s human instinct to become perverse in the machine age, even to say that his unhealthy fantasies highlighted the decay of capitalist civilization. Morality could be dismissed when it came to the making of money. Morality does not matter when you are a celebrity artist who is a very good cash cow. Here was a man who only had a love of money. A perfect artist icon for post-war America which was in the throes of a consumer stampede. There he is photographed with two separate American dollar bills each stabbed through each pointy end of his thin moustache. A perfect fit. With greed. With insanity. Frida Kahlo, who understood only too well what it was like to lie suffering in a hospital bed with real pain had met the Surrealists in Paris, only to refer to them as ‘coo coo lunatic sons of bitches’ (only Duchamp escaped her earthy vitriol); whose own caustic view of the post-war Atomic Age was expressed by drawing the Statue of Liberty holding an atom bomb in one hand and a bag of money in the other. The poet Andre Breton who knew both Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera was the leader of these over intellectualizing, misogynist ‘S.O.B Surrealists’ would ostracize Dali when it was becoming clearer his political leanings were no longer to the Left and brazenly exploiting this new art movement for personal commercial gain. Such is the unfairness of human affairs Bunuel, an artist of moral integrity, continued a sort of self-exile in Mexico, having been successfully ostracized by a malicious Dali from the New World. Thankfully, Bunuel would eventually have his reputation restored, to even also be foisted with global celebrity, when in 1950 he won the Cannes award for best director. Nevertheless, Bunuel’s despairing neo-realist film of Mexican street children titled Los Olvidados caused great offence to many Mexicans who did not realize that within a generation the brutal social conditions that had been cinematically surveyed would become a way of life for this nation emasculated by the IMF. North persecuting South. The Monroe Doctrine. Marilyn Monroe in a Seven Year Itch. Standing on a subway grating dressed in white with skirt flowing up because of an onrush of underworld wind. Having just seen the Creature of the Black Lagoon. American Beauty. American Beast. America you reveal your purity. Your sensuality. Always a double message. You claim to be faithful to democracy while also desiring a divorce. The classical minded founders of your constitution who could eloquently speak Ancient Greek and Latin had harked back to the golden ages of Athens and Rome. To create a new democratic republic, after all, were the founding fathers thinking of Hesiod’s Golden Age when the gods and a wise humanity existed together in a world of perfect justice; with the Earth easily producing enough food for all, with all mortals living long, tranquil lives, dying peacefully? Cronus was lord but he was usurped by his son Zeus. It was then the Age of Silver and there was discord amongst mortals who now lived no longer than a century; when they stopped worshipping the gods Zeus obliterated them. Hesiod points out – with what maybe seen as mischievous irony – that the mortals from this period were considered as ‘blessed spirits’ in the Underworld. It is Ovid who adds that humanity was also divinely introduced to the four seasons leading to those two civilizing portents: agriculture and architecture. Zeus reconstituted the human race from an ash tree but the Age of Bronze was a violent age with every mortal spirit going to a cold Hades where there was no Sun to ever warm them. Ovid adds that men learnt to navigate but this only made them able to not only explore but to imperially conquer; and humanity also learnt to mine which only brought about a ‘refinement’ in plundering the Earth’s resources which continues to this day. No honour prevailed in any human activity ever so dispelled with a lack of loyalty, or of truth, or even of modesty. A Great Flood would end this despairing period by which Prometheus’s son and wife survived by following the fatherly advice to build for themselves a floating chest. After the flood, at Zeus’s bidding, Deucalion and Pyrrha threw stones behind them which respectively became men and women. The human age that followed was considered heroic with the likes of demigods such asAchilles living amidst brave men such as those who fought at Troy. The souls of such heroes deservedly went to Elysium where happiness had been perfected. Yet Hesiod’s own time, the Iron Age was to come next and it can be effectively argued that humanity still exists within this dark, brutal period filled with misery and harsh toil where the ordering principle of ‘might is right’ is the only one which is maintained. Men will use lies to be seen as good and the Ancient Greek principle xenia - of showing hospitality to a visitor - is no longer observed. Generosity has been replaced with cruelty (such as witnessed in the spiralling increase in xenophobia in this modern day). So much human treachery has led the gods to abandon humanity; leaving it with no hope - or help - in the midst of great human evil. Where are the gods? Where is truth? To lead the way? Aboriginal society has seen its Dreaming sites wiped off the face of the earth by mining companies. The land defaced forever. Lives losing all spiritual reference to the Creation. To see life decline. For Mammon. Values gone. In a small gallery room. Viewing leaflets. Magazines. Pamphlets. Zines. By anonymous artists. Dropped off throughout the city. Anonymously. You. I . We. Are. Anonymous. In the Great Society. In the little university gallery was a screening of a Hollywood blockbuster. To be analysed. Debated. Dissected. An oil man. A sleazy preacher of the church of the Third Revelation. Miracle men. To Moloch. To the golden calf. To the ungodly foulness of the protestant work ethic. To learn about the irrationality of the human mind that clings to upholding a human prosperity on an industrial scale; fuelled by the compressed fossils of this earth. To ignore the environmental catastrophe that is coming. To dismiss any call for de-growth to save the planet as an irresponsible fantasy. Yet, it is those who powerfully rape the earth who are delusional-

 Devolution. Of humanity. The Wombarra sculpture garden under threat. Beautiful sculptural art pieces in the bush. It was said to Michael, Lisa and Melissa that it existed ‘to bring some kindness to the world’. Yet, a bureaucracy and regulations were now in place to threaten it. It was remarked that a pamphlet of the sculpture garden was seen at the Mali Café and thus the visit. To learn of a sculpture workshop in a Surry Hills warehouse nearby. (To suddenly remember the graffiti sprayed on an outside wall facing a street: THE MARTIANS IN THE MARS HALL). The primeval bush. With totems for humanity. All to be thrown away. 

 The Iron Age persists. 

  No beauty. Just the beasts. A black oil lagoon. The gill man found its origin in a race of half-men, half-amphibians in the Devonian Period. When life was moving from sea to land. A mangrove world. Life evolving from an ancient watery zone to ancient earth. A new world. Full of promise for the new creatures to come. Yet the dinosaurs were vanquished. The cosmic catastrophe that occurred at the Yucatan was surely an act of divine intervention. Zeus the thunder god hurling an asteroid at the planet to allow for the rise of the human race. Human beings lording the planet like self-proclaimed gods. In a way the dinosaurs could never comprehend. (Zeus must have his regrets). The mutations of the Devonian Period persisting in human memory. (Who is to question what is myth is not from what is real?). Heh the Egyptian frog head of infinity. With the Ancient Greeks there was Triton. A merman. A son of Poseidon who is honoured these days by Trident missiles that roar out of the sea. Triton. Who roared with a conch shell. To soothe a wild sea or to have the waters rise up in a fury. Whose sound the giants of past ages even feared, thinking it was the sound of a wild beast. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. A nuclear amorality is the greatest beast. Yet Pax America, perhaps, could be the last empire. (While as the news goes Russia who wants to return to imperial status threatens Ukraine with so called tactical nuclear use, while it militarily trashes a Ukrainian nuclear reactor). For the roar of its ‘conch shells’ along with those that belong to other global powers could signal the death of everything. It is all immoral. All that will be left are the mutations. For the worst. A precursor of worst horrors to come. (Economic rationalism is also a mutation). The Creature of the Black Lagoon. Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast. A good hearted woman, without greed, who directs her human affection towards others, ahead of her own wants, who miraculously loves the beast who because of her he is transformed into a handsome prince. Love conquers all-

(I am losing my way. So many issues of the age. It is all too much. I have to catch my breath – my mind. The world is mad. I know I am trapped inside it. Searching for the real).

‘…reality’s overlapping matrix…what is it? Descartes would meditate that only the mind is real and that God is real for imprinting infinity upon our mortal thinking. Only God will not deceive us as we deceive ourselves. I think thus I exist. It is all I can trust. The material world is not real, will disappear but my mind shall go on. The world of appearances can be a world of disguises. The beast was truly beautiful-’

(I can’t help myself but go over to his kitchen sink and fill up a glass of water so I can place a spoon inside it as Descartes most probably had done to see it refract). “The mind tells me it is straight but the eyes tell me otherwise! Behold the superiority of human thought over human vision! Beauty is only skin deep!”

 ‘In Cocteau’s movie a statuesque Diana brings down beauty’s suitor with an arrow as he breaks into the goddess’s pavilion, filled with riches. Fate had cruelly struck one who thought an abundance of wealth awaited him (with no thought of a sudden violent death). To die as a beast. (Truth revealed). Yes. The heart of man is a beast. This vital life providing organ is said to nurture love, but the heart also fosters human lust. It is what comes to the fore in any quest for human ascendency. The forefathers were disheartened that their checks and balances on human nature would never be enough. Human beings would generally incline towards power as an end in itself. (Justice being forced to gravitate towards naked power will disintegrate and be absorbed by a nihilistic darkness much like light itself being swallowed by a cosmic black hole). Such was the case that soon after the War of Independence many debt-ridden Massachusetts ex-revolutionary soldiers rebelled against the high taxes being imposed on them by a new political elite in Boston which initiated suppressing hard won basic freedoms in an effort to put down this people’s rebellion. The rebels forced the closure of the courts that ruled against them but they finally lost militarily to a mercenary army. Nevertheless, the threat of an all-out civil war and a new tyranny finally convinced the new United States to create a stronger federal government, devising the American Constitution and a Bill of Rights. It was even hoped by the Founding Fathers a democracy would arise based on the election of individuals rather than on parties, but it was a delusion. Even George Washington had aspired to such a high, noble ideal, who was a rare man indeed, who thought two terms as the first President of the United States was surely enough; choosing to return to the duties of his farm at the end of his many years of national public service. As if to emulate Cicero’s agricultural interests in old age. Washington was seen as a great man who was compared to the Roman Cincinnatus who rather than remain a powerful leader also chose to go back to his farming after successfully defending Rome against her enemies. Although a member of the ruling oligarchy Washington was to finally recognize that the nation’s predilection towards slavery was immoral; that it was a social, moral issue that would have to be eventually dealt with if the new nation was to be wholly democratic. Nevertheless, to echo the Roman republic, the bald eagle was chosen by the new nation to represent it. An imperious bird, symbolically used by Roman standard bearers to represent victory. Benjamin Franklin considered it a mistake noting that the eagle was not courageous but actually a cowardly, lazy creature who would wait for other birds to secure their prey and then take flight against them to steal their food. A merely majestic looking vulture who would refuse to fight even a little kingbird if this apparently weaker bird was seeking further territory. Thus was Benjamin Franklin’s dismissive attitude who must have thought it bitterly ironic that the new America would resort to such an aristocratic emblem of imperial power to symbolize its democraticpretensions. Human degradation. Already at work. Its claws holding an olive branch in one sharp claw and thirteen arrows representing the thirteen colonies in the other. Humanity’s contradictions abounding. To seek after peace but to be ready for war. (Already, there is in play that old empire excuse that aggression can be validated if it serves a defensive purpose).’

 (I smile. In mockery. For the human condition can be cloaked with a mental veil of human absurdity).

‘What did Marilyn Monroe say about the Creature from the Black Lagoon? Who like any beauty when in the presence of any beast, could sense a deep submerged need to to be ‘loved’…that he ‘craved affection’…(her words)…any beauty may sense in any beast a disguised nobleman. The American sculptor Dressa Kirk has said she searches for beauty in ugliness. Kirk’s Daphne in a Chicago park made from welded Cadillac parts. Enormous, curling leaves coming from arms stretching back from a torso emerging from long stringy roots connecting the transformed wood nymph to earth. Daphne looking upwards, perhaps to mock the sun god Apollo who had been ceaselessly stalking her. Daphne had called upon her father, a river god, to change her so she would no longer face the threat of being raped. Thus Daphne became a tree…a universal mythic symbol of protection. Apollo, also the god of poetry, embracing Daphne’s rough bark now covering her soft skin, proclaiming the laurel wreath in honour of her beauty; divinely endowing his unrequited love with immortality. Daphne would not die, her leaves forever to be green. A purity of form. The laurel a symbol of victory to the Greeks and to the Romans. To this day. Yet, such sacrifice. Daphne forced into a choice to have her very self changed to be free. Death forces change. It is the one constant of being mortal. From a threat comes the seeking out of a new direction to reach an otherwise unimagined new sanctuary. To survive. Yet also to become real. Wisdom, it is said, is arrived at in the house of mourning. So can beauty. It is the one prevailing hope for humankind. Dressa Kirk who, as a teenager with no regular home, had witnessed on Alaskan streets ‘sad women’ trafficked around in Cadillac cars whose bodies were hourly sold to purchase the very vehicles they were in. A Cadillac Daphne. Arising beauty overcoming in the human spirit the predatory ugliness of men. Pimping. Diana the protective moon goddess of slaves, the virgin twin sister of Apollo, was Daphne’s role-model, who spurned men, the huntress who when Actaeon fatefully sighted her transformed him into a deer to be killed by his hunting dogs. Human lust. Devoured. (Yet, the huntress’s love for the twin brother never waned, such are the divine contradictions that mortals have to bear). Stealth cars. Stealth bodies. Everything dirty, that is not permissible, is hidden. No public exposure. Top Secret. No undermining. Of the Great Society’s mythic grandeur. All is false hope. Nevertheless, it can be inferred the shielding spirit of Diana is imbued, for Daphne’s sake, in this grand Chicago sculpture constructed by a resilient woman who grandly bears life. Who knows the Universe will provide. Christ said consider the lilies of the  field which do not work or spin for themselves to naturally be clothed more gloriously than King Solomon. We too do not have to worry as the Good Lord also takes care of us. To have faith. In divine love. To have such belief needs serious consideration. After all, the Soviet writer Yury Dombrovsky wrote that whatever Jesus Christ had to say could not be dismissed as empty rhetoric for he was not a lofty divine being like the gods of Mt. Olympus but a man who for his beliefs was tortured and killed like a slave-

 (I stop writing and go over to a bookshelf to search for Yury Dombrovsky’s novel The Faculty of Useless Knowledge. To read of a character by the name of Father Andrey who tells his NKVD investigator that Christ was lashed by whips which had little balls at the end of them which could rip apart a body to expose its guts. Christ, who died a lonely naked death. Dombrovksy was beaten up on a Moscow bus in 1978. His arm smashed by a steel pipe. This so called ‘last classic’ would die a little over a month later when he was assaulted in the House of Literature. The KGB did not like how this novel was published in Paris and so this Russian secret service has remained the same suspect for his death. ‘Another martyr. Another lonely death. No literary prize for him. There had only been many years of gulag exile. Thus what Dombrovsky has to write has to also be taken seriously…’.

‘Dressa Kirk had a difficult youth and in her effort to ‘deconstruct beauty’ in terms of the sad women she saw would construct a lily which she told an interviewer was a wildflower which symbolized ‘vigilance and strength’. Yes, consider the lilies of the field…Lisa is a wildflower…to have mutual love…to overcome repression…the same old story…of Jesus and his love…Dombrovsky points out how a crucified slave could forgive…redemption…eternal…boundless…to become a new creature-

 [Cat]* wishes to regain [his] thoughts as [he] was not sure where [his] mind was going; where the new configurations of [his] brain synapses were taking [him] as they were being duly formed with every fresh mental calculation; with previous unknown knowledge emerging in front of his eyes. 

 The mind was akin to a cosmic whirlpool filled with trillions of whirring galaxies containing within each of them billions of stellar objects worth exploring. Human logic was restrictively designed only to foray step by step from one deduction to the next. Only after a firm grip was secured could the next step into any further unknown be taken. A line measuring over an immeasurable vortex.

Without end.

Reading how two inmates in a NKVD cell are looked at through a peephole in the cell door by a guard. It is not allowed to lie down and sleep if locked away during the day. Yet, an exhausted inmate needs to rest so after many hours of interrogation has stretched out on a bunk. This man with blunted mind sent to solitary confinement in a punishment cell. Psychology as torture.

A female corpse. Blonde hair. Face down on a bed. A barren body. There has been no transformation. Only death. A horror scene viewed through a camera lens as public peeping hole. To see on the internet at one’s convenience. Cat’s mind turns to Marcel Duchamp’s last art work which was done in secret over twenty years and not revealed till after his death. It includes a ghostly white sculpture of a reclining naked woman holding a gas lantern. It can only be seen through a spying hole in an art museum wall which reveals this hidden installation to the unsuspecting viewer. Eros confronted. The other dead woman has a bed lamp beside her. Yet nothing sexual can be speculated. Only the cold reality of a lifeless form brought about by a drug overdose. No human pleasure. Only human tragedy. Self-destruction on public view. Energy. Nihilism. Two opposing forces clashing within the human psyche. Freud’s Eros & Thanatos. Sex and death. (The other usual contrasts come to mind. Pleasure/Pain. Civilization/Barbarity. Anarchy/Order. Love/Hate. Heaven/Hell. Peace/War & so on…).

 [Cat] knows the dead woman in this desolate photo is Marilyn Monroe.

___________________________________________________________________________

* [  ] for the mind occasionally to replace the ‘first person’ I with the ‘third person’ Cat.

  ‘Although Freud’s ideas of the superstructure of the mind are very much ingrained into popular culture he is often discounted these days; nevertheless he made the point his id, ego, superego can affect the way we behave without really knowing why…yes, at least it is still seen as plausible that theunconscious affects our waking thoughts, the way we may act…(…to even have our political and corporate masters manipulate such psychic forces for mass control for mass consumerism…leading ironically to such a self obsessed selfish modern world…)…yes…the subconscious in control…a malevolent ego under the sway of the id playing mental tricks to turn one into a monster…where does moral responsibility lie? With the trickster? With who is tricked? What if the trickster is evolution itself? A hybrid creature trapped between being an amphibian and a human being behaves instinctively. For the purposes of its own evolutionary survival. (To harm others before they do harm to you). Yes, Marilyn is right in giving the gill man some leeway. If only if there was only mutual love. Between monster and scientists. To trust. To overcome ‘rationality’. Monsters and scientists to hold hands and dance together. Yes, love can conquer all as it had done when mythic beings had danced one Midsummer around a New England maypole with settlers who had done away with Old World Religions. Nature to be revered without dogma-

 [Cat] reads over a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story.

‘…New World people harking to the Golden Age! Worshipping Comus the ancient god of festivity. A son of Dionysius! Praising anarchy! Chaos! Spontaneity! Yes! Disorder replenishes the soul! To be vibrant! Spiritual anarchists! Dancing with fawns! With nymphs! With centaurs! A man with a goat’s head! Another with antlers! A man with monkey fur! Covered in leaves! A bear with pink stockings! Wild men and women with tinker bells! An American Chieftan! All hand in hand together! Wild creatures! Americans! In one accord! Bonfires! Burning wheels! On the Eve of St. John! Midsummer! All is ecstasy! Joy! Harmony! Divine! All living things experiencing peace, in bliss, in a dancing ring embracing a cosmic axis connecting all life in all its purity between Earth and Heaven! If only this could be the True America! The worship of the Maypole to be its True Religion! Ambushed! Denounced by the Puritans! Who burn down the celestial pivot! Who horsewhipped and branded the ‘idolaters of Baal’! The mark of the beast! Ruin! All is ruined! Hell on earth! An iron rod! A moral hypocrisy to reign supreme! Oh blasphemies! Oh desolations! A vulture culture truly welcomes death. Corpses must be created. To consume. For survival. For dominance. For strength. Those who are strong can hold up anything. Can keep down anything. Can move anything. Can stop anything. Can say what it does is moral. Can say what it is stopped from doing is immoral. Only the strong know what is right. Know what is wrong. Anything is done or not done to whatever suits. To keep strong. That is what counts. Friends who are applauded for their usefulness become enemies to be denounced if no longer of any use. The truth is whatever the powerful say it is…to change day by day-’

  [Cat] sweats.

‘Yes, Marilyn Monroe really had some cause to show sympathy to the gill man. A beleaguered woman fully aware of the subterranean forces at work in the society around her; that could lead to one’s demise or inversely to one’s survival. Certainly, extinction is to be avoided at all costs. Even, when it seems, for any individual, only a Pyrrhic victory may entail. The human libido had allowed for Marilyn’s spectacular success to become the American Siren; to incite a pleasure principle energizing the nation’s escalating consumer culture which - so there can be further gains for the nation - could be broadcast to the whole world. Norma Jean, a maladjusted woman who – unlike the nymph Daphne - had no father to protect her; was fatefully discovered by a photographer on Ronald Reagan’s military film team while working on a WWII assembly line. This pin-up girl for the war effort would enamour Hollywood to be the movie blonde bombshell of an idolatrous post-war America-

A female carcass. In a bed. To be naked. To be dead. Marilyn Monroe with upturned white skirt as a WOMEN’s bathroom sign with an Elvis profile for the MEN’s. Marilyn Monroe as a life-size board to sell anything from sixties Chevrolets to glamourous high heel women’s shoes. Andy Warhol silk screens of multiple Marilyn Monroes in colour and fading shades of black and white to depict a disappearing star. 

 [Cat] muses such portraits done soon after this her death would have helped Warhol to sell [himself].

  ‘Yet Andy Warhol successfully pointed out how Marilyn Monroe was packaged as a commodity. A one dimensional sensual silver screen mirage for the all-out sale of the American Dream. A modern day Daphne with the predatory ‘Apollos of light’ flickering her body up onto movie screens in dark cinema chambers for the American dollar. Yet, with every human being there are many dimensions which must all be explored so as to rein in one’s full human potential. No one is static. No one is a cut-out.’ 

  [Cat] feels these ‘film pimps’ like to disguise such an obvious fact.

 ‘To capture people at one point of time and leave them there. For their monetary convenience. At a lecture on political economy. A well known Marxist economist who back then could be compared to a Hellene oracle, (who, at very least, well understood the contemporary economic Hades of that ancient three-pronged Mediterranean peninsular known as Greece) talks of an illusion machine invented from his imagination which can visualize for anyone willing to be wired to it a world where every individual aspiration is fulfilled. What one desires is visualized and readily experienced. Yet, it means giving up forever this known real world, even though one’s body will be taken care of with an increased life span. The issue is would someone give up reality which can disappoint for a virtual world of assured bliss?

 [Cat] was bemused because for [him] such a virtual reality already existed with people ‘wired up’ in various ways, losing their self-control being daily propagated with inner visions. 

 ‘However, the question the oracle was really insinuating was it preferable to live in a guaranteed realm of virtual happiness based on one’s present knowledge of the world or forgo it so as to learn and to acquire new life experiences – both good and bad - that would hopefully further enrich and mature the human soul? 

  Human curiosity would hopefully seek reality over illusion but [Cat] was aware [he] was living in a world that wanted to suffuse it with an ‘illusionary real’; a ‘future now’ where every want could be satisfied as if it were not possible to arrive at some higher zenith of human satisfaction. The Eternal Present cannot be superseded. 

 ‘We are to be convinced of staying with what we know and simply ‘upgrade’ even though we know there is also the ongoing promise of further progress to satisfy new needs we are yet to formulate. (Such is this unrequited human paradox).’ As it was the oracle remarked his virtual machine turned out to be a precursor to the computer generated artificial reality created in the film The Matrix which came out from that illusion machine known as Hollywood after his own idea of such a digital hallucinatory concept. 

 [Cat] had smiled. Michael had once referred that being around [Cat] and looking at the world from his point of view was like being in ‘the Catrix’. Funnily enough, it had only been a few days before when he had seen The Matrix once more as Gregor had come over to watch [Cat’s] video of this film. Gregor had been reading up on Descartes and The Matrix had kept coming up in his research. He was interested in exploring the notion of an underpinning matrix in the structures of the Universe and nature to represent in his latest etching series; this was especially so after further examining the art of Roy Jackson and Ian Fairweather. “Along with Fred Williams they’re my constant inspirations. As for Jackson I like how he appreciates Lucretus and his Universe of invisible atoms.”  [Cat] had been happy to oblige and was keen to see this film again; the seer pointed out the philosophy behind the Matrix was often compared to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave whereby the shadows the slaves were viewing were seen as real as they had never experienced the world beyond their confined space. It took [Cat] a little bit by surprise to see the Matrix now being mentioned again and it made him briefly wonder if it did really exist. A shrug of the shoulders. Anyhow, he would know Fate would be bemused by such a human suspicion. 

 ‘Yet, in the film it was only by taking a red pill over a blue pill would one know that the matrix in which people believed was the real world was actually a digital conjuring trick. Human beings really existed asleep in pods as biological batteries by which their energy was electronically succoured for their Artificial Intelligence masters. A blue pill would keep one believing the illusion was real; one which kept him or her unaware of the horrid reality in which they truly existed). The oracle was insinuating that the prevailing neoliberal ideology that promised economic freedom by way of austerity and privatization - which only really dismantled the public good – was a lie. Yet, a lie was being very creatively sold as truth by those who benefited from the concentration of wealth straight towards them. Such elites also controlled global mainstream information flows and so could stealthily divert any adverse points-of-view down obscure tributaries such as this benign university lecture theatre. (Censorship is a term to be avoided, for that was a totalitarian manoeuvre which the high economic priests of ‘individual freedom’ abhorred – of course. No thuggish beatings, imprisonments or assassinations of journalists as which occurs in undemocratic regions. Silencing - or even exiling - was enough so as to keep up the pretences. Although social media could sometimes be a thorn it could also more often be an anaesthetic.’ 

 Nevertheless, [Cat] considered how an irrational, xenophobic populism had emerging due to an acute political disenchantment that was brought on by people falling on hard times; coupled by feeling shut out en masse from the political process. Moral confusion. To think a progressive, grassroots movements perhaps needs to regain a former impetus so as to regenerate stifling political structures before they faced being torn down by ghastly prejudices, spurred on by opportunistic political demagogues - who promise to create but will only destroy. All facing damnation. Not salvation. At least the justifiable protestations of a paralysed, elitist out-of-touch democratic system by the old fashioned New Deal Democratic Senator of Vermont were gaining traction with many, which [Cat] saw as encouraging. Yet, with [his] mind taking a dark turn [Cat] would then dismally surmise the only revolution that seemed to really matter was the one that was increasing the human potential to spend. After all, the shopping mall was the civic battleground where the ‘hearts and mind’ policy of the corporate state was being played out driven on by a mantra that proclaimed living standards could only be improved by buying things; even though jobs for people would continue to be replaced by machines - as Michael would say: what is to happen to the hundreds of thousands being forcibly moved on to part time low paid insecure casual positions? A world in transition. Full of the underemployed. Falling apart. Things must degrade in order to have them replaced by new things. Human beings to be degraded by an immoral, unnatural attrition. An ever mounting flesh-heap in contrast to a workforce of gleaming automatons that only need to be upgraded to keep ever going. At no labour price. A social ladder that had stabilized in the post-war period to potentially topple over. Although it was a ladder with a wide base it did from the middle angle sharply towards the top so only a few people could ever climb up to reach a cache of huge corporation profits stashed in high places such as Wall Street. If past experience was anything to go by many from a rich minority would still have a monetary safety net that would easily allow them to overcome any devastating economic downfall; from on so high no one could hear anyone scream from so far well below. Consciences to be at ease. While there would also be no consciences at all: to have previously seen how many towards the top had been able to continue to live above the rule of law, to avoid any business or bank malpractice which had had millions of ordinary, low earning, hardworking people become destitute. Those who know how to manipulate whole national economies are still needed to jumpstart the next duplicitous money cycle. Not many would envisage of pushing over any corporate ladder. For the majority it was unthinkable and their minds would soon again - as individualized atomized consumers - be kept busy with working to acquire new consumer items; at the very least only some from very far below would attempt to occupy Wall Street). Those brave, deluded souls choosing the red pill can only face a life of obscurity, fraught with disappointment and frustration. Poverty. No recognition. A meaninglessness too hard to bear for many. To exist - to use the word ‘live’ would be too extreme - like some Soviet intellectual who by abiding by the truth so cherished was only to be literally imprisoned or ostracized because of it rather than being set free. (One thinks of say a Bulgakov or Grossman). Only the vultures to hover above one. No doves. Yet the oracle encouraged one to live by what was true and to also be wary. To be critical the red pill which was swallowed did not later take on any shades of blue. Human arrogance. [Cat] was aware how any ideology can blind one from what is true. After all, in time…perhaps about a year or two later…[Cat] would thus be severely disappointed that the oracle had also seemed from a yearly dose to have taken the wrong pill; for to see in one’s attempt to bring justice to this world to have - as if to be antithetical to everything he stated and to the ideology he had supposedly aligned himself too - had in [Cat’s] harsh opinion wrongly allied with far too many of those who, despite their favourable rhetoric, preferred to see the only possibility of human freedom (if that was what they sincerely wished for…) was by way of blindly supporting other imperial powers as well as tyrannical regimes whose only commonality was their mutual opposition to Washington (and allies) who would inevitably be stereotypically portrayed as the Greatest Tyranny. Yes, [Cat] well knew the West had its many dystopian issues and was cause to point out its moral hypocrisies but to seek out ‘solutions’ for such ‘undemocratic disturbances’ by way of other countries where democracy did not brutally at present at all prevail was for him unthinkable, to do so was to submit to an inhuman madness…to a Great Psychosis-   

  ‘…while although many liberal democracies were surviving, especially against one-person authoritarian rule of which some nations were seemingly succumbing too, eternal vigilance was still very much needed, to make sure that the institutions in place to uphold humanitarian values were not undermined and to keep a lookout for other nefarious forces from within…while certainly there was also an equal need to promote those who envisage and wish to keep putting in place and strengthening a genuine ‘moral goodness’ for one’s respective democratic polis, to overcome any remaining or emerging moral fault-

   “There is always the human choice of determining between what is deceptive rhetoric and what is truthful reality...yes, to try not to be deceived while seeking out authentic human liberation…”  

‘Which pills had a marooned Marilyn Monroe overdosed on? A stash of red pills to suffer fatally from bearing too much reality? Or was there a desire for the alternative chemical so as to dreamily encompass an eternal illusion? (Psychology as torture). Marilyn Monroe found herself alone in a room where she could be observed by the psych staff through a window on her ward door. Watched. Like a prisoner.

Symbolically, in a positive sense, a Siren is a female being who draws us to what is unknown to bring on growth. If we are anxious of change then we may be fearful, abjectly endanger ourselves by staying underdeveloped, leading to a diminished life. As was their due the Sirens were associated with water the source of life and a symbol of spiritual renewal as in the Christian tradition where a person is submerged by water to signify rebirth. A new creature. Is the hope. The promise. The desire. (Lisa seeks water to cleanse her of a malevolent disease…water to purify…if one is willing…if the opportunity is given…if ‘affection’ is shown…if love is present). There is Oceanus the eternal river which has been ascribed by the likes of Hesiod and Homer as the birthplace of the gods. Divinities with human qualities first emerging from an amphibian source, much like human beings. Thus conversely a mortal internal desire to be divine, to know God, to be entwined with God. For Descartes some innate sense of a divine being is proof of Providence’s existence, it is human to be one with God. (The gods would approve as long as we are not a threat). Water runs through every living thing and by it the divine courses through all of nature. Yes, Marilyn Monroe recognized the human potential of the gill man. If he was to be included into the liberating processes of human civilization then his aggression would be suppressed. Marilyn knew from her interest in Freud that civilization aimed to extinguish the death wish being a destructive primal force. Primal forces were acting upon Marilyn Monroe from the psychological residue of becoming a state ward being moved around in foster homes to suffer sexual abuse and throughout her stellar career to work as an underpaid actor being used as on-screen sexual bait. Marilyn Monroe after her death was found to have had a four hundred book library which included many classics; books by Dostoevsky- 

[Cat] knew she dearly wanted to play the role of Grushenka in a movie based on the Brothers Karamazov-

 ‘…Freud, Proust, Keats, Whitman, Marx, Aristotle and Dylan Thomas who she had met. Who could quote Milton who said the only people who are happy are those not born-

[Cat] can well imagine Das Kapital sitting alongside Aristotle’s Metaphysics on Marilyn Monroe’s bookshelf as he sights a photo of her reading Joyce’s Ulysses. A young woman in striped bathers intently reading this literary masterpiece on a Long Island playground roundabout. It is suggested in the commentary underneath that she is reading Molly’s stream-of-consciousness soliloquy at the end of the book. It finishes with the word ‘yes’ as an affirmation of life. [Cat] is certain Marilyn Monroe would have also known of Homer’s original Odysseus and of his loyal, scheming wife Penelope with her spindle. It does not surprise this meticulous researcher to read that the insidious term ‘political spin’ may have originated with Penelope’s spinning wheel. Yet, with Penelope there is the purest of all human motivation behind what is really a noble deception.

‘…yes…Penelope…who has a love that is eternal…which can sustain us while we last…which will outlast us…as the Earth will outlast us…as it existed before us…Penelope and the Earth as one…providing material comfort…with love entwined…each human being conjured into existence…yes…mother…earth…giving life…sustaining…the human spirit…to live on Earth…to be spiritual…to die…the world…the universe…lingers on…Rodin’s sculpture of a crucified Christ and Mary Magdalene with her arms gracefully wrapped around him…like two of Michelangelo’s Unfinished Slaves emerging from hewn white rock…pure…love…arising from the Earth…to sink back into it…(…or so I have read…)…Rodin also called this sculpture Prometheus and the Oceanid…a chained Titan who served humanity embraced by a water nymph…who can freely flow…enriching the spirit…hope…purity for the Earth…a detained Penelope…the love Odysseus’s wife had for him did not diminish…(truly, love conquers all)…in the Matrix…a kiss brought the ‘chosen one’ back to life…beauty in a beastly labyrinth world…freedom…to hold onto…Penelope outwitted the suitors by claiming she would not marry anyone until she had finished weaving a shroud for her father-in-law Laertes…every evening Penelope would stealthily unpick the garment’s threads…a Herculean labour that would never end…the act of weaving as symbol of threading an individual destiny…yet Penelope bravely conspired a future that would deliberately remain without definition…unknown…unlike Ariadne’s thread which led Theseus out of the Minotaur’s dark labyrinth…to the light of day…to gaping space…to return to Crete…free…in an open ended world there always lies the possibility of hope…when one is confined hope can ebb away…others howling…from other cells…a lonely woman…feeling as if in some nightmare underworld…hell…a dark hades…oh hell…is this hell?....a quivering fear…to control…a saintly woman in a dark place…the silver screen appearances serving a narrative role similar to religious art…in this contemporary case a perfect female body being used to sanction the human libido as an appropriate source of market energy-

[Cat] interrupts himself as he wonders if such observations are a little hysterical but then again he had recently read how in the nineteenth century the evolutionary notion of the ‘dumb blonde’ was generally perceived as a ‘scientific fact’; after all, it was deemed that a woman’s only appropriate ‘function’ was to serve as a biological container for procreation. A very convenient ‘objective finding’ to help validate male exploitation. In a ‘modernizing world’ what role could a female film star serve but to ‘help direct’ the male sexual impulse towards the consumption of goods accentuating one’s desirability? An alpha male world is a hell for women. An intelligent woman is undesirable. Thus the reading of books by the Lowell Mill ‘Girls’ can be seen as a revolutionary action. [Cat] can see Marilyn Monroe as a Lowell woman.

 ‘A Marilyn Monroe reading list showing misogynist Lowell writer Jack Kerouac’s On The Road [17] just below Nikos Kazantzakis’s Last Temptation of Christ [16]. F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby [10], D.H. Lawrence’s Sons & Lovers [19] and Albert Camus’s The Fall [5]. Marilyn Monroe’s reading of literary classics would certainly undermine her unintelligent on screen persona. Hollywood would have not seen such intellectual flowering of a ‘sex bomb’ as good for business. Bombs explode. Disintegrate. Flowers wither. A life constrained. Marilyn Monroe believed ‘…good things fall apart so better things can fall together.’ It was not to be the case for her. Repression. Suffocation. Mania. A demeaning stereotype was to remain. To continue falling downwards into a mental abyss. A misfit trapped on a psych ward. A Siren aims to have an individual ‘lose one’s self to find it’ yet this movie siren was denied any such a transformation for herself. A threat to self-harm was callously resisted by the hospital staff by having her manhandled into a more secure padded cell. Carried face down like a captive exotic animal in an elevator to an upper floor by four strong-arm wards people. What would have happened if Marilyn Monroe had lived a finally resolved, long life allowed to fully blossom?’

“Educating Marilyn!”

‘Reading To Kill A Mockingbird at the time of death. Perusing Thomas Paine’s writings while on the set of the Misfits. Perhaps considering his progressive idea of having a basic income for all (which these days has been revived in the notion of a Universal Basic Income). A woman who took due serious consideration of the civil rights movement; who graciously used her fame by offering the owner of Hollywood’s Mocambo nightclub that she would sit at the front table of the Mocambo nightclub every night Ella Fitzgerald sang there – if this Afro-American jazz singer was allowed too. Permission granted. There would no longer be any second-rate venues for Ella Fitzgerald who considered Marilyn Monroe ahead of her time but who probably did not know it. A true humanitarian who would equally offer help to a nameless wino on a New York street as witnessed by the journalist William. J. Weatherby during the time of their clandestine conversations in low key bars. Who had an autographed Albert Einstein photograph making it truly possible to believe in the feasibility of the imagined scene in the 1985 film Insignificance where upon the Actress impresses the Professor with her knowledge of the Theory of Relativity. Would a self-educated Marilyn Monroe have become a stately American Bianca Jagger? Fighting for the rights of those who self-harm so as to prompt justice? To understand the despair of those who will kill themselves while under state ‘care’? When all hope is stripped away to be left with no reason to live to feel all that is left to do in this world is to slowly die. An individual self-immolates in a refugee detention centre in Nauru. An Aboriginal juvenile is tied up in a chair with a hood placed over his head. His fellow traumatized young detainees in solitary confinement in little cells are stripped naked, to be threatened by vicious dogs or to be sprayed with tear gas. A firefighter in New York dying of cancer. Honorary Professor Marilyn Monroe standing alongside The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart in an inert Washington to both be fighting for the right of all twin towers emergency workers to finally be compensated.

A feisty Marilyn Monroe who was scathing of those ‘bastards in Hollywood’ who wanted her to break off her relationship with Arthur Miller who had been called up to testify at the House Committee of Un-American Activities. ‘…born cowards…’ (She was no coward). There was a divorce anyway – after the fraught filming of The Misfits – as it was the FBI had harboured suspicions Marilyn Monroe may have been a communist sympathizer. Her sympathy was for the wild desert horses in The Misfits who were corralled for the slaughterhouse by cowboys trying to scratch a living in a changing mechanical world. Desperation. Looking at the rising descending horses on a Santa Monica ferris wheel. Thinking of those doomed Nevada mustangs. Thinking of herself. Four days she had spent in that psych ward. Di Maggio had rescued her like Hercules rescuing Prometheus from the eagle. A descent into hell. Yet to ascend with no new body. A being far too scarred inside could not be so easily healed-’

 I slump in my chair. My mind cannot help but briefly wander off to a second hand book written by Bob Ellis - of whom I must admit his deeply polarising personality has often rubbed even me the wrong way; but I have appreciated his ‘non-traditional intellect’ - so as to read his perceptive negative critique of economic rationalism…to learn of his ferocious claim of how after the end of WWI the Australian Diggers of the Light Horse Brigade were forced to shoot their horses as it was considered an unwarranted ‘economic burden’ to ship them back to Australia. It was surely a distressing, unjust end for these loyal, brave horses who had fully trusted their masters in the fierce battles of the Middle East campaign. A needless tragedy traumatizing some men so much they would never recover. Yet such human cost was also of no relevance to the bean counters of the time-

‘Dessa Kirk’s Chicago statue of Magdalene emerging from a large green leaf mound; it is much like her Daphne-

I read how at nineteen years of age this sculptor saw a painting of the Ascension of Mary Magdalene in Spain and was moved to tears. Jesus wept. (Certainly for Marilyn). I have a swig of whiskey and scrounge around in my U.S.A travel diary to look at some old time religion cuttings first found in my green travel duffle bag:

Ruination Railroad. Quick Road to Hell. FARE – THY SOUL. No Return Tickets. Lightning trains from Suicide Avenue. Extra trains on Sundays and during Revival Meetings. Sleepers on every train. There is perfect safety in jumping!

   Another swig.

  ‘Marilyn Monroe was to never make the leap. Trapped. Starring in RIVER OF NO RETURN with Robert Mitchum. 

  I can see her on Charon’s boat crossing the Styx to the Underworld. In the Nevada wilderness she screams out “You are all dead!” 

 ‘Marilyn is right, we are dead! The world is dead! Humanity is dead! All hope is lost if we can live with killing fine, beautiful horses to carve up for dog food. A mutilation not only of nature but of the very universe…of the soul of all being…three desperate men…two would soon face untimely deaths…Marilyn herself to also die…the veil between illusion and reality broken in every re-seeing of this film of knowing what tragically happens to the principal actors as if they are consciously playing out the end days in their own lives…(…especially so of Montgomery Clift…a washed out rider…yes, the still popular ancient idea that a person having to die in this world is like an actor inevitably leaving a theatre stage is certainly apt for such Hollywood celebrities…)...Death is our rider when we sell our souls for the promise of life…an empty promise as it turns out when we morally die in the process…hot sand in the mouth…like ash…in the blinding nightmare that is hell…to the Tibetans the horse is a symbol of hope but there in the Nevada empty space is a furious breathing horse strung out on the hot ground to be prepared for ultimate needless slaughter…Goya was Marilyn’s favourite painter…and there in my mind is Goya’s painting of a demonic giant Saturn devouring his children…as we devour the Earth for our futile existence…(old demons return to me)…the Hellenic oracle speaks of a global minotaur who demands tributes from every corner of the world to sustain its insatiable economic appetite…who never tires of the needless sacrifices that are arbitrarily deemed as needed…of the innocent victims…to tear the world apart…to carve it up…even just for dog food…if that is where the most profit can be made…it doesn’t matter…as long as the ledger is well into the red…the minotaur’s three minions in the desert…a headless corpse…blood dribbling from Saturn’s gaping mouth…clutching his decapitated child… “We are dead!” Hope is lying crucified and a saintly blonde hair Magdalene pleads for hope’s salvation. An eerie world. The psyche. A female mouth. Pleads. As reasoning superego. For the id. Not to kill. For the ego to see no real pleasure can be gained from unholy sacrifice. Thou shall not murder. Thou shall love thy neighbour as thyself. Let hope reign. A horse neighs. Love…oh love…the heart is a lonely hunter… to be beatified as a serious actor…a human being…as damaged goods… prostituted by Hollywood…to be made holy…men dying inside themselves to see her as a source of life…to revive them…(the idea each man represented each real life husband would have been deeply resented)…measuring dark matter headwinds across our celestial orbit to prove its invisible existence…the dark psychology of a human being can be just as difficult to measure…a ‘goddess of life’…emotionally mute…world weary, full of inner despair, who felt exploited when her own personal traumas were dramatically used, for all the world  to see…whole empires can suffer the resentment of a goddess…Agamemnon and his thousand ship fleet waiting for an insulted Artemis to provide the winds to go to Troy…his daughter would be sacrificed to Artemis to bring on the winds…each day Marilyn Monroe would make a film posse endlessly wait for her…petulant, self-absorbed…yet a figure of wonder while dancing in a black dress by a tree at twilight…the mystic line between life and death for all of us on display…to which we must one day all cross...’

 I taper off my thoughts in my ever twirling mind. There is something morally universal I am trying to grasp yet which always goes beyond human language…something of the tragedy of life that Lisa’s presence at my place is a constant reminder. Darkness. The mind gropes:

‘…there is in Ancient Greek tragedy the idea the moral equilibrium of the universe needs to be restored. A ‘moral balancing’ can occur by way of a wrongdoer sacrificing him or herself for the good of all. In Arthur Miller’s All My Sons it is critically considered the playwright is very respectful of this idea when the central character Joe Keller, a prosperous businessman of the American Dream, finally realizes he must admit his guilt to the accusation of supplying cracked cylinder plane parts during the war, leading to the unforeseen deaths of twenty-one pilots. For the family he has revered and in his mind sacrificed his all, he kills himself. There is also the suicide of the unsuccessful ‘everyman salesman’ in Arthur Miller’s most famous play whose fatal flaw was to delude himself that the American Dream was truly real and thus worth trying to live for. (He also dies for family, yet his fatal reasoning, like his life, is equally irrational). Yet, what of the tragedy when no moral equilibrium is achieved? When those who are destined to die have deaths who only accentuate a moral travesty? What ‘moral balance’ was achieved when Marilyn Monroe died? A suicide by the best accounts. There was no empathy in the psych ward Marilyn was placed in. To her there was an ‘archaic inhumanity’. A locked world of concrete cell blocks. The screams of women who Marilyn discerned must have found life ‘unbearable.’ No one willing to talk to them to even lessen the mental pain for a little while. The deep scratches in the walls of former inmates. A mood of violence. Of discipline. Not knowing night from day. To have no sleep. To have no access to the outside world. To be unable to use the phone. To be an innocent treated as a criminal. Forced baths. Doctors relying on what they thought they already knew. An unwillingness to even learn from the suffering of actual human beings. Only releasing patients who had ‘given up’ on their ‘treatment’. To be told amidst all this psychological squalor that there was a proud effort to have a ‘homely atmosphere’ with ‘(padded) wall-to-wall’ carpet and ‘modern furniture’. To swing a chair and smash a glass window expressing a human desperation to be treated with dignity. To bluff for proper human care by holding a piece of broken glass to her wrist. It was an action which only brought on more terrible judgment. To remark men were more interested in climbing to the moon than in the beating human heart. Heartless. World. I remember at Gregor’s latest etching exhibition at Leichhardt Library meeting a big, tall man who also did printmaking, holding an etching of the homeless being fed from a food van at Central Railway, of showing a large linocut of an ‘earth horse’ made up of stars, he was saying “The young skinheads from the seventies now run the multi-corporations!” A prophet. On the edge. With the people on the street. Who are seen as the refuse of society. Victimized. Marilyn Monroe holding a copy of Enemy of the People by Arthur Miller. To tell a truth the world does not want to believe makes you an outcast. The Crucible. To have the world turn against you. Falsely demonized for the genuine good you have tried to accomplish. As a social cleansing, to be murdered, by the people, for the people. An injustice allowed. Even beckoned on. For the good of all. By those who are devious in high places. There is no conscience in the American Dream. I do not see it. I do not see any ‘Joe Kellers’ of the world suffering remorse over the harm they have done to others for their success. The world is run on moral imbalances. Any accusation will be dispensed with. No moral wrong will be redressed. It will be built on, with more abuse. “You are dead!” Yells a siren’s moral voice in the wilderness. To prick the consciences of the men enchanted with her. Who know deep down what they are doing is wrong. An exhausted alpha male cowboy to grimace. To see the errors of his ways. To say to his two stockmen disciples no horse will die. Freedom, released…for both horse and man. Hope shall be salvaged from the human wreck that is modern society. This American Western Eve and Adam to go find Eden by following Venus in the twilight sky. The divine star of love to illuminate the human- made road that has to lead back to the New Jerusalem (…to go even though only a dull life of secure domestic drudgery may await…). In the wilderness. Night. A total black. There is truly only the void. A black moral hole. Sucking in all that is good so it can  never escape. In Arthur Miller’s original story the horses are taken to the slaughterhouse. Reality. No mercy. It is unaffordable. The horses cannot go free at the expense of men trapped by the dread of then having to face up to a hostile future. In the same way a comfortable life is what most people want, even if it means ‘working for wages’ and committing ‘little wrongs’. (Little deceits. ‘Someone has to capture these horses…’). Predictability. Not uncertainty. Is desired. Imprisonment. The Matrix. Virtually back to the serenity of an encased tomb. In our mind. A living death. Talk of doctoral students who knew they had to write lies to appease those who ruled over them and who were the authors of intellectual orthodoxies which were secretly known to be false but which secured power. No ‘blasphemy’ was allowed. To be revealed. Perhaps, resistance could come later but human atrophy would settle in over the years until combating the status quo appeared too difficult or even undesirable when the benefits of continuing one’s personal collusion seemed to well outweigh the costs. Let the next generation resist, if it dares…(…if it is even allowed…)…to realize a whole society is underpinned by a pack of lies, to have the truth denied is a societal fatal flaw, that has to be propped up anyway, the fear is the truth will set no one free but lead to catastrophe…the world as Troy…crashing down in flames…when the trojan horse that is self-denial can no longer resist any consequence outside all human control…(…such will be the apocalyptic devastation of the wrathful judgment of the gods when they tire of us…)… human overreach…Clark Gable strained his ageing body to the limit in the filming of the demanding mustang scenes. He refused to have more able stuntmen replace him. There he is in the hot Nevada desert tugging full strength on a stretched rope lassoed around the neck of a resisting horse rising up on his hind legs. Two days after filming ended he had a heart attack. President Eisenhower personally rang Gable to say he had survived one and so will he. Ten days later Clark Gable suffered a worse coronary seizure and was dead. A potent national symbol of American manliness and endurance was no more. One would think Eisenhower was saddened at the loss. A man who knew how to grieve over American deaths, who had been the Supreme Commander of Allied forces storming onto the beaches of Normandy to go across the Continent to penetrate into Nazi Germany. A thoughtful commander who can be seen spur-of-the- moment encouraging his paratroopers before they boarded the Douglas C-47 air transports to jump into Fortress Europe on the eve of D-DAY. “Full victory-nothing less.” Who had remarked American soldiers can be expected to walk through a minefield as if it wasn’t there as the casualties would be more or less the same as if the Wehrmacht had used troops or even artillery to stop an advance. Who would not pardon the Rosenbergs from their executions even though there was still some reasonable doubt over whether they had actually passed on atomic secrets to Stalin. (Expendable casualties in the ‘mine/d field’ that was the underhanded intelligence war between East and West. At least the condemned couple were both electrocuted just before the coming of the Jewish Sabbath so as to not offend any religious sensitivities). The ex-general supreme leader who warned of the ‘military- industrial complex’ as a possible threat to American democracy. Yet he need not have worried as the military-industrial complex took on board his domino theory that if any one country fell to international communism then neighbouring countries would also fall; the military-industrial complex made sure that other countries only fell to ‘American democracy’. Eisenhower stated his yardstick for any decision was he would do whatever was best for America so although he was concerned of a ‘creeping socialism’ in American society he was of the opinion no American citizen should be ‘second-class’ even though many would remain so; the ‘happy days’ of American consumerism seemed to exclude non-whites like Afro-Americans and Native Indians; while many outside America in the third world would continue to be second-class global citizens in the American sphere-of-influence that had to serve the American Dream. The Supreme Commander of the Free World had once remarked that if anyone wanted total security he (or she) could find it in prison where a person could be guaranteed to be clothed, fed and have a place to sleep. All that would be missing would be freedom. The totalitarian state was such a prison in the eyes of Eisenhower and for Americans freedom would be duly preserved although for those who didn’t have the means to an income (again including those who lived in the American sphere of influence in the third world) being fed, clothed and housed could never be guaranteed. Never mind, as Senator McCarthy would dictatorially prove, liberty still had its limits in the land of the free if the myth of the American Dream itself was even reasonably questioned. (It is what Arthur Miller would find out to his inconvenience). Eisenhower worked behind the scenes to curb McCarthy’s anti-communist mania which finally resulted in McCarthy’s fellow Republican senators censuring him for ‘conduct unbecoming’. It was not in Ike to publicly denounce an inquisitorial political gutter-rat like McCarthy, often preferring to do anything unpleasant covertly, to not be traced back, to avoid any adverse consequence. Any good soldier knew it was always best to go under the radar, to not be detected by one’s foes in the performance of one’s duty. A duty that would extend to the underhanded overthrow of an elected socialist government in Guatemala. Yes, a soldier’s first duty is to always do what is best for his country; it only stands to reason that such fervent patriotism can never be seriously questioned. It was a reasonable, patriotic man such as Ike who believed in civil rights so much that he did not want to really interfere in the rights of Southern racists to stop black children sitting beside their pure white children in the same schools. In defiance of the Supreme Court decision that stated segregated schools were unconstitutional the Arkansas governor had the state’s National Guard stop black students from entering a school in Little Rock. Ike was forced to call in troops from the 101^st Airborne Division to have the governor to see the light of reason. Ike’s preference was in an incremental approach by which the South would gradually see the error of its  ‘misguided but understandable’ ways without having to be ‘cajoled’ by federal legislation. After all, Ike believed true leadership involved in getting someone else to do what you wanted them to do by having them want to do it. Yes, such an indirect ‘hands off’ approach certainly worked a treat in Iran after it was decided by Ike and Churchill to overthrow Prime Minister Mosaddegh due to his parliament’s insistence that a British petroleum company should be nationalized so Iranian oil could actually benefit the people of Iran. No public pre-D-Day coup photos of Eisenhower spurring CIA operatives on to ‘full victory’ who went on to secretly organize a coup involving violent mobs and paid thugs. To eventually have Iran’s monarch the Shah in total ‘democratic control’ wanting to do whatever those two D-Day old hands asked of him. Iran. 1979. The Shah would fall. Ayotallah Khomeni would rise. Regional instability. Religious schisms. Eisenhower’s covert legacy. Nevertheless, at home Ike the Modern Republican kept New Deal programs that were still in place when he took office. Eisenhower the middle of the road moderate Republican whose concern for the social mobility of Americans included building America’s interstate highway system modelled on Germany’s autobahns which had impressed him during the war. President Eisenhower knew his forces needed to move quickly in case the cities were turned to dust by a Soviet first strike. As a second lieutenant in 1919 Eisenhower noted how frustrating it was for a military convoy to take two months to cross the country due its inadequate roads. Forward thinking Ike – who, it is said, along with his worry that Americans would become too materialistic also actually considered that it be good to leave some of the earth pristine in its natural state for later generations - had by way of his national highway network opened up the country so inevitably it would be taken over by the automobile which spurred on a massive population shift; leading to the speedy growth of a sprawling American suburbia which millions of new home owners needed to cater for and maintain with ever more consumer products - with Ike’s own Council of Economic Advisors stating that the number one priority of the nation’s economy was to make more things. The material temporality of American affluence. To buy. What’s new. To throw away. When outdated. Or broken. Which it surely would be, soon enough. To then buy again. A malignant conformity settling in as human existence found meaning by striving to keep up with the Joneses. This is American freedom. To be like one’s middle class Anglo neighbours who were the dominating social ‘role models’ of post-war America. Anyone still relying on hand-me-down clothes and second-hand goods was to be seen as disenfranchised from the ‘endearing ideal’ of American prosperity-

 I admire the day I went with Michael to go see a Bangladeshi refrigerator man in Lakemba who in his shop crammed with second hand fridges told us that it was better to buy an old fridge whose manual parts would operate for decades rather than purchase a new modern refrigerator whose electronics would probably break down after only a few years. “It is deliberate, to make you buy a new one.”

While in the area we went to a car wreckers yard at Greenacre to look for a bumper bar stored in these large warehouses with spare parts neatly stacked to the roofs. I felt the experience was akin to walking into a medieval cathedral. Michael said by going to the wreckers to look for cheap parts he could still keep his ’64 EH Holden on the road. “It also helps to have a mechanic you can trust. The young Sicilian guy I go too now was really nice to drive out to where my car was stranded at Leichhardt. It just wouldn’t start. As it turned out it was just a loose battery cable connection. He just tightened it and didn’t even bother charging me.” A smirk. “Although he charges me enough for every service…”

As it went onto dusk we stopped at a petrol station along Canterbury Road in Bankstown. The middle aged proprietor was playing music from somewhere in the Middle East as well as selling cassettes stacked in neat rows on a table. Along with buying a compilation of Oud compositions I also bought one of the big hubbly bubbly water pipes hanging on hooks above the music cassettes.

 ‘The highways of the Atomic Age spurring on human aspiration, fuelled by oil. New World consumer liberty. To be cherished. To be protected. President Eisenhower, of course, did what he could to avoid all out nuclear war, although claims have been made that - after taking over the presidency from Truman - Ike had suggested a ‘demonstration’ for the Chinese in Korea of a few ‘tactical’ nuclear weapons at Kaesong. This city seemed like a feasible target although it was admitted by American planners there were not any enemy strategic centres really big enough to justify the use of such a destructive weapon. Nevertheless, Ike’s atomic strategy was ‘reasonable’ when compared with General MacArthur’s lunatic suggestion to use over 30 atomic bombs on ‘retaliation targets’ to end the war in ‘ten days’; to have a radioactive cobalt belt across the isthmus to guarantee stopping any new invasion for at least sixty years. Mountain passes which the Chinese were using to pour troops into Korea were also possible atomic targets. If atom bombs had been used General Le May would proudly declare only he, as the man who had directed the fire bombing of Tokyo, was capable of doing the job. This cigar smoking professional military man would glibly say after the war that even without the atom bomb – that at a guess - the U.S. may have killed up to 20% of North Korea’s population-

I stop to read in a Le Monde article how the historian Bruce Cumings has remarked that cobalt is 320 times more radioactive than radium; that another historian Carroll Quigley had stated that all animal life on the planet could be wiped out with just one 400-ton cobalt H-Bomb. As it was the United States would deliberately use its air force to annihilate a whole population with conventional bombs. I am reminded how at least one and a half million North Korean civilians were killed during the war with the relatively new weapon napalm used to burn everything that was considered fit for human habituation. Villages reduced to ash. Cities mostly destroyed. People reduced to living in caves; some of the many ‘human pawns’ in a foul international ‘great war game’ between the Soviet Union, China and the United States. Korea, a ‘limited war’ - in American eyes - which even the embryonic idea of a neutron bomb was born: a way of saving a city while still extinguishing the enemy, due to the enormous damage even a friendly city such as Seoul had endured, being captured and recaptured by the opposing forces several times.

“Why couldn’t they win over the North Korean population by dropping white goods on them instead?” I glibly ruminate. (This ‘shocked reader’ asks himself if the United States had totally forgotten Jesus’s words on the Sermon on the Mount when he remarked how we should do to others as we would expect them to do unto us. That we would not expect anyone to hurt us, as we, in turn would not want to be hurt by anyone. “How could anyone complain if they are hurt by others when they have already committed so much hurt to them…?” I rhetorically murmured. I could see if such a high level of unnecessary total destruction was inflicted on the United States it would rightly accuse such an action as beingbarbaric.

‘For the Korean peninsular, with up to three million deaths, it had been a total war. At least Le May who wanted to also bomb Vietnam back to the stone age had been honest enough to admit that if the United States had lost the Pacific War it would not have surprised him if he was hauled up in front of a court of international justice and tried as a war criminal for the indiscriminate deaths of over a hundred thousand Tokyo innocent civilians in one bombing raid. Ferocious. Inefficiency. It had taken over three hundred B- 29 bombers and five hundred thousand incendiary bombs containing napalm to destroy as much of the city as well as kill as many people as those immediately killed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki with the U.S. only using two planes and two bombs. Nevertheless, atomic bombs were not used by the Americans in the Korean war because there was some doubt relating to their military practicality and of fears if the Chinese and Koreans kept fighting the much vaunted deterrent effect of the atomic strategy would be undermined. There did not seem to be too much moral concern over the use of the Bomb but it was felt by both the Truman and Eisenhower administrations that it may not be a ‘good look’ to again use nuclear weapons so relatively soon after Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Especially on another Asian country. After all, in publicity terms the Bomb was meant to only be used as a weapon of last resort. To avert any ‘bad look’ Eisenhower introduced what was to be known as a New Look to the nation’s atomic war strategy. Ike thought military spending was too much and that building up America’s atomic capability was feasibly seen as a cheap way to offset the spiralling costs of a large conventional force. Even though in Truman’s time Eisenhower as NATO commander had requested a build up of U.S. military strength in western Europe. For the public Ike stated more money spent on the military meant less money to spend on social programs. Certainly, the New Look was certainly a way of making America look good and even peace loving. As a conservative who believed in the merits of free enterprise with as little ‘government obstruction’ as possible Ike would not have wanted inflated military spending to unwittingly get in the way of America doing what it did best: making business-

Nevertheless, I dimly recall in some obscure news article the claim that Eisenhower was also concerned America would become too materialistic, tempted by an unprecedented consumer addiction. Material waste. Not only of the human soul but of the promised land that was the U.S.A; to have to endure huge mountains of rubbish, made from a never ending relentless supply of disposable mass-produced products. It was not desirable to be ‘civilized’ off the face of the planet to be left wallowing in its monumental refuse. Yes, I - and Ike – could see how such ever expanding land fill, along with other pollutant by-products of American prosperity would become an environmental burden- 

‘…while there was still that other disposable product the A-Bomb which was now being placed on the tops of hundreds of missiles as well as into the payloads of large air fleets of B-52s all ready at a moment’s notice to radioactively litter the whole world into mass extinction. Certainly an ‘environmental issue’ not just for the U.S.A but for the whole damned planet. Yet for Eisenhower cutting down on conventional forces and shifting to a deliberate emphasis towards nuclear arms was a way of making sure America would not be ‘hollowed out’ by a defence budget that would cripple the nation. (After all, the Cold War would finally end in the late 80s when the Soviet Union economically collapsed in on itself). As it was Eisenhower was of the belief that NATO was not strong enough to withstand a conventional invasion from the Soviets who were deemed to have numerically superior land forces. Thus the atom bomb could be used as a wilful deterrent to any Communist aggression. Yet, rather than just follow on from Truman’s policy of containing Eastern Europe Eisenhower along with his Secretary of State Dulles would involve themselves in Cold War brinkmanship by actually raising the spectre of mass nuclear retaliation. In the early 50s apart from Korea, Dulles had raised the possibility of using three tactical A-bombs in 1954 at Dien Bien Phu when France desperately sought out American aid after her forces were surrounded by the Viet Minh. It was a surprise this ‘primitive foe’ had installed artillery; these heavy guns were decimating the cut off French. It had also become difficult to airdrop much needed supplies onto already shrinking drop zones with incoming planes being forced to fly as high as 8,000 feet (the ideal drop altitude was 2,000 feet); the subsequent lack of accuracy had much needed supplies drifting into the hands of the Viet Minh. Eisenhower chose to be militarily prudent, especially when his ally Churchill would not commit to interfering into Indo-China. Another Korea was not desired. Always the ‘behind-the- scenes’ man Eisenhower was not enthralled by a go-it-alone escalation into Vietnam which after this nuclear strike – tellingly codenamed Operation Vulture - would probably have to be followed up on the ground with American troops. (Dulles would frustratingly talk of the day that America ‘did not go to war’). So the atom bombs were not used which, after all, may have also inadvertently harmed those in French positions. Thus this first post-war Indo-China conflict ended with the French totally humiliated; (it is no surprise France would soon be embroiled in a new colonial war in Algiers).

What was not so readily spelled out was that the atom bomb could be used like a loaded gun pointed on the defenceless. While the United States still held the upper hand over the Soviet Union in the initial stages of the nuclear arms race it realized that just the threat of using the Bomb could be effective. Truman had sent nuclear armed bombers to Europe during the Berlin Airlift to let Stalin know his belligerence would be tolerated only to a point. It was the same with Truman sending atom bombs to Guam at the beginning of the Korean War. In the first year of the war a UN defeat was possible so the use of an atom bomb on an aggressive – and winning - North Korea backed by the Soviet Union and Red China was likely. When the war degraded into stalemate the threat subsided. Yet after Stalin’s death when eventually there was an armistice Eisenhower still had twenty nuclear armed B-36 Peacemaker bombers fly to Okinawa and Guam as a warning to the Chinese. This three-day exercise of Strategic Air Command was called Operation Big Stick as if to echo Theodore Roosevelt’s fondness for a supposed West African proverb of ‘speak softly, and carry a big stick’. America now had the biggest stick of all which was pulled out many times until the Soviet Union reached nuclear parity in the mid-1960s. MAD then took over to finally paradoxically guarantee a nuclear peace. Cold War paranoia. The thought of a first strike followed by a retaliatory strike carrying out an ‘unacceptable level’ of homeland destruction helped to avert nuclear war. Strategy had thus become the art of avoiding war altogether when no national advantage could be seen in total destruction. It was unlike World War One when it was recognized that winning a war of attrition meant actually aiming to kill as many of the enemy’s men on the battlefield and destroying its hardware so the actual destruction of the nation-state through the total exhaustion of all its human and material resources became the long term strategic aim, to even have such a wearing down to incite a demoralized population to initiate internal revolution which would bring on the state’s final downfall. Nihilistic psychosis. To end Russia. To end Germany. (To damn hundreds of thousands of civilians and workers to their deaths in the next war from ‘strategic bombing’ as so callously favoured on the Allied side by the likes of Bomber Harris and Churchill). Nuclear psychosis. Despite the notion of MAD an accidental nuclear conflict was still a very grave concern for the human race and this was to nearly happen on several occasions including during the Cuban Crisis. Superpower ‘tactical’ nuclear temptations leading to an uncontrollable escalation to MAD was yet another real fear. Human madness. The siren sound of whistling bombs. A conventional human fury still resounds on the globe unabated. Human tragedy. Marilyn Monroe had intimated that an initial theme of The Misfits, not readily picked up by the critics, was how people could change for the better but wouldn’t, to only stay the same or even worse. (Yet, at least, much to the foul chagrin of the self-pitying ex-bombardier-  who was ‘carefree’ willing to enslave nature as in capturing wild horses so as to have a cash flow by way of their cruel, untimely deaths so for him not wanting to be lassoed in to a wage labour existence, to kill what was free so as to be free to actually seem to be an immoral, hypocritical absurdity. Human illogicality- at least Clarke Gable ‘the cowboy’ finally came to his senses, saw through his own rationalisations and excuses to in the end cut the rope that would free not only the horses he was originally set on taking in to earn just a handful of dollars so his mind could be finally released to envisage a better human possibility not only for himself but also for nature that he had been trying to succumb that was as infinite in scope as the wandering star he now astronomically eyed that could navigate him on a road that could now lead to a hopeful eternity rather than to delve deeper into a self-inflicted, hopeless human abyss). 

 America’s New Look and Atoms for Peace seemed to publicly display a diplomatic willingness on the part of the United States to only be a defender of peace in a world constantly facing total war. Atoms can be used to provide nuclear energy not just nuclear destruction was Ike’s call, who knew as he languidly looked down the lens of a television camera that this was a good way to give the new possibility of the destruction of the world a positive spin to the Free World. America, the great method actor, knows how to consummately ‘be in character’ to play the peacemaker to a global audience. To say all the right lines from all the right scripts for those war movies the Pentagon approved so Hollywood could use its military equipment. Big studio self-censorship. To ward off any threat of government regulation. There had even be put into place a code to make sure the moral fabric of the nation would not be lowered by the film industry. After all, Hollywood was only in the business of making money, not dabbling in politics. Eisenstein can vouch for that, a revolutionary Soviet film maker, famed for his film Battleship Potemkin was invited to make films in sunny California. Hollywood’s film ‘baddies’ from the North American Indian tribes to the Mexicans, Germans, Japanese, Russians, Chinese, Vietnamese through to the Arabs - amongst many others - including also the working class and, of course, gangsters - who have ever wanted to harm ‘wholesome, maverick, freedom loving’ all round American (usually WASP) ‘good guys’ - can all tell the world how when it comes to history Hollywood does not worry too much about it’s complex or subtle nuances as long as it can make big profits from very simple-to-understand, hell raisin’ ‘us’ against ‘them’ war and crime movies. (Love. Comedy. Family. Adventure. Drama. Name a genre and Hollywood has done it but ‘war glamour’ can be considered a specialty; which can suit Washington’s policy purposes when Hollywood feels compelled to perform its patriotic duty when it is certain of the reward of a big profit; to be literally cashing in on any heightened national mood. Don’t ever let any racial, national, societal or even female gender stereotyping get between an alpha-male film producer and a box office hit. The big movie studios with their kept stables of stars would begin to economically decline in the sixties - which although would never disappear - would  allow creative openings for a rise of indie films, although these innovative, original films face being swamped in a predominant unoriginal corporate cinema realm of big movie franchises. However, it is no accident of history that in a spectacular moment of resistance to Hollywood’s money making stereotyping of the world, in 1973, while the siege at Wounded Knee was still happening, Marlon Brando - a strong supporter of the civil rights movement - controversially had a Native American Indian woman Sacheen Littlefeather pick up, at the Academy Awards ceremony, his Oscar for the Godfather - of which he had rejected). Yet during the heydays of The House Committee on Un-American Activities from 1947 through to the inquisitorial McCarthy era of the early 1950s a wary studio system knew it had to provide proof of its unflinching patriotism. Especially when in 1947 a young freshman congressman by the name of Richard Nixon had inquired at the McCarthy committee hearings if Hollywood had yet made any anti-Communist films? As it was, during the war Hollywood had actually produced a handful of films portraying the Soviets in a favourable light seeing ‘Uncle Joe’ was an ally – much to the chagrin of The House Committee of Un-American Activities who after the war unfairly accused the movie studios of being sympathetic to Josef Stalin. McCarthy would see one film Mission to Moscow as clad iron proof that Hollywood had been infiltrated by the Reds. The accusation was also made that subliminal messages were being innocuously woven into movie scripts that passed on subversive ideas to further undermine American ideals. Brainwashing by cinematic stealth-

 (I laugh).

 After all, such a sublime form of propaganda is what the Left often accuses the Right of carrying out and often being far more effective. This diligent researcher considered how during the 1948 Italian elections the Americans had used the 1939 Hollywood romantic comedy Ninotchka to influence people to vote against the Italian Communists who were the electoral favourites. After all, Italy could not be allowed to accept an ideology that was deemed contrary to American thinking, likewise in January of the same year the American Attorney General had said in no uncertain terms anyone wishing to come to live in the United States had to “…believe in the ideology of the United States…”. Ninotchka would help persuade Italians of the greater goodness of the American Way; it was a satire on Russian life and was shown throughout many Italian working class districts. A cultural-political strategy that actually did work as one forlorn Communist had said - after the election was lost - that his party was beaten by Greta Gabo. She had played an ideologically correct Russian on official business to Paris who ends up falling for a debonair American male. It was an anti-Communist film which played up the idea that America’s values allow for a fun and carefree life compared to the authoritarian psychological drabness of the Soviet Union. Discerning Europeans however would still typify the material shallowness of the United States to a giant with a child’s head; spurning the musical South Pacific at the 1958 Brussels World Fair; an American film at the same fair which such Europeans were to prefer would be the ‘B- grade film noir’ Touch of Evil by the feted auteur Orson Welles. It was awarded best film by a jury which included the esteemed directors Truffaut and Godard. It’s border town, gangster like depiction of criminality and corruption typified what European elites really thought of a globally intrusive United States. Another film which would have appealed to such an audience would have been the left leaning Burt Lancaster’s 1957 film Sweet Smell of Success-

‘In the McCarthy era of the Second Red Scare (the First Red Scare in the United States had happened after the end of WWI due to the success of the Bolshevik Revolution) an overriding paranoia at Hollywood was rife with even a warning from the Movie Picture Association of America to scriptwriters that there would be no more movies like the Grapes of Wrath or films that treated bankers as unscrupulous scoundrels. Hundreds in the movie industry were unofficially blacklisted for their apparent leftist leanings including even someone like Edward G. Robinson, who as a long time outspoken critic of the Nazis, was clearly a defender of democratic values. He was denigrated for his naïve support of the Soviet Union which only happened at the time the Russians were fighting the common enemy: Hitler-

  Although one knows this esteemed actor achieved fame with his early gangster roles it is his performance as Joe Keller in a 1948 film version of Arthur Miller’s Broadway hit All My Sons which one mostly favours. (Liking also how Burt Lancaster played the son Chris Keller). Although Edward G. Robinson was cleared of being a Communist his career still languished. Surprisingly, it would be a Pharaoh-like Cecil B de Mille – an avowed anti- Communist - who would revitalize Robinson’s professional reputation by having him play the key traitorous-come-fellow Israelite character Dathan in The Ten Commandments. Nevertheless, Dathan eventually has the Israelites dance around the Golden Calf in defiance of Yahweh who had just freed them from the Egyptian yoke. Charlton Heston as Moses will smash the stone tablets in disgust when he comes down from Mt. Sinai to see how the so called Chosen People have so easily turned their back on the one true living God. In the Cold War period such blasphemous behaviour could be seen as a timely warning for God’s America to hold onto God’s Word; especially while having to face up to the godless on the other side of the Iron Curtain led by a Soviet Pharaoh-

‘To live in a New Testament world where reliable old fashioned Old Testament means of destroying your enemy have been updated with a ‘General Electric’ who with an electronic board will direct nuclear weapons to go on their holy way to unholy destinations. B-grade modern minds all pointing their nuclear staffs at the ready! Not so much channelling Charlton Heston’s wrath towards the blasphemous Egyptians but rather James Cagney: RAT-A-TAT-TAT all you godless Russian rats!’    

 (I bristle). 

 ‘To have a U.S. cavalry trumpet of a nuclear last judgment! Tie A Yellow Ribbon with John Wayne defeating the savage ‘injuns’. At the turn of the twentieth century Yellow Fever was killing U.S. cavalrymen in Cuba. Mosquitoes as instruments of Yahweh! The Lord scourges yet science saves! Yellow Fever of the body is no more, but a maddening Yellow Fever in military minds clings on strongly! The helicopter cavalry Ride of the Valkyrie in Apocalypse Now! A napalm end of the world, in lieu of any nuclear one! (Yes, THIS IS THE END my friend!). Martha Roslner’s striking ‘home beautiful’ images of middle class Americans in their 70s living rooms with black & white graphic news photos of Vietnamese civilians screaming and dying in burning villages hanging on the walls!’

‘Other movie blockbusters such as Ben Hur (with his chariot) Quo Vadis would also emphasize that God inevitably could only be on one side: America. In God We Trust. Under God. All officially signed into American law signalling America’s allegiance to a spiritualized cargo cult capitalism in defiance to the godless dehumanizing materialism of the communist enemy. Ike the agnostic going to his wife’s Presbyterian congregation during the time of his Presidency. Fundamentalist religion. On the way up. All. Organized. Mind control. In control. Of freedom. Of society. A cold war of cold ideas. Cold blood. Psychological warfare. Voice of America. Abstract Expressionist artistic freedom. Afro American jazz musicians playing on the Devil’s side of the Iron Curtain where they found audiences treating them with the fullest respect; never mind how such ‘cultural troubadours’ for American Freedom such as Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong and their fellow Afro-Americans were still facing civil rights battles in that Devil’s playground known as the American South. A jazz musician would say that NASA would study his musical improvisation to gain insight into the improvisations of the Universe. Creation. The Cosmos. To be studied. Human wonder. Overtaken by human suspicion. Sputnik. A technological improvisation to the heavens. To be feared. A satellite the same size as a nuclear warhead that could be placed atop an ICBM missile; also the possibility now of an all seeing atheist eye looking down on God’s earthly paradise that is the United States. Ike talking of opening the skies to all military surveillance over North America and Eurasia. To show there is nothing to hide. For there is only really in the human heart things to hide. An inner human darkness that those in the Deep South who have descended from slaves working on vast plantations know only too well. Yet the Soviet Union rejected this Open Skies proposal. After all, along with the missile sites, the gulags also needed hiding from capitalist eyes, even if they may not really be of interest. The light of freedom is transparent. It can be seen through to show all is well, that no lie hides behind what is true. Capitalism is true. Walt Disney would film from the air the vast natural wonders of the American terrain with the grandeur of the Grand Canyon aligned against its pulsating industries all to be seen in a theatre in the round at the 1958 Brussels World Fair. As if to show that nothing is to be kept secret from view in God’s own country, as is not the case on the other side of the Iron Curtain. To show how American capitalism as emblematic of a free society shows how nature and humanity can work organically as one living entity for the very good of the Earth itself. To reveal what has been termed a ‘terrible beauty’ of this all powerful divinely inspired human project. Embracing all. For all. America the righteous, blessed steward of the Creation. Certainly anything against such a ‘natural unity’ was an unholy threat. To be fought against. To be defeated. For good predestined to win over evil. To use the very power of the Earth that lies within the smallest atom can be theologically justified. Yes, the Universe itself is on America’s side. America the righteous harnessing the cosmos for the good of all, against any evil that will cast a dark shadow over the light of the world. God and America as  one. Are one. The natural wonder of the Nevada desert. Where atom bombs can be exploded any old time. In the land where there is no time. Timeless. Like eternity. Where’s there’s not a care in the world. Where it is mentioned in The Misfits that no one in Nevada wears a watch. As time does not really exist for those who live in the domain where the multidimensional atomic structure of the Universe can be revealed in all its awesome power; so those who rightly control it can use itto intimidate or destroy those who only do the Devil’s work. Who deserve to die. To be reduced to ashes in a blinding inferno that would make Hades itself feel proud. To be Hades on Earth. That is humanity’s abysmal goal. Usurping all that is good.’

 Despite all his glib talk of ‘open skies’ I know Eisenhower was not so open about the secret U2 spy planes flying over the Soviet Union. 

 ‘The photos taken from these high altitude planes showed that the Soviet Union was still well behind the United States in its nuclear capacity; then one was inconveniently shot down not long before Eisenhower’s presidency came to an end. Eisenhower had lied that it was really only a weather plane; then he had to retract when Khrushchev displayed the American pilot who he initially had the Americans believe had been killed. This incident led to even greater mistrust from the Soviets who in any case always secretly knew about these spy plane flyovers by way of their radar but did not have a missile able to shoot one down until May, 1960; so a diplomatic easing of a superpower nuclear arms race was not achieved in Eisenhower’s time; with Cold War tensions only becoming worse as exemplified by the 1963 Cuban Missile Crisis. A false cold war morality was certainly prevailing. To have no good. It was the Hungarians who were the first to find out such a lack of goodness from the West when as they revolted on the streets of Budapest in October, 1956 they had expected – if not direct military action – at least some material and diplomatic support from the West; to have actually been taken in by the ‘Siren freedom talk’ coming over the radio waves of the Voice of America and Radio Free Europe which made the Hungarians feel liberating Eastern Europe may actually be the very cornerstone of American foreign policy. Nothing of the sort was true. To be defeated and to die, having had faith in an illusion. Despite what some called an international ‘perimeter defence’ against any Communist threat on the borders between the Free World and the Communist bloc there was be no direct ‘democratic crossover’ on such borders to help those populations ‘trapped’ by their godless oppressors. The United States did not want a direct war with the Soviet Union who - along with its strong conventional forces - was developing a nuclear arsenal which with its IBCM missiles could cross the Atlantic. The USA was surprised by the Hungarian revolt and saw it as an inconvenience that could stand in the way of achieving nuclear détente with the Soviets. Despite all of the West’s moralizing about the people of Eastern Europe being ‘enslaved’ by the Soviet yoke these same unfortunate people now knew nothing would be done by the West to help them. The Soviets also now knew this and so after Hungary they were confident they would not face a NATO strike after their military crushing of the Prague Spring in 1968. To find a skirret of goodness elsewhere: to read Gunter Grass’s writings of his personal adolescent wartime experiences. Of a nation’s fearful retreat from Zhukov’s onslaught. Yet of German soldiers more frightened of being accused of being deserters by marauding death squads. To be strung up on trees and telegraph poles. Civilian refugee columns reduced to using oxcarts to flee an all powerful Red Army. All a living nightmare akin to some medieval scene of hell. Where the only sure reality was death. To talk of a young Nordic man who could have easily been used in a war propaganda poster always refusing to hold a rifle in training. An objector to all that is futile. To death itself. Who bravely persisted with his resistance in a totalitarian state. To know that all that would ultimately await him was a concentration camp. A noble act. A noble death. That not all people are bad. May hope spring eternal. That resistance to human atrocity can ultimately count.

 ‘Despair. The United States drives a Siren to her death. The good must be officially silenced, officially for the good of all. (A modern day ‘anti-Siren blower’ such as Chelsea Manning can vouch for that…)…to be persecuted…tell me the old, old story…a Siren. Death. Sleep. Yes. Death & the Maiden. Yes. Death & Sleep. Side. By. Side. Together. Seen as the same. A Siren asleep. Waking up each time when shone again onto the silver screen. To return to the primal. Yes. To be primal. A desire to return to a pure life state, before any original sin. To wishfully find perfection. Peace. A lasting tranquillity. In death. Oh. To grow. To exhaust life. To regrow. Forever. Yes. The drive for life. To continue. Without end. Yes. To have been. A Siren in the wilderness. Imploring for human change. To stop the devastation. To nature. To God. To humanity. To not be dead. For life. Here on Earth. On screen. There is Marilyn Monroe in the truck cabin with the man who had been a bombardier. Who had dropped bombs on nine cities. Causing infernos. Where so many innocents died. For no reason. Other than the irrational reason that they were on the ‘other side’. Human beings as enemies to each other. Only feeling sorry for themselves. When it suits. It’s what Marilyn says to the ex-bombardier. Who could be Truman. Eisenhower. Kennedy. Nixon. Any ‘ol President. In the Nevada desert. Lassoing dreams. Lassoing nightmares. Lassoing beautiful horses to turn into dog meat. Human beings reduced to bits of meat. From the falling bombs. That still go on falling today. Droning away. BOMBS AWAY! Yes! Miller is right! There will be hell to pay! Misfit America! (Along with all the other superpower misfits as well as the small-time dictatorial misfits who wish they were superpowers or as in the case of Russia wants to imperially resume such a devilish status. Yes, none can be excused for the devilry they do but it just so happens by the random circumstance of birth it is the U.S.A. I know much better). Firing away! Yet there is no good. No opposite liberating force. Truly. Exists. Yes, there is the United States proclaiming world peace while also maximizing the potential of having others fight its wars setting up regional alliances; to have smaller nations entering into ‘mutual partnerships’ as if it was possible to be an equal partner with the Great America (New Zealand to be threatened with a US trade embargo when this ‘ANZUS partner’ no longer wanted nuclear warships in its ports). When it was inevitable Americans had to fight the diplomatic templates for ‘coalitions of the willing’ could already be in place so as to have an immediate favourable response when sending out the urgent communications of the ‘correctness’ to have its ‘necessary flash mob war’. Orwell is right. Eurasia fights Oceania. Eastasia fights Eurasia. Oceania fight Eastasia. All taking turns. To be at peace. To be at war. The surveillance cameras of the totalitarian state, now exist, nominally for the people’s security, mostly at the moment in China, but in all states including those of the Free World. Newspeak is everywhere. All superpowers appear to be seeking peace but they will all use war when it is the only way to reach their self-appointed aims. Whether by subterfuge. Whether by overt military means. There is no moral imperative directing them - as they claim – to really stop them from resorting to mortal conflict. For a superpower such as the U.S. to cancel the security clearance of Robert Oppenheimer who was deemed the father of the Manhattan Project. Yet who had invoked the Hindu god Vishnu from the Bhagavad Gita by saying he had become the destroyer of worlds as the world’s first nuclear mushroom cloud rose over Los Amos. Oppenheimer would question the moral framework in which such a weapon of mass destruction was justifiably produced. Of course, there was nothing moral about such a genocidal weapon except for the primal ‘moral drive’ to use it before the other side used it first. At the start of the Cold War Oppenheimer would argue against the development of the H-Bomb which would grant the United States even greater nuclear supremacy over the Soviet Union but only through the horrendous ability to kill much larger numbers of people with one explosion. If there were to be A-Bombs this troubled scientist preferred the development of smaller tactical atomic weapons which, at least, could be legitimately used on the battlefield. His loyalty to America had always been suspect, especially since he had shown some sympathy to Communist ideals during the thirties; which had been a typically naïve political response amongst many who were concerned about the rise of fascism. It was a pragmatic decision to involve him with the Bomb as his genius was desperately needed. Yet after the war previous antagonisms would resurge due partly to his doubts about the H-Bomb. Truman known for his remark that if you cannot stand the heat get out of the kitchendismissed Robert Oppenheimer as the ‘cry-baby scientist’ when Oppenheimer told him he felt he personally had blood on his hands. It would all culminate in Eisenhower initiating an inquiry as to his loyalty in early 1954 when those who disliked him gained the upper hand and the President’s attention under the pretence that there actually had been a Soviet spy who had infiltrated the Manhattan Project during Oppenheimer’s watch. Those who sympathized with Oppenheimer compared this shabby official treatment towards him as akin to a ‘Salem witch hunt’ or to a Moscow show trial; in fact, for Oppenheimer to have fallen foul to the inquisitorial toxicity of the McCarthy era would have him being seen by some as a ‘modern Galileo’ – another bearer of new knowledge who famously was also officially ill-judged and mistreated for his supposedly wayward beliefs. Oppenheimer would be professionally ostracized from the nuclear program, but, ultimately, it is not so much his loyalty to the United States which history may question but rather the imperial haughtiness of a superpower to subordinate such a complex man who saw fit to seriously consider how his moral obligations to humanity should hold more sway over him than the immoral exigencies of a national interest that demanded the ‘necessary’ invention of such deadly ordinance which could bring on humanity’s extinction. In an earlier era a moral consideration which would lead to the suicide of the wife of a German scientist who for his dear Kaiser was helping to develop poisonous gases to be used against the enemy in the trenches. It was all too unbearable when to her inquiry to him as to the rightness of what he was doing she was emphatically told that while in peacetime he must serve the interests of science in wartime it was understandable that his first duty was to now only serve the interests of the nation. Science cannot exist in a moral vacuum; nor can a nation.

 Marilyn yells out the brutal truth. A voice in the wilderness. To an America. Unredeemable. At least. A doomed prophetess. Speaking to who she thinks is the damned. For a Siren knows that any organism needs to change. To be reborn. Again and again. For the cycle of life to reach maturation. To be made new. To be made eternal. To be all good. To be whole. To be balanced. To be in unity. Revitalized. Flowing. Fully. Alive.

 That Darren Sylvester colour photo tucked away by a small side entrance at the University of Technology of a group of young people standing in front an apartment balcony looking dead panned at the camera. An intriguing image but to be truly disconcerted by its title: The Object of Social Acceptance Is To Forfeit Individual Dreams. To read how Charles Bukowski had said in a 1986 interview with the journalist Jean-Francois Duval that the human heart is in essence a good organ but it gets mixed up with the madness of governments and false gods and with the struggles of everyday survival for it to become strangled and to lose its way. The great working class poet living a life in defiance of the American Dream, being averse to following the ethos of accumulation which compelled his strict father. Benjamin Franklin, a Father of the Nation, it is said, set down the American Dream, which with the best of intentions involved aspiring to go from a position of poverty to one of wealth; to move from a position of being powerless in the face of greater powerful forces to be individually powerful through securing personal freedom. Yet, although such aspirations are noble the world is still very far away from allowing equality for all, (to even distort the value of being human to the ability to consume) Bukowski chose to use his free will to express what is still reality rather than what remains to be a myth. To have looked at how life can involve the mind numbing drudgery of doing the same boring repetitive work task day after day; for a pay packet that will only stretch as far as meeting immediate needs. To feel there is no little chance of really improving one’s lot.’

‘Yes, there is always the Presidential candidate giving a variation of the rags to riches story of humbly being brought up in a log cabin aspiring now to reside in the White House so as to help all of us who are still in our log cabins or caravan parks-

 I deliberately put on the Cocteau Sister’s Song To The Siren; to look down at Marilyn Monroe’s accusatory words in the Misfits script and feel she sums up all that I have been trying to say. There is no good thing for any beauty to say, or unveil, of a beast, that is a superpower. I wonder if Arthur Miller deliberately knew he was writing something specifically seditious against the land of the free. A few remarks he had given to his dear Siren, which camouflaged by the spectacle of her beauty, would escape the attention of America’s Cold War warriors. Going under their ideological radar. Who would not comprehend they are like this pathetic ex-USAF war pilot. For me to recite aloud Marilyn Monroe, almost verbatim. “OH YOU CRY ABOUT ALL THOSE PAYLOADS OF BOMBS YOU HAVE DROPPED AND ABOUT ALL THE PEOPLE YOU HAVE NEEDLESSLY KILLED! YOU RECKON YOU HAVE TO GO GET SOMETHING TO BE HUMAN?! YOU’VE NEVER EVER REALLY FELT ANYTHING FOR ANYBODY IN YOUR WHOLE LIFE! YOU KNOW TO SAY THE SAD WORDS! YET YOU COULD BLOW THE WHOLE DAMNED WORLD UP AND ALL YOU’D ONLY REALLY FEEL SORRY FOR IS YOUR OWN GODDAM SELF!”

I howl. It has all been too much. It is too much. ‘America. You will never really change. To our damnation.’ I ‘see’ the bombs keep dropping. (In my mind). Of new bombs. The H-Bomb on Bikini Atoll. Nearby Japanese fishermen to die of wind sent radiation. All officially denied. Yes. It is all madness. The screaming innocents. Dying. The Sirens that survive in this modern age. That stay afresh. For this world. Ever since World War Two. Are only those smiling pin up girls, with gaudy colours, in bikinis, who are cheerfully painted on the noses of bombers who release their whistling, screaming payloads onto an ever suffering humanity. To only change the world, not for the better, but for the powerful.

“ALL DEAD!”

Lisa’s withering body shudders from the fury of my announcement. To wake up. Yet still half asleep. Eyes still seek out vision. Everything a blur. In dark shadow. With no sense of time. As if in an awful dream. There is only confusion. A bad feeling. Fear. “I AM DEAD!”

Domain Protest In The Shadow of a Banal Evil

 I to find myself on a sunny wintry Sunday afternoon at a small gathering of people at the Domain. Apparently a coalescing of farmers, environmentalists and indigenous. A gold painted two-metre high model of weight scales had reflected blinding sunrays into my eyes. (What trick of Apollo was this…?). It made me notice even more the hundred odd people standing in a semi-circle by this large gold scale which on closer inspection had the word JUSTICE written down its long pivot arm. I then took note of all the signs such as LOCK THE GATE and one other: WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY NOT AN ECONOMY.  As I took a flyer handed to me while still on the path it became apparent that these people were protesting against the disintegration of small communities in the countryside that were literally under siege from various coal companies. As I saw the scales were tilted towards INJUSTICE with a large lump of coal in one of the two dishes I suddenly sighted Caterina who signalled with her palm to have me stand beside her on the grass. (Apollo’s entrapment of me was now complete). Some of those around this pair - who were standing towards the front - wondered if this new demonstrator with his large black cowboy hat was actually another one of the country speakers who had travelled to Sydney. Rather, it was actually a case of the gods wanting me to be made aware of the gross corruption of a state which, although was professing to be a democracy, was deliberately failing in its first responsibility: to protect its citizens. This ‘naïve observer-come-participant’ was shocked to learn of the apparent collusion between Company and State that would allow more open cut mining while disregarding the legitimate concerns of those people who would be directly negatively affected by such corporatized environmental vandalism. An Aboriginal elder (who I first mistook as a farmer due to his stocky appearance and broad rimmed hat) humbly spoke of being arrested by the police while exercising his civil right to defend his property at a picket. This elderly man who may well have been a farmer (I would not find out) but who had obviously worked on the land had made it clear he had no political affiliations and that he had never before had an interest in taking up political action and was only motivated now by what to him were clear acts of injustice by the powerful aimed against his township. To seek help. To keep standing. After many attempts to be cut down. To not let seemingly indestructible forces destroy him or the community he belonged too. Bullish, brutal forces which could even call upon a government to change its laws when the judicial process decided against their foul cause; for everything that is meant to stand for human decency to be restrained and stripped down by an insidious overarching evil that at the same time was mockingly, publicly declaring that all of what it was doing was actually for the good of all. To wrongly accuse those protecting their land - and every living being on it including the wildlife - of being ‘ungrateful’ for not acquiescing to the ‘obvious progressive benefits’ of corporate empire. To me this vile, morally repugnant state of affairs took on a further clarity when I considered the war exhibition I had just seen at the State Library. Having gone there to view Michael Riley’s black & white portrait photos of Aboriginal Murris living in Moree which were tucked away in a back annexe on the top floor I an avid historian decided to also have a thorough look at the historical colour-tinted photos of World War One trench fighting which were on display in the main exhibition halls. One dramatic picture of a long spurt of fiery red orange plumes from a flamethrower over no man’s land was followed by an aerial photograph of a vast wasteland pockmarked with enormous shell holes. I was taken aback when I read the little twigs I could see were actually the remains of large tree trunks. Terrain where there had once been a forest had been laid to waste by heavy bombardment to leave a barren expanse filled only with dark craters. Their circular blackness - imagined in my furious mind - as the entrances of deep portals which led the many damned down to a horrendous Underworld. Yet, here was I now listening in the Domain to claims of how mining companies were wanting to deliberately invest in ever expanding open cut mines that would also result in such wastelands. For what? To dig up a fossil fuel that the planet was already climatically warning humanity that its overuse would spell out for present civilizations their premature doom? Yet I deduced there are many Captains of Industry – like many World War One Generals – who would be methodically ready to threaten the futures of whole ecologies and the futures of many people for short term shareholder company gains. For I know what is happening in the nearby Hunter Valley to the Liverpool Plains and in the Southern Highlands is occurring elsewhere in Australia and in many parts of the world and often in murderous fashion. (I had immediately thought of such ‘tucked away’ places as nearby West Papua which I had become interested in after watching on the national broadcaster the second series of a drama called The Code which was bringing attention to a ‘silent genocide’ happening in a region with a huge copper mine which was usually out-of-view of the world’s mass media. Yet, to also in due course to also learn of the oligarchical extraction of the land for industrial palm oil involving the deforestation of large tracts of the rainforest and a further sidelining of the indigenous peoples who already lived under Indonesian occupation). Decimation. Extinction. Yes, red rivers…of innocent human and animal blood…of the earth’s toxic waste…I could not help but think that here were people in New South Wales having to deal with a high level of malevolence that was often only attributed to the worst tyrannies that were often in the so called underdeveloped world…the demonstrators all yelled out VIVA! in defiance of the powerful forces wanting to crush them; who all symbolically proclaimed a new township at the spot where they stood: behind the state building whose offices were working against them. To have hope. To hold onto hope. To have a new city of steadfast righteousness rise up from the old one being withered by disgusting greed. I knew it was all one could ask for as I looked up at the large concrete building behind them. Like the side of a large battleship with all its little windows; where within each one a little task was being performed during the business hours of the week. Where individual consciences could be allayed that what was being performed was of no significance in the greater scheme of things. Yet, as a recent tele-movie on Adolf Eichmann had reminded me a great evil can be diffusedthrough a large bureaucratic structure. Not so much a silent majority working towards a totalitarian end but rather a blinded one as it was working with only little bits of innocuous information and to then be distracted by immediate little rewards or compliments for their little jobs well done. (I take a moment to reflect how, after all, Josef Goebbel’s personal secretary had recently explicitly said it was ‘just another job’ to type down in a Berlin office the daily public deceits of a genocidal regime. A dutiful office worker who had a real sense of work pride in being the fastest typist, no matter for whom or for what she was being so efficient for, which would aid in the efficient daily murders of millions of which she would claim she knew nothing about - although her boss knew of only too well. Can such a supposedly naïve woman who would be considered a star performer in any mindless bureaucracy – each with only a vast hive of ‘little minds’ - be considered responsible in a criminal way for what was actually done? Who never questioned that what she was helping to facilitate as undeniable truth was a pack of lies? That it was more bearable to live within a promoted delusion than face up to any agonizing reality? The worst truth being these human beasts who would willingly swallow the whole world to satisfy their grotesque, infantile appetites were only powerful because they had inculcated a whole population to live and die for their lies through both fear and desire; through a ‘survival instinct’ conditioned willingness for each individual to do his or her ‘little job’; to achieving ‘little goals’ working with others without really dwelling on or understanding whether the greater consequences were truly good – or bad. “Ignorance is strength…”). Looking further up the building I considered that only in the top strata was the full picture ever really known and it was up there that at anytime for their convenience effort would be made to keep all those below in thedark.

(Human principles are always at stake).

To try to understand that a great principle at work for any successful undemocratic process is the one of: ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for not many in the big cities - where there were the biggest populations and therefore where there was the most political human capital – would be aware in any great detail of what was happening to their fellow Australians in the bush; (still a mythical, sacred realm in the national conscious of many Australians which would make it readily harder to believe that anyone would choose to deliberately desecrate it).

For I bleakly wondered at the time why there were only a relative handful of people at this demonstration when there should have been thousands as there was at a recent rally against other undemocratic machinations of the state government. Many people would certainly fully support the people of Bulga and other small towns and nearby regions like the Pilbara in their David and Goliath struggle with the mining juggernauts, a fight which many Aboriginal communities always constantly faced. Yet, of course, there would be optimistic days when, for instance, one would also see on one occasion the Domain filled to the brim with tens of thousands of people demanding action on climate. Yes, to stoically take the long term view to understand the ebb and flow of human attitude and behaviour shifting between apathy and paralysis to demonstration and activism…to discourage the former and encourage the latter).   

 “To know thy truth…” I had muttered to myself, “…to set you free.” An often stated mantra which I still see as a foundation principle to work with when against any form of despotism: from the fully totalitarian one under strict military government control to the neoliberal corporatism occurring within a weakened democratic state; and which I feel this community as well as myself presently had to face up too in one’s ‘backyard’. I had belatedly come to the despairing conclusion that the law did not always work for what is just but for what is most convenient; and if one is to force positive change it is not by prompting a sense of a higher moral good in those with the power to do so but by applying pressure on their base sense of political survival to eventually see it would be politically expedient for them to be perceived by their constituents as doing the right thing, which for the present would best serve their own short-term interests. Further along the political discourse they could attempt to place the interests of the corporates above those of the people as they would know political fortunes do always change especially if what is a strong grassroots resistance now eventually wanes. (Certainly it is my personal conviction that those in the right must know they have to always remain ever vigilant. For there is never a final victory…to also understand that the powers-that-be rely on keeping people feeling impotent so they will not see any advantage in resisting; effort had to be made to have people realize that community resistance can be effective even though it may take time to bear forth any decent result).

After the demonstration I had bid farewell to Caterina who was heading down to the Royal Botanical Gardens where Isabella was picnicking with a close friend of Caterina’s and her own daughter and son. I continued on my way and stopped at the Art Gallery of New South Wales to see the Sunday afternoon free film which on this day happened to be Werner Herzog’s The Enigma Of Kasper Hauser. Afterwards it was a walk home but with a diversion to a nearby Woollahra gallery where there was an exhibition of German Expressionist prints that had been recommended to him by Caterina.

“Thanks for reminding me! Gregor had mentioned it to me but funnily enough it had slipped my mind! Say hello to Isabella! Great that your friend was happy to entertain her while you went to this demo! Yes, come around if you both can to catch up with Lisa and Melissa! They are still staying with me a little longer before they go off to their suburban arcadia!”

An Otto Dix etching of a field filled with piles of dead soldiers; a desolate crater filled landscape akin to a moonscape. George Grosz drypoints of emaciated German veterans wearing tattered uniforms and without limbs begging on city streets; juxtaposed with well dressed, sneering cigar smoking, obese war profiteers with bowler hats. A woodcut of a prophet with a sad, sullen face by Emile Nolde. An etching of a mother with a dead soldier son by Kathe Kollwitz. An Erich Heckel woodcut of a man with both his hands on a deeply furrowed forehead. It is all despairing. Yet it is all true. I finally reached home thinking that although there had not been a recent global war of the same apocalyptic magnitude as World War One the same inhuman dynamics which brought it about; and would resurface again with even more brutal power afterwards and beyond - as bitterly expressed in these early twentieth century prints - are still in play today, (as the demonstration he had stumbled upon in the Domain had shown). To bitterly think the only people who could now afford to buy these confronting prints with their decimated human beings were those with the financial and political capability to most often – if they choose – to socially attack them-

 Children laughing.

“Hello Cat! I took up your offer! Seeing you said Lisa and Melissa would be happy today to just stay home and have a long lie down instead of going on one of your extraordinary educational tours! I dropped off my friend and her children and thought why not come now?! I am still in the area - although I have just come from Clovelly! Lisa made us cups of tea and Isabella is showing Melissa her latest children’s book. It’s a Bhutan story about four different animals co-operating with each other instead of fighting! A fable even for the grown ups!”

“Did you see on the news how a bird befriended an orphaned deer?” I query. “I’ve also seen on the internet a cow licking a cat to get its fur clean and an owl and a cat be friends etcetera. All this inter species friendliness makes me think of Koko the gorilla who was friends with a cat. She was so upset when the cat died. I can show you a video on the computer of an orangutan helping a little chick from drowning in a pond! There’s also another video of an orangutan being good friends with a dog! We’ll have to sponsor a baby ranga!”

 I joined the others and listened to Isabella tell this story about harmony as her mother turned the pages. A bird, rabbit, monkey all standing on each other’s backs on top of an elephant to get to apples high in a tree which they could all share. To suddenly think of Bhutan’s Happiness Index based on the same co-operative impulse of attempting to do what was best for everyone and not just for the few. Yet, to me, in my present disillusioned mood, whatever social excellence was going on in this little monarchic mountain Shangri-La was to me a total exception to the overriding situation that in many so called modern ‘democracies’ increasingly anxious populations felt shut out from any true participatory process; it felt any ‘option’ was to choose between which political elite seemed less bad rather than being good; such an impotent mood would often open the way for extreme simple ‘solutions’ to popularly come to the fore which often involved diverting the hostility of many who felt increasingly insecure away from those with the most authority onto those with the least power. I know there had been genuine reformers who had brought on much social good and they also would always rise up but I also feel the cycle of human history is often more often than not spent having to deal with such harsh, predatory impulses as revenge; hate; conquest; greed which seemed to be among the dominant, evolutionary default positions of the human race.

“Let’s watch BABE!”

Lisa, despite all her appearances to look cheerful in front of her daughter, again looks very sullen after the visitors had left and Melissa had been put to bed. I know that at the start of the day that Lisa was in a depressed mood and that it would be best to venture out alone. (Although in the end this decision had brought to Lisa unexpected company which did lift her spirits for awhile). Yes, I thought, the cruel health card handed out to Lisa by fate is clearly damaging her day-by-day. Her life incrementally being put into disarray. To finally be cut short. To become far too early another depository to the nothingness that awaits us all. Always ever sensing a primal desire within her to howl. At all the unfairness. Yet I also feel that any resemblance of a new reality that I may come across could also be of some benefit to Lisa in some yet unimagined way. (One does not know. Although any reality to be considered could be all encompassing). At least, by all appearances, Lisa still appreciated my company. (If perhaps not all of my domestic habits). 

      Human Delusion

‘Damn you Apollo. You gave Priam’s daughter the gift of prophecy so as to seduce her into sleeping with you. Cassandra, who had also been a priestess of your own deity, vowing to stay a virgin, still resisted you so you cursed her that whatever true thing she said to humankind   would not be believed.  No one would listen to her when she proclaimed that Paris’s entanglement with Helen would bring on Troy’s downfall; that like the priest Lacoon she forewarned the Wooden Horse would spew out Greeks to destroy the city. Hera, an ever revengeful wife of Zeus would kill off Lacoon and his sons with serpents so the Trojans would go on believing that Achean ‘salesman’ Simon who would lie to the Trojans that the Greeks had left. After the inevitable destruction of Troy Agamemnon would take Cassandra as his own. This proud Mycenaean kingwould not believe his beautiful slave when she prophesized that he would not be returning home to spend his days peacefully with his wife for an adulterous Clytemnestra would instigate his assassination. Cassandra too would be killed, to go to the Elysian Fields.’ (I stretch out my hands and twist my body like the famous Lacoon sculpture as if my torso and arms are wrapped by snakes. “The delusions of empires ensnare us! We are entwined to their abdominal destinies!”). ‘Agamemnon was deluded about his own invincibility…the Athenians equally as delusional in carrying out the momentous folly of their imperial expedition to Sicily... thousands cheered for the men in a grand flotilla of triremes whowere really only going to their military doom. Arrogance. Overconfidence. Pride. To blind any true vision. The hubris of Great Powers. As mentioned before leading to debacle. e.g. Russia. 1812. Russia. 1941 to 1945. Vietnam. (1946-1954. 1955-1975). Iraq. (2003-2011…). Afghanistan. (1979-1989. 2001-2021). Ukraine (2014/22)…yet the latest starting dates (and in two parts for a war that actually began in a half-hearted recognised piecemeal way many years before a recognised full scale invasion) and there will seemingly always be globally new starts…despite any latest ends-

 Both hands now covering a disconsolate face. Madness. An esoteric perspective gyrating in a whirling mind. ‘What is true? Only that which is not of this world? Untainted? Untarnished? By any physical realm…which is invisible? Particles intelligently creating time and consciousness within a mass energy matrix of gravitons and photons…mental solarizations metaphysically moving backwards and forwards across negative and positive time fields…memories emerging ephemerally in the mind…to reminiscence on a past event to visualize a future to bring into fruition…to literally at the same time create past, present, future as they appear. To dwell on the interplay of two separate events synchronizing as a meaningful coincidence…sign of God…mental interaction…occurring in no linear fashion…timeless experiences within time to unify action from the subconscious to consciousness…

contours…

symbols…

daily…

life…

language…

experience…

black holes…

memories…

atoms…

of God. Energy. Matter. Light. As waves…

particles…

Einstein…

the Hindu anu…

atom within atom…

the essence of an intelligence also extending into the inherent building blocks of the largest cosmic body…

anu…

equivalent to Brahman…

a wise holy Indian ‘magician’…

to whom all things owe their existence…

creator of all consciousness…

in many forms. Anu, this ancient Verdic term now being used to describe a tiny pulsating structure visually resembling a heart…

ten spirals of electrons…

other small particles…

nestling on top of each other…

wound within them tinier spirallas. A dynamic cluster of energy. An Eagle Nebula on a subatomic level…

an anu if unravelled would be a circle of immeasurable circumference…made of the tiniest dots. An ethereal smoke ring. Beyond all vision. An indestructible atom. A big bang. An explosion of innumerable chemical combinations. Spiritual. Crystals. To be cosmic music. Movement. Direction. In no straight lines. Sound ripples in the cosmos…(…proof that we do not exist in states of non-existence…yes…that the universe is never really empty…)…circles…logic…to feel…(solid touch)…new possibilities. Not just in dreams…(which are always silent).  There are eleven known dimensions on the tiniest levels of the fabric of the universe…consciousness to survive as an entity at death…our spirit…a…quantum entanglement. (Lisa a lonely star floating sustained as part of the eternal sea). The froth of existence. Trillions of bubbles. Absolutes of nothing…as if in a flowing liquid…immaterial energy stranding together a solid reality; like thewater on the potter’s wheel…smoothly allowing the clay to be moulded into any shape…the form the signature of the maker’s mind…at every zero point of these creative ‘vacuums’ may emanate quantum gravity fields each even more dense in their energy levels than what is contained in the whole of the cosmos-

  A disconsolate look. ‘The Sun itself is a gift from the gods to light up this world but we should be reminded it also provides us with shadows. Life swallowed by death-’

A Purgatorial Phantom Human Morality that Reverses the Divine Order to Hell

‘Warehousing offshore as if seemingly for eternity thousands of proven refugees on the foreign islands of Nauru and Manus these still persecuted people are being punished for escaping terror for seeking out this great southern continent perhaps they should have taken heed of Dante’s positioning of Mount Purgatory in the southern hemisphere for it is a life of limbo they now must endure they now must live through to feel as if to be losing any chance of reaching the Garden of Eden that lies on top of this purgatorial summit I shall pray for the rapid escalation of their souls…(yes…one has no doubt that neither Manus nor Nauru are mountains but these islands are the pinnacles of a subterranean terrain that emerge above the watery depths surrounding them…to view at the Museum  of Contemporary Art on two large split screens a poetic film of those on Manus to learn that although it may appear as a Garden of Eden with its lush jungle, waterfalls and pristine beaches it is actually a green Hades…the more beautiful it appears the more piercingly hellish it is to the inner psyches for all those forced against their ever despairing human wills to stay for years…without seeming end…unnourished minds  devoid of any sense of freedom leading to mental deserts…yes, to psychologically deteriorate due to a lack of human liberty…no matter how much the body maybe sustained…yet the body too suffers…from medical neglect…for there to even be deaths…suicides, a drowning (…a man dying in a beautiful pool, by a beautiful waterfall, all surrounded by beautiful tropical fauna…) and even a murder of an innocent man when these human beings entrapped within a detention camp were dealt harshly during a so called riot, yet it was their lives that were threatened by those who were assigned to supposedly protect them…from Dante’s Cato’s view who is meant to allow those in purgatory to eventually ascend to paradise…in this case all here is an inhumane inversion against the divine order where those in limbo will not be allowed to progress but rather to descend to hell…to cynically even be encouraged with payment to return to their places of persecution… Manus and Nauru are islands but they are also the emergent pinnacles of subterranean ribs in the watery depths that surround them. All islands; all continents are ultimately joined together by their mutual attachment to the Earth’s crust; and on this geographical skin Manus and Nauru have become stained - through human malevolent intervention - like cancer cells to accelerate the mortal process of human decay for those innocents who have been transported to them; and are required to stay on them.

 (An Australian Cyclops who eats its victims entrapped within these two lesions on its body politic. A vile one-eyed monster who looks over the sea horizons like the Sun-god Ra onto its hostages on both islands but surely must eventually collapse from the undemocratic bile that is allowed to be produced and linger within the putrid giant’s own internal organs).

A dormant volcano island and a coral reef one coupled through human vindictiveness to deliberately void the human spirit. Human captives to have souls – in metaphorical terms – to become as dried out as sun bleached bones.

Human wraiths on twin still-born human purgatories where upon them all paths to any heaven are blocked; where, at every desperate turn, only a way to hell is open.

A rib has no life but helps to encase and shield organs that do sustain the process of living: e.g. the heart; the lungs.

However, a ribcage can be invisibly pressed on psychologically to suffocate those same organs.

A ribcage, not of a human being, but of a crowded fishing boat used to carry desperate human beings over rough seas with the hope of arriving somewhere safe.

A calm Australian-Vietnamese artist is referencing a hazardous maritime excursion from an earlier time that had headed towards the unknown to seek a new familiar home; to only end up finding a strange destination so far away from what had been lost.

The ribs of the boat are covered with calico and on the exterior is a rolling grey great wave.

To be taken hostage by an immense sea.

(To think of another great wave at another gallery that is nearby and also not far from Central Station and is dedicated to much dissident Asian art.

The ongoing rise and fall of this giant mass of water is repeated over and over again on a large screen in a darkened room whose other walls are lined only with huge mirrors; an enormous fluid rhythm caressing forever into a reflected infinity).

Death is infinite. A human being can be infinite; if not the body, at least the spirit; at the very least: human memory.

Yes, said a French psychologist, we name streets after the dead, after the events of the past, we walk down avenues hosted by the deceased; by history, the past is amplified in our present to affect us not only in the here and now but also in influencing our future. We can be trapped if we do not break free and see with fresh insight; we have to overcome any overbearing or obsolete tradition. To be alive also means to reconfigure life; so death will not come soon enough – for to be tied only to what we only know is, perhaps, to abide by a sort of living death.

We have to loosen the mental chains; (if not totally break them). After all, life is movement.

Movement can be disabled. It is an impediment that needs to be overcome.

I continue to watch a screening at the Kader Attia exhibition at the MCA as this French psychologist speaks about phantom limbs. How people can still vividly sense an amputated arm and leg as if it is still with their body. To feel pain from where there is only empty air. The mind is so powerful; to fear nothing.

(Every nation can have its phantoms).

     AUSTRALIAN CYCLOPS

  “The colonised land of the White Australia Policy! With its infamous racist bogey Yellow Peril cartoon!” A slow, excited inebriated voice. “A caricature of an Asian man’s head with octopus-arms wildly protruding from it to depict how from cheaper labour to disease through to drugs and criminality will all be devilishly utilised to immorally undermine the ‘British goodness’ of Australia’s ‘supreme values’. For ‘British Australians’ to be genuinely in shock with the Fall of Singapore. To have it argued that for Australian minds the barbaric, criminal spirit of this Mongolian Octopus would be channelling itself through the Japanese Imperial Army which was viciously, methodically advancing southwards to this salient British outpost of Asia. An invincible Asian military force infamously known, for instance, for the Rape of Nanking now dramatically potentially terrifying a small largely insulated, European population with its worst racial prejudices of the many peoples living in the vast land mass directly to the north evermore seemingly verified-

 Soon after the surprise Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour in December 1941 in the Australian Parliament John Curtin would mention that no invader would land in Australia without first having rallied against it every man…for this new settler nation would always only be the home of the ‘sons of Britishers’ (no mention of British daughters) who came to this far away ancient land ‘in peace’ so as ‘to establish in the South Seas an outpost of the British race.’ With Australia’s laws to proclaim ‘the standard of White Australia’ and to mention there has been no intention to offend other races but that such laws have been implemented for ‘economic and sound human reasons’ and if Australia was to change in any way it would do so freely and not in response to a foreign aggressor. 

  (As a general aside to think how the ‘human politic’ always favouring positive transformation encouraged from being inculcated from within rather than from any outward imposition which, depending on the particular circumstances, is both a strength and a weakness. On a human level at least it is perhaps true that to desire the best change from someone or from a whole world it is better to inspire rather than to domineer…). 

 “Yet ‘modern’ Australia was itself founded by way of an invasion whereby those from a far away land came to these ‘fatal shores’ by boat loaded with the ‘human trash’ of their own gutters. Yes, human beings viewed as garbage to be tossed away. Transported for no other reason than being poor; forced to steal to simply stay alive. So I was taught in primary school; when in actuality some of those to be transported to Australia were actually socially progressive minded now imprisoned as political prisoners. What I also wasn’t taught were the massacres of the indigenous. There they were in my text book. Black. Naked. Women. With their digging sticks. Black men with beards. Holding spears. ‘Primitives’. To be seen as having no civilization. Except for their Dreamtime. All those explorers we learnt to see as heroes. Taming the hostile land emptied of people for sheep and farming. To make Australia prosperous for itself and Mother England. Going on school excursions to Macquarie House out in western Sydney at Parramatta. Here in the city there is a stature of Governor Lachlan Macquarie at Hyde Park. (It looks so gaudy). Who thought he knew how to tame hostile natives. A true ‘professional’. Who ordered they be killed and even strung up to be on show to put fear into all the other blacks if they did not respect the God given right of the new colony to takeover their lands.” Yes, to present a cynic’s point of view: “The historians today arguing if Macquarie had carried out genocide. This ‘civilized’ man. Who brought ‘old world civility’ to the new colony.” Yes, to even be sarcastic: “As if to say that maybe the indigenous only got ‘what they deserved’. Yes, to the victors always go the spoils and the vulgar rationalisations to defend their bloody conquests. I imagine the many indigenous dead under the ground where the statue of Lachlan Macquarie stands. (Too many from the nightmare time of 1788…). I wish to ask them what they think of him and all the other governors. Was it ‘fair’ what happened to them? That they were killed by ‘civilized men’ who would claim they only did so in ‘self-defence’? To defend their new world against ‘barbarian incursion’. So goes the logic of empires in so much of human history.” 

 (What is civilization?).

“I saw on television recently the ‘good men and women’ of Australia’s bureaucracy defending Australia’s record human rights record to a United Nations committee.”

  (To just theatrically ‘ticking the boxes’ on the world stage). 

 “All serious concerns were to be duly dealt with through the cleansing process of so much ‘diplomat-speak’; everyone so polite; truly civil; softly speaking into microphones; a pause for a drink of cool, clean filtered water to collect one’s thoughts or even one’s public…as well as self-deceptions.”

 (Yes, to also filter the truth so it becomes palatable for human consumption). 

 It was all a ‘misunderstanding’. Manus. Nauru. An Aboriginal woman dying in a prison cell whose’ crime’ had been that she had not paid a parking fine; unfortunate; processes will be improved; aberrations in a quest for a greater good. Australia is really good. To think otherwise is only fantasy. 

 (Yet what is ‘fantastic’ is real). 

 Locking people up for many years and with no end in sight for them is fantastical. It ‘has to be done’. It is what we ‘know’; like stringing up dead Aboriginals to bring fear into the ‘natives’; so as to defend what is good; a ‘necessary’ evil. The cruel means are ‘justified’ by the end goals: ‘civilization’ at last. All can then enjoy the ‘fruits’ of a nation’s labour. Even the first Australians who have been told what is good for them; who can window dress this ‘paradise’ with their costume performances before the grand finals, the national anniversaries; with their smoking ceremonies for overseas dignitaries who in turn know how to be paternalistically humour towards their mainly Anglo-Australian hosts by saying “mate” and “put a prawn on the barbie” and other outdated glib expressions of a bygone anachronistic, so called egalitarian age (yes, which has only been so for those of mainly British stock or of similar racial or cultural human vintage); while these often more powerful visitors will offer ask in return for the local hospitality subordinately meted out to them for the mineral resources of this mainly desert nation to be used for other motherlands in far away places; for new incursions; for new empires; as long as we get a lot of take home pay and pats on the head from the real adults of this world, yes, in return, for selling out the national soul; what does it matter…? The corrupted apologists of the political and managerial class ask: “To be happy comes at a (Faustian) price. We all know that. We deserve it. Yes, we are good. That is what civilization is: to know that your way of life is truly comfortable; to eat well; to sleep well; to be entertained well.” Do not disturb. Do not let anything – like highlighting a nation’s many self-compromising sins until a state of soul searching is needed to be reached – destroy the national myth; the imperious dreamtime of hyenas. 

 (What did a U.S. officer once say? “The Australians are our Ghurkas.”) 

 The apologists (again): “As long as we are daily amused, everything will be all right. Yes, life can be awesome. It is a ‘truism’ we must never forget; culture can become our anaesthetic; to not only stop any pain but disguise it so we don’t have to deal with it in the first place.”

 (Yes, First Nations peoples know how those who stole their lands can deviously manipulate their own culture within a marketing veneer incessantly aimed to divert attention away from the barbarisms that has been committed against them; but they can be clever too and use Welcome to Country as a real value cultural asset to have it entered into the colonial mind as to who it is who really owns this country which has been stolen; how First Nations people can identify with as well as soulfully regain within them a sense of personal and tribal place with their lands which has been forcibly taken from them; to not allow such public ritual merely serve a trojan horse token purpose for the benefit of the white fella who has thieved ownership of the lands but in the public space to be a moral weapon to erode away any illusionary semblance of ‘moral’ foundation the white fella believes in which gives in the white fella mind a sense of rightful entitlement to have what is not really legitimate to own; to give true moral impetus to the black fella’s claim of rightful ownership of this vast ancient territory. To see Caterina, Michael, Gregor, myself and others in a group photo next to a display of the Uluru Statement at the First Nations Yabin Festival at the park next to Sydney University on Survival Day. A document that will provide an opportunity for First Nations peoples with a national moral capital ceaselessly rising for them due to the tireless advocacy of indigenous activists and their allies to have a real advisory constitutional voice to the federal parliament that goes beyond any symbolic role so real improvements can be made. Although the order of priority was up for some argument amongst indigenous peoples the calls for a Voice, Treaty and Truth were all vital if ‘black fellas’ were to at last see some everlasting restorative justice from their ‘white fella’ colonisers who had inflicted upon them so much violence, murder and land theft. Makarrata was thus such an important principle to come into authentic realisation after any dispute which involved ritualistically bringing on a lasting peace between peoples after such a major tribulation as the dispossession of a whole continent. As the elder said at a pre-match ceremony of a game held during the annual rugby league indigenous round surely the crowd he was speaking too was mature enough now to deal with the truth of this modern nation’s foundation which cost so much in human terms for the peoples who had been originally residing here for tens of thousands of years and who despite all the killings, the massacres, the wholesale destruction of their society that had occurred in the previous two hundred years had not given up on their identity and culture they still remained the longest living culture on the planet. As it was most of the friends in this photo would especially suggest that along with the Uluru Statement and all that is entailed with the need of a referendum and so forth was still the immediate need of closing the gap regarding education, justice, native title, water rights, employment, cultural, health, housing and other such basic human rights indices that also the many royal commission recommendations that have been still born now for decades, to put an end to Aboriginal deaths in custody would finally, at last, be implemented and that land rights laws be in place to put the onus back on mining and fracking gas companies to justify why Aboriginal lands should be disturbed for their gain along with securing the safety and integrity of ancient sacred sites. Also of importance was to rewrite the history so as to acknowledge not only the stealing of land but the genocidal criminalities committed and how what is viewed as ‘history’ is really not the case with many of the sins committed in the past are still being committed today in various other ‘thematic ways’; that the underlying systemic evils are yet to be fully broken down; to be actually ground into dust like a captured murderous weapon that is finally manacled to the point that it can never be used again on anybody in any shape or form. That was a good day to see the musician Joe Gaia with band performing on the main stage. A yearly Aboriginal festival held on a national day which for First Nations peoples holds no cause to be celebratory; to remember when it was originally held at La Perouse as a Survival Day event and seeing the likes of a young Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter. To now think of another when Bruce Pascoe the author of Dark Emu providing fresh insight into Aboriginal culture and agriculture (which helps to emphasise the strong human link there was to the land which supersedes the incorrect colonial notion of ‘indigenous temporality’ to it in order to justify the ‘civilised’ ‘permanency’ of  foreign occupation) was sighted traditionally dancing with his regional tribe in a nearby space amongst the many stalls and tents that dotted the crowded park with many people mingling amongst them or standing or sitting around the performance spaces, discussion tents or even dancing in front of the main music stage with big screens to the side. 

 (Yes, to think now how Michael would one day ask at an indigenous writers’ event he went to with Caterina that at least in Cyprus while any justification for the territory under Turkish occupation could be disputed it could be agreed by both sides that a certain town actually existed before 1974 and that other Cypriots did live there while indigenous people in Australia had to argue that their sacred sites or lands now all occupied actually existed in the first place and they had ‘ownership’ of it for any link to the land has even been denied to First Nations people as if the land itself did not even exist until mapped down by white hands).

 For any true democracy to exist the minority voices of any society must be given equal standing to the majority groups that can otherwise so easily drown them out and shout them down. To thus face remaining voiceless. No voice. A megaphone must be handed to those who would otherwise not be heard. Who can even die in silence. Or in the most grievous scenario can be sent to their deaths. Unnoticed. Whether that be an indigenous person who is locked up as abandoned or a refugee who is psychologically coerced to agree to return to a land of persecution. There are also the living deaths. As if a living person is inside a closed coffin as if a corpse. A real nightmare. Pushing. To suffocate. Screaming. Unheard. Unseen. Ignored. Trapped. A locked, immovable impregnable barrier. Hard. Strong. No one to come to break down such a locked chamber. Yes. The mind is pressed in badly. In such a way. High anxiety. Trauma. Yes. There are deaths. Sometimes followed by the media perversity of officially sanctioned crocodile tears. Yes. To weep. To play down the inevitable inhumanity as if it was an aberrant ‘anomaly’ rather than a planned strategy- 

 To note a lack of any moral sense also identified by human beings even in ancient times. To fear any inhumane authority. An ascendant malice which can also be of a divine dimension. Merciless. To look well beyond the Sun god Ra - as previously alluded too - and to Set the Ancient Egyptian god of chaos who tricked Osiris the lordly god of order to climb into a coffin to then seal him in it; to trap in order to murder by having the living Osiris in the coffin thrown into waters and drown; thus Seth to obtain ultimate power by such divine corruption of the universal good. Isis, Osiris’s beloved, would find him and hide his body in the long grasses of the Nile to later perform the rituals that will send him to the Afterworld. Yet Seth would discover this secret place to then spitefully compound his original malevolence by ruthlessly cutting up the body of his rival brother into fourteen pieces and spreading them everywhere throughout the land to never be found so Osiris would remain eternally incomplete. Yet Isis, with the aid of other such divinities as Nepthys, Thoth and Anubis would diligently find each piece to then sow together and then be wrapped up and under a full moon would bring life to a deathly recomplete Osiris. Again alive and grateful for being so Osiris still recognised that having died he could no longer reside in the world of the living so travelled to the Afterworld to rule there. Isis would have a son Horus who would restore justice to the living world by defeating Seth.

 However, after the death of one’s physical being one’s soul then embarking on the journey to the Afterworld there would be two main judgments that must be deal with in the Hall of Truth: the first being to satisfy forty-two divine judges of one’s spiritual worthiness which could be accomplished by way of the Book of the Dead and then secondly to face the weighing of one’s heart with the soul hoping for it to be in balance with the feather of the goddess Ma’at which represented truth and justice; if the heart was heavier than the feather it would be devoured by Ammit who had the head of a crocodile on a body which was an amalgam of both the hippopotamus and lion. With the heart obliterated the soul would remain forever troubled cast out into a realm of darkness from which there was no return. Righteous souls could proceed to be with the gods in the Field of Rushes which one may intimate are akin to the long grasses of the Nile (which one may also wish to note was brought into being by the respected crocodile god Sebek) while in essence this ‘field of reeds’ was an eternal reflection of the good life that one had left behind and thought to be lost forever including one’s house, family, pets, relatives, trees, streams and there was the responsibility to also live the same life including tending to one’s crops yet with the promise of not enduring a failed harvest. It must be noted Osiris the gracious lord of the Afterworld was also a divine representation of resurrection having overcome death so too under his divine stewardship a mortal being could live an eternal life which was a perfection…an ‘eternal springtime’…without pain, sorrow, hardship or tribulation in this paradise underworld. 

 No nightmare. No sharp reptilian teeth to come down and clasp and tear asunder one’s heart. A piercing fear. To read of the earthly gods not in a hall of truth, but rather in an office of lies offering a Rohingyan refugee no new life but rather the finances to return to the same hell on earth that one had strived at great risk to escape and journey away from. To be sordidly intimidated to return to Rahkine state on the north west side of Burma – (now more commonly known as Myanmar due to an arbitrary military junta regime decree) where there is - as historical circumstance would have it - Ramree Island where it is claimed in early 1945 hundreds of Japanese soldiers savagely lost their lives to crocodiles after these men were trying to traverse marshes to outmanoeuvre a British-Indian attacking force. To view such a historical event as a worldly antithesis to the mythical Field of Reeds of Ancient Egyptian religion. The howls and screams of devils in a political chorus that demands that innocent people be returned to earthly hells; to see in their ongoing suffering a domestic political benefit. Disowning all moral responsibility to meet any international humanitarian obligation.

 To reiterate yet again in one’s ever fatigued mind which at times reverberates with the same despairs…yes, to repeat the accusation…no objective observation…that an unholy, human price is being traumatically paid by all these persecuted people…to still have their freedom denied so as to serve as proverbial human shields…as the analysis goes…to callously signal to any other metaphorical redeemed ‘child of God’, who, like the original so called ‘chosen people’ seek salvation, for what is for them, an unknown sea…yet, to still be denied entry to this continent…(…this vast, southern promised land…)…yes domestic self interest does hold sway over any international law…yet to even be forced from these infernal premises when it is locally deemed intolerable by local court to have such detention places to stay in existence as has been the case with Manus…thus for the Australian government to not take these innocent people to the mainland but to force them out into the neighbouring wilderness which so many found hostile, which will not sustain them…to literally have only the shirts on their backs…to have Australian officialdom to wash its bloodied hands of all responsibility of these human beings which it originally placed onto these damned islands (such treachery, such malevolence)…Manus officially closed and to have these desperate people unofficially linger from the public eye…to be as living ghosts…(…to even discover as if sifting through other infernal circles of fifty innocents to have been moved for several months by PNG with seemingly Australian acceptance and with minimal Australian media focus to an immigration centre within a prison for common criminals known as Bomana for several months…)…the numbers only to ebb when placements are provided like a slow drip feed to a dying patient to other nations…to the United States…finally to New Zealand…yet still too many remain abandoned who need to be properly aided…belatedly a ‘political problem’ that must finally be resolved, yet not on any humanitarian term but rather by what is cynically seen as a necessary political recalibration…yet to have those fortunate few who were able to come to Australia on medical grounds due to a rare parliamentary outmanoeuvre by independent voices which provided a humane opening for a little while until it was firmly closed again by a reinvigorated, revengeful government…but unfortunately for those able to come to the mainland they were to stay spitefully locked up for many months in hotels…(…as seen in Melbourne…)…to have them become enclosed de facto institutional detention prisons…to only then to again be finally released slowly when the changing political situation demanded it as refugees became more so a political liability rather than an asset…nothing human, only political calculation…human life is of no interest…only ambition, only power…in all this foul time for the Australian politic to not even register or admit that much of the overseas oppression still occurring to this day which has led to so many multitudes of innocents seeking after sanctuary is an ongoing legacy of earlier colonial criminalities…yes, to again remember learning the Australian authorities to even offer dispirited Rohingya refugees large sums of money to ‘voluntarily’ return to Myanmar which at the time hundreds of thousands were fleeing for their lives from the Myanmar military to Bangladesh-

  “MIND WAVE OF TRIBULATION!” 

  ‘Muslim Rohingya have historically had ethnic links with Burma’s Arakan region of the Rahkine State that goes back hundreds of years when Muslims from various social backgrounds and of different nationalities first started to settle in this north west coastal area of Burma which also borders Bangladesh. Yet the Rohingya are commonly negatively viewed in this predominantly Buddhist nation as the descendants of those Bangladesh migrants who were brought in during British colonial rule to work as a cheap farm labour force; so strong is the national prejudice against the Rohingya that they are pejoratively labelled illegal migrants and thus it is also no surprise that the Rohingya are singularly the only ethnic group since post-war independence which have been denied full citizenship rights. Now, with long standing military rule which has had a  strong Buddhist-Burmese nationalist emphasis which helps provide a ‘rationale’ to discriminate against all other ethnic groups it has certainly had the harshest antagonistic effect against the Rohingya which has allowed an already ‘natural’ national resentment against them to easily periodically give way to open hostility with often fatal results and which finally has resulted in the brutal expulsion of hundreds of thousands of Rohingya into neighbouring Bangladesh which from a Burmese xenophobic perspective is where they seemingly ‘rightly belong’- 

 “Human memory is long and with it human prejudice.”    

 ‘The Rohingya had fought with the British against the Japanese hoping that they could be granted an autonomous region for themselves but this aspiration was never realised and would stoke further anger against them by nationalist Buddhists even though during the war nationalist sentiment would turn against the Japanese - who were initially seen as promising national independence - with the Burmese pragmatically choosing to fight with the British so as to eventually negotiate the nation’s freedom from them. The Rohingya used as a cheap labour force by their colonial masters then betrayed of a homeland by them after being used to also help fight in a war against a new foreign occupier only ultimately to be persecuted by those who finally gained independence from the British. A Rohingya person choosing to escape from a country they thought one’s own yet which has denied one of all one’s human rights eventually venturing to a strange country to the far south which was assumed to be a liberal democracy where one’s human rights would be eventually guaranteed and secured only to be offered the ‘right’ to return to the nightmare that one had so dangerously and courageously chosen to leave. To complete such cruel irony to realise one was remaining a victim in a country recently colonised by the same country that had sent one’s forebears to work in the country that refused one’s birthright to be a citizen of it and now one was being refused again to be seen as claiming a legitimate right to safety as stipulated by international law to all those fleeing from lethal danger and oppression. To be psychologically torn apart with the refusal also of there being any guarantee that other family members maybe able to join one if ever successful in being able to stay in Australia. Yet, if so to first have to also endure a psychological limbo with no immediate guarantee of permanency; to live without any official support and yet in detention before having to endure these other barriers only to be given the enticement to return to hell. To have no name. To fully strip away a human soul. To see no life incantation. Only to have a roll call from a book of the living dead whose names have been replaced by the boat number they crossed over to some new unexpected nether limbo world now filled to the brim with mind scarring experiences. A numbing nightmare. A hall with a bright cold light, shining down on the tormented individual, yes no holy light. No hoped resurrection. To see one’s heart weighed against not some feather of justice but by a paper tower of bureaucratic documents and legal codes which aim to bury you alive until you scream out in resignation and defeat to plead to take your chances again in the hades you already know so well, to have a skirret of faith that maybe there will be a way to still survive, that maybe one is mistaken, that the world is not so cruel, as it seems so now, no, all is confused, to not know, to be made to feel that one does not know what is real, to trust only in the architects of the unreality that is now around you, to scream inside, truth is illusion, hope is transitory, only despair outlasts all, to have faith in fear, the only psychological driver of human action that is being left for you to commit too, to be forced to choose what is against your best interests, your soul is weighed down, your heart downcast, into the dark nothingness you may go too, devoured, a demonic result-

  For some, at last, after the long journey, after the humiliations, after the chilling sense of even being near death…(…yes, so close…)…after the lengthy passage of horrid time through limbo, to finally reach the desired afterworld, to renew one’s life, to have again what has been so desperately lost, relief, to be happy, to try to really live again, to be by the river of life, to drink its water, gathered with others, loved ones, survivors, helpers, to see the sun shine down, at last with a just light…others, still too many others not so fortunate…to only have reached an antithetical afterworld more cruel even than what awaits those devoured by Ammit, where there is no tranquillity, to have literally unjustly arrived at it through a premature physical death, not self-inflicted as the public legal record often suggests, but officially pre-meditated, by political design, darkness…

 (Ammit, a fearful creature but also who can be viewed as ultimately just, meting out a dire fate to those who it has been correctly deemed as deserving of existing in such an eternal, unsettled nihilist realm…)…to fear such a just soul is so unfairly only eternally troubled, in a spiritually dark anti-world…yes…for such sad wraiths a deathly silence, no spiritual peace…an everlasting nightmare…for there to be no holy light, no warm life-healing sun- 

Rotunda As Found Object

 To sit inside a well-built rotunda in a suburban park or in an Eden-like garden oasis that it is the Royal Botanical Gardens by the city harbour. To be sheltered from both Apollo’s strong, stabbing sunrays or Zeus’s thunderous temperament when it rains. (Yes, it is Apollo who is Zeus’s favoured son…). A temporary respite but a welcome one until the little journey one has embarked on to escape the surrounding urbanized scape can be completed. Yet, to not notice where one was until a sultry day with its sudden downpour of heavy rain, the surprise in discovering this dry oasis to make it not only a welcome relief for the body but also for the mind. 

 A rainy day. A rotunda. To sit in. At the Royal Botanical Gardens where I have been many times with Lisa, Melissa and Michael. To let one’s meandering mental state to do its usual wander. To think of a previous Japanese haiku poem which presently helps provides some solace…yes, to think how culture can work like a protective sanctuary…yet more so being for within us…nevertheless, to have only been prompted to think, this time, in such a metaphysical way for in this garden pavilion of this harbour side ‘garden of Eden’ was a homeless Central Asian middle-aged man who hospitably welcomed me to come in out of the thunderstorm and sit inside on the empty benches until the rains ended when the sun would burst out again from behind the grey clouds. Here was ‘Adam’ who was perhaps not too different from the original Adam of the Levant or Mesopotamia who sat with his books and plastic bags filled with his items and food and listening to his music on a portable music player. One would not want to idealise him, for to be without a home is to not to be romanticized as some arduous ‘character building good’; no, not at all, for a physical home is a human necessity which every person must have a right too but at this particular moment between my host and myself one could see how there is a truth in ‘…home is where the heart is…’; he - this material-less Good Samaritan - was ‘at home’ and I, his grateful ‘guest’ was far away from any semblance from home; perhaps not ‘down-and-out’ like George Orwell had been in London or Paris but there was a strong desire to head back to my flat by which going through the gardens from down Circular Quay to Woolloomooloo had simply meant to be a shortcut. The pelting rain. The man smiled, lay down within his blankets to rest. So back to my musing…tilting back my black cowboy hat…yes…human movement can be the embodiment of human freedom…while here in this pavilion built only for human rest rather than as a human residence there is thus no such illusion of permanence; although a human sense of permanent existence maybe utilized by my homeless host-         

Political Human Cannibalism 

  …to be whistling Hotel California…as the rains go on…like a tropical monsoon…on Nauru the refugees are housed in tents…and yes they cannot leave…and yes there is a human bestiality that can never be killed off…which keeps heinously re-emerging as a new nightmare in ever new foul forms from a vile dark aspect of the human psyche that knows no empathy…a political survival instinct usurps all human consciousness…thus these human beings are to stay detained…like rotting flesh…to miserably ward off others of their fine ilk…a political human cannibalism where the victims are devoured in a timeless living death…with some of those who will only rehabilitate themselves of their mental anguish by meting out with one’s own hands one’s physical annihilation…a nihilist peace…an obliteration of the body to release a vanquished soul…and yes there is no way to escape the political mirrors eternally reflecting only false sparkling mirages to provide illusionary glimmers of hope yet to only painfully lead to further bitter disappointment…to erode a human being just a little more each time…to become a hollowed out organic shell…yet still alive…left with only performing to be a human being without being left to really being one…living human shields…what may have been deceptively portrayed initially as a sort of intermediary heaven is finally seen for what it really is a: a tropical hell; devouring all who enter into it to be detained. Howling. Souls. Yes, there may as well be eagles coming down to gouge at their innards every day…there is no one to save them…so many to say they must be saved…but no one is actually coming…no civil rights Hercules to storm the beaches with the Argonauts and with Orpheus to keep them all musically in step until they madly rush the detention site to: FREE THE REFUGEES! No, there’s just this slogan daubed on white thin, narrow calico sheets at rallies thousands of kilometres away demanding their government who holds them captive to free them and bring them to the mainland; which their immediate desensitized captors cannot see or hear these outcries from so far away but see the tents perhaps made of the same calico although of a heavier category…yes there are calico corridors from which can be heard from the hell dark the parched voices welcoming newcomers but with pity in the heavy hearts of those who lie stiff as to be corpses…the humid air…a humid decay…a humid forever…for whom a mission bell tolls is for the one who is no more…a tinkering sound to be as if to be the measure of another life ended…caused by the endless monotony of this hellish circumstance…yes, there are still many detainees who still live but all have innocent souls which are withering…it is only a matter of earthly time when eternity will be finally reached…from here to eternity…when can the good life presently take hold again…? God help those if it never be so-   

Mind Bombs

   A look at other clandestine ‘mind bombs’ in another black hard cover notebook with red tips that is kept well hidden in a cardboard box on top of a bookshelf; the nickname ‘Pandora’s Box’ is scrawled in black texta across the top of it, as if to infer that despite all the troubles of the world, as written down, there is the long term view that possibly…somehow…hope can still prevail. 

 ‘Auschwitz. Human beings with tattooed numbers.  Yet there is nothing but wrath wreaked on those who dare to make such a dire comparison between the mass death camps (as well as the Siberian gulags) of the European continent and these two tiny Pacific island detention centres (which in all relevance may also be compared with the original concentration camps set up by the British in the Boer War in which many tens of thousands of civilians died due to the appalling living conditions). Yes, there is no official extermination program. Yes, the numbers interned on Manus and Nauru for many years are miniscule compared to the many millions interned to only immediately die during the short life of the Nazi regime; yet I can only think that even at the beginning of this hideous tyranny there were very few who were directly exterminated and only those who already suffered being generally socially ostracized such as the severely mentally ill or severely disabled; with political ‘malcontents’ such as communists, homosexuals, gypsies and the Semites to be rounded up in large numbers but not yet killed wholesale. It was not until the dizzying height of Nazi hubris in 1942 when the war seemed all but won that the Final Solution was given its full systematic go ahead although it cannot be denied that many had already been exterminated as the Wehrmacht fantastically pushed its way east deep into the Soviet Union. There was no fear of recriminations so the supposedly all powerful in Berlin put in full process the culmination of a racist theory that demanded the death of a whole religious ‘sub-race’ and which would enslave if not wholly kill other sub-races such as the Slavs etcetera. Racial suprematism. In full bloom. Human doom. Unthinkable. (After all in the pre-war years the severest critics of the Nazi regime would have still not imagined the methodical gas chamber genocide to come. Who in their right mind could have envisaged such a calculated descent into human depravity…? A rule of thumb has to be one must never underestimate the very unlimited potentiality of human evil). Any seed is tiny. Yet the ground in which a seed grows plays a major part in how well it succeeds. The National Socialist dictatorship of 1933-1945 was fertile soil for those who believed in their eugenic notions of greater and lesser versions of the human race. Australia is not a dictatorship. Yet for those that have been entrapped on Manus and Nauru islands and for those asylum seekers whose freedoms are still severely curtailed on the mainland Australia is a dictatorship in all but name. The immoral political motivations that brought about the deaths of millions during the nightmare years of World War Two and in so many other genocide instances of European supremacist colonial rule in Africa, Asia, Australia, the Americas that are insidiously not as well recollected (especially so in the ‘Anglosphere’) are still self-evident even though the result has not been on the same vast scale. Manus and Nauru are cancers on the Australian politic which have not been yet allowed to spread with the harmful effect on Australian democracy still corralled to these tropical gulags – but one may think: only just. It was the British politician Tony Benn who so soundly said that what the government wrongly does to refugees is what it would do to everyone if it could get away with it. A bleak view of governance but so dismally true when one looks at how those with the least power in society have to face up to the worst punitive aspects of governmental regulation that, in many cases - in these days of heightened rule-by-privatisation - have been outsourced to a private system that only aims to profit for itself through its dictatorial ‘service’ to the disenfranchised. The unemployed are forced to submit to a micro-managing regime that infers that those dispossessed of any occupation really have only themselves to blame and are forced into accepting daily officially-sanctioned violations on their integrity to prove that they must be willing to accept any odious official ‘solution’ to their present hardship and to achieve any so called satisfactory result on the barest welfare income that is well below any acceptable measure of the poverty line. To have to apply for so many jobs that it is cynically accepted will not be achievable to obtain; simply to satisfy some mean spirited populist political imperative that anyone without a job does not really want one when it is only the too few who truly fall into this negative category; when there are only too few occupations available for the too many who really want to return to a truly liveable income. It is truly amazing that this ideological magic trick that has the jobless at fault rather than placing blame on the prevailing economic situation of the day which is so often the responsibility of business and government is performed over and over again and always believed. Yet the scapegoats have no voice; they have lost control of their lives and, as I have read, have no control over the world that grinds them down into submission and pathologically blames them for their unwanted misfortune. It is a miserable situation whereby those who suffer are tormented by a powerful overbearing political, social, economic self-serving system for the most powerful which so easily and pathologically washes itself of any guilt (or self-responsibility) and which has so often initiated such a persecution of the weakest and which also so often prolongs it; thus I am acutely intrigued to find that a Kurdish journalist in that underworld known as Manus Island unwittingly echoes Tony Benn’s sentiments by correctly recognising this misfortune of the powerless as being similar as to what he too experiences in his unjustifiable long-term entrapment by the same crushing authoritative demons. (Yes, I have to agree that Daniel Blake the ageing carpenter who has had a heart attack but is denied the welfare benefits that he is entitled too despite the medical evidence which proves his case - in the Ken Loach movie - and the imprisoned Kurd Behrouz Boochani who in prophet-like is serving as the moral voice for a country that has lost its moral sense both suffer from the same dictatorial system). Daniel Blake dies. Ultimately, more on Manus and Nauru will also die. To lose one’s health; to lose one’s sanity; to finally become only disposable human wastage is what becomes the ultimate aim of any uncaring regime. It does not matter to each individual victim if they are only one of a few or one of millions-

 ‘Certainly, it is so my mind keeps wandering…often to be incoherent…like some drunkard…(oh how I like my Jack Daniels!)…yet still always striving to seek after some cogency…to unite all that I think seamlessly…(yet, seemingly an improbable ambition)…how I like that Japanese poet monk Yoshida Kenko who wrote down his ‘random thoughts’ for all to read in the many centuries to come…

  …(…yes, I sat in the rotunda on that wind swept rainy day…(an elderly woman was reading her book…a young female traveller viewed the city map in her Sydney brochure…while the Central Asian homeless man was having a cheerful argument with an elderly Asiatic visitor with fast food and drink spread out between them on the bench that ran along inside all of the square perimeter made of the metre-high walls of this otherwise wooden garden pavilion and which together formed its firm base)…I stood within the dry, square empty space by which at the front of this solid shelter one entered by to be under its high roof and looked down pass the green fields below me to see a large garden pond…it was so tranquil where I stood…to be in meditative mood while only a few inches in front of me the wind squalled and the rain teemed down to form as if a grey curtain to hinder my view…yes, the human soul can be quiet when well protected, to be inwardly serene, I could not help but pretend that I was at some Japanese garden and envisioned the calmness of a Basho haiku, yes I was within a haiku poem and while within it I was at peace…

 “Culture…oh so resonant for thy soul…”

 ‘I heard a haiku but it was not Japanese but one written at an exhibition of found objects at a council gallery whereby the objects on display on a large white back wall could be taken down and used as drawing instruments with many of these objects being old abandoned pieces of wood with charcoal attached to them at one end. I watched two street poets take turns in writing a poem on an old typewriter and listened to them express their views of the world, with their minds they were trying to fight against the automaton nature of this modern, ordered too logical world, to hark back to human randomness…to human spontaneity…to human life…it was one of these poets who wrote the haiku so announcing to the world how he found the artist who had turned discarded objects into objects of aesthetic beauty which could be used for renewed purpose was an inspiration to him. Her artwork is what the world needed. To be made new. Especially that which was rejected. To me the rotunda was a found object within which what was renewed was my very spirit. I ventured back out into the rain thinking it is in the miniscule, in the everyday, one can find resurrection…

RESURRECTION

  ‘Michael told me how of a late teen schoolgirl who on a wintry mid-week afternoon was abused at a council oval by an early teenage boy from a neighbouring school because she was wearing the hijab. The girl had come back crying after picking up a volleyball that had rolled towards the oval fence during a game with other students. At the same time a group of schoolboys were walking past to go do some other sport activity at another part of the same sports field. When it was explained to Michael and the teachers he was aiding through a female aide translating on the girl’s behalf the boy was pointed out as being one of a small gang who had verbally abused the girl before while walking to school. (Michael thought it telling that the two young female sports teachers from the other school that were both apologetic and sympathetic to this fearful Muslim schoolgirl were both of Aboriginal background; they were both so emphatic that racism must not be tolerated and were backed up by an Aboriginal liaison elder working at this high school who had come over to provide some further support…so much affinity). Here was a young Syrian refugee who did not understand why this derogatory abuse was happening to her in a first world country that had promised her safety, weeping intensely, wanting only to hide, who now had to be profusely promised that someone would always accompany her to and from school, where she desperately needed to learn English so as to have a real chance of making her own way in this foreign land. Yet, this already traumatised girl, by way of the disgusting dog whistle rhetoric being promoted by politicians who saw benefit in it for themselves had metaphorically turned her and so many others like her into ‘human bait’ to be dangled out for the racist mongrels now emboldened to go directly to her way, which in this case was a mere pup who had adopted mirror-like the bigotry of the adult curs rearing him, (Gregor had told Michael and I he had seen an art class filled with troublesome male teenagers in a South Coast high school yell out abuse about the local indigenous - like a pack of yapping dogs - to strongly voice their displeasure in having to do an Aboriginal art program which was specifically designed to hopefully enlighten them. “I can only speculate but I’m sure all that hate came from their parents.” Darkness would remain…a malevolent bitter harvest being sowed with so much innocent ‘human chaff’ scythed down…only hatred reaped…); nevertheless, months later, in the late spring, on some obscure mini-golf course by a main road passing through what seemed to be an out of the way suburb in western Sydney bordering some flat rural terrain this same Syrian girl – no, young woman – would eventually cement within herself the self-reassurance she so needed by way of skilfully outplaying the cocky Chinese boy who had been odds-on favourite to win the finals match. After holding up her newly won trophy for the obligatory victory photo she would tell Michael with her ever improving English that she had enrolled in a hospitality course at technical college as this term in the intensive English centre was to be her last. It was commented on in passing how far she had progressed since that dreadful day on the school oval which then led her to mention the kindness shown towards her by staff and friends since that shocking inhuman episode. Rebirth-

  If I were to write a haiku – or something in similar precise, limited fashion - as I so imagined I may on that rainy day in the rotunda it would be to see this young, maturing woman much like the carp who the Japanese revere as a representation of the strong determination and resilience needed in overcoming life’s untoward tribulations as this fish has to swim upstream to reach its final destination-

       Young outcast woman 

        Strive against the hostile current

        To not only survive

        But to thrive     

   One human life typically deeply affected by the grand historical maelstroms of this present age – that exist in every historical age to affect the next generation and so on – yet only typified by the countless multitude of small scale interactions – both positive and negative – that occur between all human beings. To cast my mind on those Dutch paintings that have scenes of everyday life in the foreground while an apparent ordinary family that one can barely sight small scale in the background is actually that of Christ with his human parents…so much of what is viewed as commonplace or is unnoticed can actually be momentous with far reaching effect ad infinitum in both time and space yet (I repeat myself) we need to open our eyes to an eternal vision (which culture plays its part) to recognize  what is so often unseen and beyond any narrowed down mental comprehension (or even misunderstanding or fear)…while one also thinks that what is viewed as grandly important at the time - that is above the ordinary events of everyday life and with celebratory status - may only be a mirage as so much that what is on public display and valued because of its elitist deification is really banally political or cultural propaganda…empty of human value (except that which can be found in the marketplace)…that in the end will prove to be without spiritual substance…to be ephemeral to what is essentially truly humanist as typified by this young woman’s life which is based on authentic life principles whose anonymity – which is the case for so many billions - is no excuse to devalue her; yes, for me her unholy treatment can be viewed as a microcosm of the historical turbulence that violently intrude upon our common humanity and which must always be overcome-        

  (To drift the eyes a little further down the page and turning to other pages). 

DESCENT

 ‘To study a newspaper clipping of the  massacre of peaceful praying worshippers at a mosque insidiously live-streamed by the foreigner white supremacist perpetrator who had drawn on one of his automatic weapons a black sun neo-Nazi insignia; so many past racial atrocities scrawled all over his instruments of death; how easy it is to resurface historical demons that one had envisaged had been exorcised from the nation’s body politic in the last few decades to again lethally and without rationale or mercy run amok. In those moments of deepest pessimism one cannot help but feel that for those too few only a false peace ensues in this land in which I live by which whose increasingly stony, ever browning ground still has within it latent hostilities that are yet to be resolved (and that duly need to be immediately) as these prejudices strongly bud again to sprawl across the national psyche like evasive alien vines, never cut down, but bountifully watered by a self-serving politically inspired nationalist rhetoric. Firewater. No green shoots just choking weeds. Michael had told me how everyday he would see on his way to work a now ignored protest rally poster on a Redfern telegraph pole that gradually became more weathered over the many months being about a local Aboriginal boy who suffered a terrifying death – falling to be impaled on a fence – while riding his bicycle when chased by the police. Fading poster. Fading justice. (Yet to horrifyingly learn only the other day how an indigenous schoolboy innocently on the way home being murdered in full daylight beaten to death by a vengeful pack of white youths weaponed with a metal pole and machete who had callously meted out their blind wrath on an innocent boy falsely accused of a misdemeanour because of the colour of his skin…a few smashed car windows from the day before wantonly to incite this barbaric act with no semblance of reason but fully with unhinged maniacal prejudice…yes a car window foully deemed ‘worthy’ to be ‘reason’ enough to end a young indigenous boy’s life…a vigilante atrocity happening not in the U.S.A.’s Deep South where a black man or boy could once be lynched for simply glancing at a white woman the ‘wrong way’ but in so called modern day ‘reconciliatory’ Australia…). Myall Creek. It was said that the absentee property owner on whose land this infamous atrocity occurred was an ‘enlightened man’ as he had made the pragmatic decision to develop cordial relations with the local indigenous - rather than instigate an outright war – so as to best protect his cattle. Too much livestock was being lost as tribes were driven off their land which was the source of their livelihood and way of life by landowners who cleared it for their own profitable use; thus forcing these tribes to raid livestock to survive. White settlements would also be attacked leading to the severest mass killings of Aborigines to take place in retribution of the death of any white settler. Henry Dangar was known to have adopted a humane approach to the indigenous by choosing to take into account their needs but after the wanton killing of so many of them by his trusted employees he would side with every other landowner who wanted them to be acquitted of their heinous crime. Many Sydney people along with the Sydney Morning Herald editorial which mirrored the prevailing public sentiment also desired the freedom of the eleven accused taken to trial for the killing of ‘black savages’.  After all, to kill such human vermin was seen as a necessity of the colony’s future that should be applauded by higher colonial authorities who had no right to judge these men unto death; through the persistence of the prosecuting counsel the Irishman John Plunkett who bravely and immediately initiated a second trial after the first trial resulted in a mass acquittal; seven of the accused would eventually be found guilty and hanged. Although I commend early nineteenth century British justice for this rare instance to rightly condemn most of these ‘low caste’ convict and former convicts for murdering First Nations people I do perceive overall, that what apparently looks like a civilized approach by those with real economic power in the colony– as is the case with Henry Dangar - is not really so when it is not truly inspired by any philosophical belief in the common good but rather because of a mere business decision that involves maintaining power at a reasonably low cost and which simply becomes unreasonable when that cost rises and something has to be done before a perceived ‘threat’ to one’s wealth base could be realised. A sense of humanity is not involved in any compromise and what appears to be the surrendering of some power to a weaker group is only a veneer and thus like some automatic reflex action any leeway to those deemed as clearly inferior is immediately revoked - and by violent means if necessary (despite the extra cost - if not counted in human terms but certainly so in material expenditure) - if any real power as well as wealth looks as if it may be possibly lost. So it has been the case when in this present age the politics of fear needs to be re-employed to keep power strongly with the tribe that has staked its dominance over Australia since 1788 which has also involved its literal whitewash of history to hide its crimes as any invader duly does to defend its purpose for the furtherance of empire (as Caesar with his self-glorious write up about his taking over of Gaul so clearly shows); the empire of the mind also needs to be conquered in any physical invasion so in the history books are the plaudits for those who actually carried out the most horrific acts. There at the Macquarie Street entrance of Hyde Park stands a recently installed statue of Governor Lachlan Macquarie who had done so much to economically build up the still young colony but of whom I had also recently come across historical articles stating he was prepared to mount punitive raids against warring Aboriginals. Although Governor Macquarie had remarked the lives of children and women should be spared he had also made clear that if Aboriginal men resisted being taken as prisoners of war then they were to be shot. Macquarie wanted the bodies of dead Aboriginal warriors to be hung from trees which could be in clear view of other ‘natives’ so as to strike terror into their hearts. He hoped the indigenous population would no longer resist the expansion of the colony. Yet there would be the massacre at a gorge at Appin resulting in fourteen dead (so was the official count) where women and children were killed either being shot by soldiers or falling into a deep ravine. There had been no chance for any of the victims to surrender as initially they had all been asleep. Three dead males were strung up and beheaded. The heads of these Aboriginal men would be taken back as macabre trophies to Sydney and eventually end up half a world away at Edinburgh University. Human beings treated like animal specimens in anatomy departments with these particular violated heads only finally returned to Australia a hundred and seventy five years later. In researching this appalling mass atrocity one was to learn that it was under the time of Governor Gipps that the Myall Creek massacre trial took place and Gipps was willing to see justice carried out at a time when the ever expanding colony was becoming more difficult with frontier settlements preferring to take all matters into into their own hands – including the ruthless extermination of so called ‘troublesome’ Aboriginal tribes - with little fear of any interference from ‘out-of-touch’  government officials in far away Sydney. Further research would unveil that the governorship of Gipps had come after that of Governor Bourke who had set in motion humane reforms that would eventually accelerate the end of transportation in 1840. Bourke had looked to uphold the fair treatment of convicts which included putting a legal limit on the number of lashes that a magistrate could order to be meted out on an offending convict as punishment. As it was, at the time of Bourke’s arrival in 1831 there was no limit and he had it capped at fifty lashes. Convicts could be assigned to property owners thus forming a sort of slave class of cheap labour and Bourke attempted to stymy this abuse of the convicts by stating only up to seventy could be assigned to work for a single employer and that those convicts who became emancipated could enjoy virtually the same rights as any free settler including as well the legal ability to acquire property. Education in the colony also became a major priority to Bourke and Gipps would also take an interest in enhancing educational opportunities for the colony. Bourke’s progressive attitudes were predictably much resisted by establishment forces (although he found an ally in Plunkett who at this time had been sent to New South Wales as Solicitor-General);  one may also presume that Bourke may have been disappointed in those men who had been brought to the colony as prisoners of which many of whom would have most probably endured brutal mistreatment, had in turn callously murdered innocents of a supposed ‘inferior race’ (like Gipps, Bourke was also Irish born and so would have known only too well how the English saw themselves as superior marking out the Irish in the Home Isles as ‘lesser beings’ to even have laws in place that relegated Irish Catholics to a second class citizen status). Although, it is a historical irony that it was under such a man as Bourke that the incorrect legal precept of terra nullius came into full effect when John Batman went about renting Aboriginal land by way of a treaty where Melbourne would eventually be founded.  Governor Bourke annulled this treaty with a proclamation that claimed all land was already owned by the Crown. Indigenous land possession rights over what under British law was now understood as ‘empty land’ were thus automatically nullified; even though the House of Commons in 1837 recognised in a report on Aboriginal relations that Terra Australias was populated by Aboriginal tribes (although ‘uncivilized’) at the time of British settlement. (While it may also be seen as another historical irony that it was John Batman who had negotiated a treaty with the local indigenous as after all he should be infamously remembered mainly as a mass murderer as being a bounty hunter in Tasmania directly involved in the massacre of many Tasmanian Aboriginals who it should be noted defiantly attempted to defend their lands. As for this treaty on the mainland it was the handing over blankets, axes, scissors, flour, mirrors and shirts to the local Kulin people who were pleased to acquire yet who– through an obvious mismatch as well as misunderstanding of cultural expectations - may not have fully understood that by accepting what they viewed as useful objects they had unwittingly agreed to ‘allow’ many hectares of land on which they traversed for their own purposes to now be used by the English coloniser).    

 (To think now of a discussion between Michael and Gregor at Bronte beach of which I was also present).

“You know Michael the land and the sea have the shoreline as their meeting point. Two hundred years ago we came here from ‘out there’ beyond the horizon. Like aliens. I was reading somewhere that a lot of historical paintings show the shoreline and the ocean from the point of view of where we are standing now. The first colonial artists actually painted shore scenes from the point of view of coming in to see the land from the English sailing ships. Yet they can be empty scenes with no people. To accentuate the myth of a ‘new world’ like the so called New World of the Americas when in fact there was no ‘terra nullius’ as Australia, like the American continent, - as we all know - already had civilizations on them that were thousands of years old. Then there are leisure scenes from the nineteenth century which shows only Europeans on these lands. As if to say we rightly own it. As if all that is out there was already in our possession and it is alright that we now possess this land too. Not revealing any hint of the previous indigenous owners nor their blood that was spilt when we conquered their land for our exclusive use. A green-blue sea. With no red hue. A successful sea journey meant only the transportation of new arrivals which spelt only doom for the original inhabitants. Yet there were many shipwrecks…and so ‘Old World blood’ was also spilt into these same seas. A watery morgue for all, right where land and water meet; where old life had always emerged to become new on terra firma. Evolution. Discovery. Conquest. Sanitization.” Gregor smiling, grimly. Knowing he is becoming darkly philosophical, recalling now forgotten terrors. Yes, a historical darkness blinded out by bright sunny vestiges; to culturally worship at the shoreline the Sun’s life invigorating qualities, above anything else. “I like that Daniel Boyd painting We Call Them Pirates Out Here at the MCA which has Captain Cook with an eye patch coming to shore as well as a skull on the British flag…”   

  ‘Yes, a dark history yet to be fully revealed.’ 

 ‘Hunting down Aborigines was euphemistically called a ‘bushwhack’ then after the Myall Creek trial a new euphemism emerged: ‘to disperse’ as a sort of national silence came into play whereby poison ‘gifted’ in flour to Aborigines became an increasingly more common method for genocide rather than outright slaughter; thus no one could be readily blamed for any mass death of Aborigines. Lack of evidence. No trial. No record. Yet the ‘evidence’ is there to see in today’s negative political universe which because of historical denials that have helped to hide the truth, to distort the truth killings that mostly go onto to this day within supposed official ‘protective spaces’ as police lockups are not to be seen through a historical lens that can clearly focus on the ongoing violence perpetuated on the indigenous since the very beginning of white fella ‘settlement’.  Protection. The white fella has only worked at ‘civilizing’ the Aboriginal race, yes that to me seems to be the main historical narrative that is to be believed. Aboriginals needed to be ‘saved’ from the ‘primal darkness’ of their own uncivilized ways and it is by way of this dominant racial view set by the ‘above white fellas’ and that any ensuing hostile Aboriginal attitude to White Australia must be understood as an inferior people gracelessly expressing a lack of gratitude to the clear historical fact that with the arrival of an obviously superior civilised race who by way of its scientific and technical innovations has led to real human progress to truly happen on this Great South Land. Truth is always determined by the victor. Anything not accepted is a lie and those who refuse to accept what is ordained to be the truth and believe what has been discounted and to be forgotten are liars. It is a lie that a police officer beat an Aboriginal man to death in a prison cell…in the name of protection half-caste children were stolen from their mothers for nearly a hundred years and in recent times under the false premise of ‘Aboriginal child protection’ a military incursion into regional indigenous communities in northern Australia occurred…all possible because the genocide that led to the near decimation of Aboriginal society is not highlighted, only the acts of ‘protection’ and for it to be let known that any harm committed to Aboriginal people was not intended, but the nation will apologise for past ‘mistakes’ such as in the case of the Stolen Generation, although there will be no financial recompense in much the same way that indigenous stolen wages are still to be returned to generations of Aboriginal workers who worked for white bosses were left in poverty, who many will die before the money owed to them is ever given back, whose descendants should claim the right to have what was rightly earned by those who came before them. When at times the demand for equal wages was gained, it would mean the loss of jobs for Aboriginal workers, who then faced only unemployment, further poverty and a lack of self-respect that would lead to despair. Alcoholism. Domestic violence. Unemployment. The resulting symptoms of a society that had been brutalised in all manner of ways over many generations- 

anglosphere

 Most of the Myall Creek murderers were hanged which stunned many colonists who could not actually believe in a world whereby the actual life of a ‘savage’ indigenous person could really be seen as of the same human value as their ‘civilised selves’ so as to then be in a sort of collective catatonic shock and so in dire response and so there then came as mentioned a different sort of national silence whereby poison ‘gifted’ in flour became an increasingly more common method for genocide rather than outright slaughter so no one could be readily blamed for the mass deaths of Aborigines. Lack of evidence. Yet the evidence is there for all to see in today’s negative political universe with the ongoing historical denial that is invisibly layered upon to this very day to hide the truth. Yes, to have a hallucination of peace based on a silent genocide which is not being truly revealed for with poison becoming a favourable means of mass killing a massacre could be remain unrecorded. A whole country’s prosperity founded on a lie. That it has always been at peace with itself. There was no evidence otherwise. To be content with itself by being content with having an infantile avoidance of what is the reality. A nationalist mainstream history with heroes – they are promoted - but also with falsehoods – they are hidden. Perhaps waiting for the moment that it will be mature enough to have revealed. Waiting…oh always waiting…little Johnnie…are you ready yet to take away your newly washed hands from your eyes to look at the human butchery which your daddy cold bloodily committed...?...oh…that is not the wind blowing but human screams. A young country, yes, still very much adolescent, to be besieged with an ever increasing number of nationalist narcissists stridently vocalising their psychopathic prejudices onto the nation’s impressionable mindset to make it venture even more cautiously than before towards a much needed adult maturity…yes, the human brain does not fully develop until it is twenty five years old and Australia can sometimes feel like an entity that is not much past twenty-one in global historical terms…the first flush of youthful, encouragingly rebellious, liberating exuberance now gone…suppressed by an anti-progressive, historically denying cultural impulse which in recent decades has politically come to the dominant fore that has helped to maintain a self inflicted historical amnesia which aids the politically insane who go on striving to try and control everything…nevertheless in some grand display of national cognitive dissonance the myth of an egalitarian classless society clinically, desperately persists. There were some in power who were sane but now they are gone. To yearn for their return; to herald in some new political prophet who is genuine who is not a self-serving populist who is a true visionary for the good of all. Alas, I see no one coming over the horizon. The sun sets. Darkness. There is only The Great Dictator. To appease my political depression. A comic. (How bitterly ironic and is also a North American). Chaplin. With the square moustache. Officer hat. Officer black tie. Officer uniform. Who proclaims as if speaking for this generation when really he was speaking to an earlier generation burdened by fascism many decades ago which seems to be only fully re-emerging again today; when the boats that were turned back then are being turned back again. In the Arafura Sea. In the Mediterranean. Where despicably there are European countries willingly choosing to adopt with some elation the hard line refugee boat policy of Australia. Who have made a deal with Turkey to be a barrier to the flow of the human mass attempting to reach Europe where hard line populist leaders have found their political stars rise such as in Hungary; where refugees are left languishing on Greek islands and humanitarian ships saving refugees crossing the Mediterranean Sea face prosecution while other countries refuse entry to those seeking sanctuary; to be tarnished with the label of ‘economic refugees’ to justify such calculated inhumanity. To note also many refugees languishing in vulnerable living situations in Indonesia for years and without rights-  

  History is full of lies. 

  How many an acclaimed white explorer in school text books really relied on their Aboriginal trackers and the goodwill of the indigenous tribes of the lands they went through in order to unwittingly open up the country for further exploitation by these locust-like marauding foreigners. To think of so many main roads and highways are actually laid down where originally were Aboriginal tracks some following song lines that stretched across the whole continent both east-west and north-south.

  Xenophobia. A colonial people that in the mid nineteenth century actually built up an island fortress in Sydney Harbour because of a sincere belief that as a loyal colony of the British Empire the Russians who were warring with England during the Crimea War may sail all the way down from their vast country to attack it. It takes a sea invader to understand the threat of an invasion coming over the ocean. Thus the need to dehumanize your supposed foe even when the ‘enemy’ are desperate refugees who have only chosen to head towards you in flimsy fishing boats is because of the misplaced notion that because you have been a welcoming, civilized nation in the past you shall be so again in the present. The uncivilized can takeover. It is the case in Australia. Yet the barbarian is not some bestial apparition dressed in a fascist black uniform but rather in business outfits which confer a sense of well ordered civility and reasonableness and so who reasonably choose to dehumanize those they claim to protect only to establish for them a tyranny.   

MIND CHANNEL WHIRL

mental frame 444082 longitude 88⁰ latitude 24⁰

 “a plastic bag in India is a poor person’s briefcase-

mental frame 275001 longitude 87⁰ latitude 43⁰

 “strange lights were seen from the space shuttle moving very quickly in a zig-zag direction in the earth’s atmosphere while in Iceland street lights were turned off to view aurora borealis lights-

mental frame 456001 longitude 80⁰ latitude 13⁰

 “as a volcano cloud stops flights to Bali it is said Australia’s departure tax is again rising while airlines cramming more people into economy is leading to greater plane rage-

mental frame 436060 longitude 30⁰ latitude 83⁰

 “there has been a sister relationship between Melbourne and Calcutta tram conductors with tram art shows-

mental frame 187501 longitude 71⁰ latitude 77⁰

 “the artist said the art was not to meant to make any point so it was pointless-

mental frame 197501 longitude 91⁰ latitude 87⁰

 “two Czech footballers to be with women’s team after sexist remarks about mistakes made by a female assistant referee-

mental frame 127312 longitude 56⁰ latitude 73⁰

“drones are an air traffic hazard-

                                    mental frame 347314 longitude 59⁰ latitude 33⁰

“earthquake ravaged haiti hit by hurricane…violent street gangs remain a threat-

mental frame 789654 longitude 98⁰ latitude 17⁰

“the earth’s core is as hot as the surface of the sun. we can dig a tunnel three kilometres deep into north-east south australia’s crust to find rocks hot enough to use as a source of electricity-

mental frame 339454 longitude 38⁰ latitude 34⁰

“the genius complex singing language of songbirds such as mockingbirds and other birds is the closest to human language while it has been found out fish sing at dawn and dusk just like birds-

mental frame 541199 longitude 21⁰ latitude 32⁰

“frisbee competitions where people play in games with rules similar to netball have become a fad in europe. frisbee training videos are in big demand-

mental frame 227312 longitude 36⁰ latitude 70⁰

“a healthy diet is unaffordable for the poor-

mental frame 785492 longitude 23⁰ latitude 25⁰

“in tonight’s global village we will start with a story that involves an african tribe that at the end of the working day gather in a circle & joyfully perform a happy dance; a french innovator shows how to use compost to have a hot shower; we will look at a paris art commune known as the roundhouse & which has hosted many art luminaries including the likes of chagall. our last story will be about colombian youths in cartagena who frequent an innovative dancing school as a way of dealing with the trauma of a 40 year internal insurgency in their beautiful country-

mental frame 218033 longitude 89⁰ latitude 34⁰

“families in indonesia have to send their children out to work says an indonesian woman human rights unionist who has turned down a $50,000 human rights prize from a shoe company. she says it would be better if the u.s. based company improved workers wages & conditions in countries such as indonesia and mexico. in indonesia a daily wage is only $1.80 & activists who have protested for higher wages have been raped and killed. the woman activist says up to seven million children are no longer at school having to go & find work for their families. they are part of a lost generation…good leadership interlocks positive forces to work together against common foe-

mental frame 798451 longitude 31⁰ latitude 29⁰

“william yang by referring to personal objects & two large digital screens provides his audience with a meditative overview of his life with the tao philosophy of lao tze tung the one unifying thread through this very human montage which covers anything from a north american indian dream catcher given to him in canada to a large pan used as a bird bath in his arncliffe flat-

mental frame 100543 longitude 28⁰ latitude 51⁰

“there was a chimpanzee called nim chimsky named after linguist noam chomsky who sounds a lot like a tankie these days…well & as for nim he was the first primate to learn american sign language. yet, the most unusual chimp would have to be oliver who regularly walked upright and would socialise with people. oliver drank coffee and beer, smoked cigars lounged on a sofa and watched television. he would even go to the kitchen himself to make his own cuppa and take it to his den. all in all oliver was just another regular guy. however, when oliver made sexual advances on the wife of his carer he was sold and now lives in retirement in texas…new york times…the washingon post is against snowden pardon- 

mental frame 892300 longitude 12⁰ latitude 34⁰

“tonight we will show on mythbusters how goldfish do have long-term memory and not the proverbial three-second attention span. that you really can get struck by lightning if you are on the phone during a storm. also with the sinking of our tugboat the mythtitanic we will find out if you can get sucked into the death-dive of a sinking ship. folklore says the cook on the titanic was high up in the air on the stern as it went down. when it went under he said all he did was step into the sea like getting out of an elevator to then later be picked up by a lifeboat-

mental frame 492310 longitude 14⁰ latitude 64⁰

“the jewish women who knew they were going to be shot after falling pregnant after being raped or used as sex slaves asked the driver to take them around the town as a goodbye- 

mental frame 6723107 longitude 41⁰ latitude 56⁰

“families of victims of 9/11 can no sue saudi arabian officials who may have been involved-

mental frame 992513 longitude 74⁰ latitude 54⁰

“the battle of 42^nd street - or tsilalarion road - on crete is where the anzacs briefly halted the german advance and involved the first aboriginal soldier to become an officer stays unheralded-

mental frame 3323107 longitude 44⁰ latitude 54⁰

“ancient egyptians believed the universe emerged from the ocean nun and mesopotamians thought the underworld was not far below the earth’s surface-

mental frame 8323198 longitude 89⁰ latitude 53⁰

“alan turing who did much to crack war codes of germany’s enigma machine committed suicide in 1954 due to being prosecuted for his homosexuality and being chemically castrated-

mental frame 3723189 longitude 97⁰ latitude 53⁰

“nasa is to collect dust from an asteroid to try discover the beginning of life-

mental frame 945001 longitude 32⁰ latitude 36⁰

“at a time in australia where sanctuary houses similar to those in north america to hide refugees are being suggested brisbane hospital staff refuse to release a refugee baby if it means being sent back to the cruel living conditions of offshore detention-

mental frame 895634 longitude 76⁰ latitude 19⁰

“another demonstration outside the school of the americas. this institution has trained many of latin america’s military leaders simply had a name change…always one survivor in every massacre…and for guatemala’s mayans who lost loved ones in the army massacres of the eighties they still wait for justice-

mental frame 447305 longitude 76⁰ latitude 93⁰

“100 thai students killed in 1973; 43 mexican students killed in 2014-

mental frame 89705 longitude 34⁰ latitude 23⁰

“at the nicholson museum at sydney university there can be found ancient greek cypriot pottery with the swastika in reverse. a life symbol in many cultures appropriated by the third reich that would prop up its armies and the fuhrer with stimulants to speed ever onwards to merciless military victory-

mental frame 347307 longitude 66⁰ latitude 33⁰

“danes to confiscate the property of refugees-

mental frame 942303 longitude 72⁰ latitude 94⁰

“lost property public transport auction-

mental frame 917374 longitude 23⁰ latitude 89⁰

“elderly japanese man keeps still keeps a post office for lost letters including those for loved ones even for those who have departed. very poignant-

mental frame 344412 longitude 90⁰ latitude 43⁰

“in the art talk which corresponded with david manley’s ambivalent structures photography exhibition at the verge gallery - where in regards to the meticulous composite photos it was pointed out photography can be viewed as manipulation - it was expressed that war bunkers can be paradoxically seen as places of both safety and death. it can be suggested modern architecture with its use of concrete came about from the quick and efficient bunker building techniques utilized on the french coast used to rapidly build up a defensive wall to thwart any coming allied invasion. as it was after the war a destroyed europe needed to be built up again quickly; ironically along with bunker construction techniques the legacy of the war bunker also continues to this day both politically and psychologically. in a world in an ever  increasing state of disruption and flux a bunker mentality pervades globally on so many issues. in australia consider the despairing negative view of refugees…it could be sad an artist can become the psyche buster of bunker mentalities-

mental frame 445109 longitude 89⁰ latitude 21⁰

“hollywood actress angelina jolie who as goodwill ambassador for the unchr states that the west – and this includes australia – are like a beach couple who totally ignored a dead african refugee man whose corpse had washed up on the mediterranean shoreline. they kept sunbaking just like a cold-hearted west keeps ‘sunbaking’- 

mental frame 674312 longitude  78⁰ latitude 45⁰

“susan george who has written several books on global capitalism & world hunger believes that these days the ‘bastards have gone too far’. in her eyes under the republicans the u.s constitution & democracy is being dismantled piece by piece-

mental frame 234312 longitude 18⁰ latitude 78⁰

 “police target self-serve supermarket thefts yet it is also has to be asked what about the jobs ‘stolen’ due to such self-serve checkouts-

mental frame 777666 longitude 33⁰ latitude 12⁰

“in chechnya it is claimed atrocities are being committed by russian troops on the civilian population. it seems a whole generation of people there – from many diverse national groups including local russians - have had to pay with their lives for the brutality being carried out by the few on both sides of this ‘callous equation’…art historian admits not aware to practicing art processes-

mental frame 541112 longitude 23⁰ latitude 12⁰

“the civil defence ‘white helmets’ in war torn syria heroically rescue people. in aleppo with evermore toxic chemical barrel bombs & bunker busting bombs 50% of casualties are children-

mental frame 441142 longitude 33⁰ latitude 14⁰

“shimon peres is the last of the generation of politicians who saw the founding of israel-

mental frame 234500 longitude 23⁰ latitude 89⁰

“in pisa 100,000 candles are lit up for one night every year this spectacular luminari is in celebration of saint rainier…for french commuters free short story vending machines are a hit-

mental frame 899321 longitude 83⁰ latitude39⁰

“today’s tale of a suitcase is of a dutchman who grew up in colonial batavia. when the japanese invaded he was interned with his parents who died; he went to japan as a slave labourer-

mental frame 999000 longitude 99⁰ latitude 10⁰

“a child suffering from asthma on a country property died because the boy’s family could not get assistance due to a faulty home phone. an increasingly privatized telstra failed to quickly fix it-

mental frame 219934 longitude 20⁰ latitude 72⁰

 “when tv came to australia in 1956 knitting wool sales went down while the bbc gives instructions how to knit a dr who scarf-

mental frame 219934 longitude 20⁰ latitude 72⁰

 “mendelev dreams the periodic table-

mental frame 989934 longitude 20⁰ latitude 82⁰

“the wily english history teacher had said the english ruling classes feared the return of many working class soldiers who knew how to shoot a rifle after the end of the second world war. while in so many countries that have faced civil strife after there is peace ex-guerillas and ex-soldiers may turn to using guns as the only skill they know to make a living if there are no jobs. the issue of secure long term employment needs to be seriously considered…terrorist turf wars-

mental frame 798123 longitude 27⁰ latitude 84⁰ “35

million human beings have been trafficked globally in one year states the artist in the outdoor sculpture catalogue who also speaks how people are always converging together for a short while and then diverging away-

[“Life extinguished…the transience of many human relationships…”].

mental frame 459944 longitude 30⁰ latitude 12⁰

“black mist. burnt country. an art exhibit that includes indigenous point of views is surveying the legacy of the maralinga desert nuclear explosions that happened sixty years ago. aboriginals lost traditional lands and along with servicemen were exposed to atomic radiation- 

mental frame 95244 longitude 33⁰ latitude 52⁰

“in books & arts: australian dance company’s objekt looks at dehumanization, objectification...suppression-

mental frame 789934 longitude 21⁰ latitude 92⁰

“i’m toni collette and i’m here to let you know that in greek mythology prometheus stole the secret of fire from the gods and revealed it to humankind. to punish him every morning the gods sent an eagle to claw out his innards. the same fate can await a careless entertainer. joe dulce was from the u.s.a. an obscure fringe artist but it is for a lethally infectious novelty song that he will never be forgotten or forgiven.” “what’s the matter with you aye! gotta no respect! whadda ya think you do! why you  look so sad. it’s a nice a place. shaddup you face!” 

mental frame 349757 longitude 81⁰ latitude 93⁰

“the brilliant italian poet antonia pozzi was not published in her own lifetime-

mental frame 909743 longitude 21⁰ latitude 92⁰

“max ‘tangles’ walker’s last game was a one-day match with the infamous bowling underarm incident with new zealand. douggie walters said to greg chappell in a silent dressing room “you stuffed that up!” tangles played a valuable role in the centenary test which had the extraordinary coincidence of the exact same result as the test played at lords in 1877-

mental frame 404844 longitude 67⁰ latitude 92⁰ “

looking at a civil rights photo of a black boy followed by a row of the national guard one hears how a black man reported his car stolen and the police frisked and treated him as a criminal-

mental frame 889743 longitude 11⁰ latitude 82⁰

“the so called republican presidential candidate wants to treat nato like a mafia protection racket. if the baltics don’t pay their own way and the big bad wolf russia comes after to trump them the u.s will stand by and doing nothing…colombians say no to the so called peace treaty-

mental frame 890342 longitude 89^o latitude 45^o

 “a young aboriginal boy tj riding a bicycle late at night was impaled on a fence and died; his death has led to a race riot in redfern as the police have been accused of chasing him at the time- 

mental frame 789934 longitude 21⁰ latitude 92⁰

“low socio-economic factors, lack of public transport, bad housing conditions and so forth lead to low health outcomes as well as shorter life spans as is the case for australia’s indigenous-

mental frame 459244 longitude 40⁰ latitude 88⁰

“scientists seem amazed by the self-regulatory uniform patterns of nature moving unconsciously between predicated order & chaotic unpredictability-

mental frame 3636363 longitude 64⁰ latitude 27⁰

“william cooper of the aboriginal league protested against kristalnacht with a letter to the german consulate in melbourne-

 “MY CRAZED HUMAN MIND WHICH GOES ON REPEAT [& WITH ADD-ONS] LIKE A MAD, MAD WORLD WHICH GOES ON RE-RUNS WHICH MAY ALL FINALLY COME TO AN END WITH AN ATOMIC ADD-ON!” 

Humanity as a Footnote of History in the Wayward Mind of this God’s Cowboy

  We may even be - unfortunately – just a footnote to history if THEM - instead - divide the oceans by using reliable old fashioned Old Testament means; there shall be no military directive from a ‘General Electric’ using nuclear weapons that rely on modern day electronic boards. (Better to buy an old second-hand fridge whose manual operations will last for decades than a new one whose electronics will break down after five years. So says the Lakemba Bangledesh refrigerator man who inquires why do the Great Powers seek to kill when life is already short enough?). It is said the Red Sea could be an Ancient Greek mistranslation of the words ‘reed sea’- some shallow stretch of water - which the Chosen People crossed to escape Pharaoh; yet that cinema Pharoah Cecille B DeMille would concur that it truly was the raising of Holy Moses’ staff that brought on the full force of thy holiest special effects department to have his people saved and drown the godless enemy. Whether it had truly been an outflow of a tsunami that then sucked right back in or a high strong wind making way for a land bridge or an underground volcanic eruption that produced a temporary rock causeway these are all merely the means by which YAHWEH used to bring the Israelites out of slavery and to inflict his wrath upon a godless nation. We are a godless generation and THEM will be the instrument of the Divine Wrath. We must change our self-indulgent ways and be liberated before it is all too late. It is said that the burning bush through which God spoke may have been a tree that caught on fire in a lava flow whose ‘holy voice’ is merely the loud crackling sounds of burning molten rock. Yet the higher truth is that YAHWEH – the Great ‘I AM’ - is THE ROCK! The Rock of ALL Ages upon which can be the foundation of our salvation - for all around us is the mental quicksand of this world which we visualise through that inanimate glowing talking box we call television – the LORD will deliver us from THEM! The ultimate miracle will be that THEM shall be vanquished – not us! A holy glory shall be revealed in our minds and this shall be our ‘earthly evidence’ to the eternal immortal might of spiritual faith over a constricted mortal unholy doubt. Trust! As Joan of Arc trusted! As the young actress who played her in the Hollywood film Miracle of the Bells also trusted. The bells rang for three days in the small American coal town in which she was buried! St. Michael took care of her soul and it was he who moved the statues of himself and of Mary to look down upon her coffin at her funeral – not some movement of a rogue rock fissure caused by the rampant coal mining below. St. Michael as Saviour! Oh holy press agent! Frank Sinatra as St. Michael’s priest! Fred MacMurray as faithful loving Hollywood publicist friend! Lee J. Cobb as Hollywood mogul whose big business heart is transformed by the miracle of St. Michael! Who loves God! Who loves his country! Who loves the American Way! He knows the cruel assassin will come! Merciless! Without pity! God’s psychopath upon through whom God’s vengeance has been bestowed upon to carry out! Upon which greatness is made! Upon which great nations are made! Through the ruthless measures they adopt to gain what they want which is  always  much  more  than  they  need! Forever strong and mighty! Nothing shall wither! In countries where no old men will stay around! To cut down the unrighteousness! To raise the Chosen to their rightful glory! To true riches! Taken justly from the riches of a booty undeservedly owned by the heathen! No chains! Except for the wicked! It will be their unfaithful heads that will be decapitated! To be  made  defenceless  for slaughter!  Naked before  the naked power of YAHWEH! Manifest Destiny! It’s  US  or  THEM!  Life as hallucinatory state!Weep! Weep! OH WEEP! EXORCISE THE DEMONS! THE   MOTIONS OF LIFE! GATES OF ETERNITY! OH HOLY END!  Pharaoh    Yul  Brynner   you  watch  out!  Watch  out  Anne Baxter Nefeteri! Watch  out B-GRADE modern mind! Moses Charles Heston will point his staff at the likes of you with Edward G. Robinson as his right hand man! Oh James Cagney! RAT-A-TAT-TAT! ALL YOU DIRTY GODLESS EGYPTIAN RATS! Thus speaketh the LORD! To take another bitter twist let us never forget that THEM come in all guises: a gutsy daughter of THEM! throws a bomb into a medico Huey in Apocalypse Now! Machine guns blaring from flying machine mosquitoes of THEM! For THEM is really in all of us! We come out of THEM! Wagner’s The Ride of the Valkrye! BLARING! FROM THE SKIES! A U.S. Cavalry trumpet of a last napalm judgement! Massacres galore! Fort Apache! In Tie A Yellow Ribbon John Wayne’s cavalry resolutely outwits & attacks the Indians! YELLOW FEVER! Those SAVAGES! HAH! S/LAUGHTER!” There is nothing but sheer madness! In my eyes! At the turn of the 20^th Century Yellow Fever was killing U.S. cavalrymen in Cuba! Killing the Spanish before them! Oh colonies of mass slavery! Mosquitoes as instruments of YAHWEH! The LORD scourges! Yet Science saves! Yellow Fever of the body is no more - but a plague of Yellow Fever of the mind still clings on so ever strongly! For THEM with nuclear at least shows that Science - as espoused from the human intellect - can also destroy! Yet the LORD will overcome human wickedness! If He does choose to modernise even use it as His DIVINE INSTRUMENT of JUDGEMENT! THE ALL OF EVERYTHING TO BE DESTROYED! ONLY NOTHING IS PURE! OH! ETERNAL ARTIST WORLD PRESS PHOTOS!”

 ‘On the Mitchell State Library World Press Photos exhibition screen the Ecuadorian photographer who references cultural memory by way of the reminiscences of her Colombian farmer father who had in more tumultuous times migrated from the violence of his land; yet there was also another violence that was clinically endured on the land itself that would have equally deeply saddened his family descendants who, as intimated, had been ‘seed guardians’ who had enriched the soil with a wide variety of potatoes…yet such a special social ecological relationship between humanity and nature was for now to be forever lost…the life inspiring spiritual-biological intimacy inherent in a farming tradition that involved humans who fully respected Gaia was to be sacrificed in the name of so called scientific progress by giving way to genetically manipulated high yielding single crops that despite the short term gains it is corporately claimed can be obtained especially in terms of monetary profit for the ‘architects’ of such a widespread unnatural ecology-

   Gaia who for her plant seeds were her life blood which should not be diminished or tampered with in any way which would otherwise risk her life …especially after spending aeons to evolve them to a maximum level of life enhancement…was to thus note with her inevitable majestic angry response how such earthly human vandals who only thought of her hubristically as being passive were usually males as well as corruptibly high ranking who with their exploitative mastery would duly make the banal claim that all knowledge that is not of material benefit to them is of no value and must be dispensed with; a barbarous policy especially applicable to those lands they colonize - i.e. invade, pillage, decimate…those human cultures which may work with Gaia rather than against her must especially be done away with including the very people whose memories must be destroyed with them so no resistance can emerge as any memory with a kernel of truth attributable to human goodness can be a great weapon working against the empty lies that must be masterfully devised to ‘validate’ any human barbarism…(a heavy sigh)…to also predictably irreparably destroy the underlying pulsating web of biodiversity upon which all life on this planet must always ultimately rely on for long term survival-

  “Do not build your home on sand!” 

‘…frail habitat…yes…everything that is ingeniously sacred is to be lost…to be insidiously replaced with a lie of having human progress on only purely scientific terms yet that must be forever fumigated with herbicides to keep up crisp agricultural appearances...oh to have yet again the great unwashed…to have only the clean rain of Gaia to keep life-

Mammoth To Mammon

  ‘Rows of tents in Sydney’s Martin Place. The homeless making their presence communally known in this large central plaza in the Central Business District; to be a six month long tent city protest outside the high black block building of the Reserve Bank of Australia. It is not the besieging encampment of an invading army like that of the Greeks outside Troy’s walls but rather of the vulnerable who feel besieged by powerful elites who desire to become even stronger by commercial means; (while in many other places a ‘reptilian’ aspiration to be fully dominant is directly requited by military force). No, the spectacle presented here to any passers-by was a stark reminder of the enormous unequal imbalance of corporatized strength that still enforcibly prevails over many wide ranging scattered impoverished multitudes on this globe; including nearby Redfern where there had been another long term protest ‘tent city’ militantly organised by some of the local indigenous residents in protest of a high rise development that they felt would further ostracize and even disperse their local urban community from a central area of land that they had always known as their traditional own. Yes, here, at Martin Place, in evidence, was the plight of some of the many dispossessed on display at the very doorstep of one of this particular nation’s major institutions of financial power. Flimsy plastic versus granite monolith; as if to be a local echo of a brief global protest phenomenon that gave raised voice to the powerless against the proverbial ‘global minotaur’…to only dissipate, yet whose basic underlying impulse for social equity and economic justice to keep on haphazardly re-emerging in many different ways in many different places: like a creative political variance of unpredictable quantum particles that are never static but always regenerative and creative; which in real ‘relative time’ may still reap positive long lasting social transformations in unexpected ways; all unforeseen, both socially and philosophically unimagined, at the heady, anarchic time of the original, initial majority outburst against the elites- 

 “Occupy Wall Street!” To hear that oh so gruff, ever so polarising, ‘ol time anarchic social ecologist bushy moustached Murray Bookchin emphatically cheering from the Agora to bring back this ancient Athenian urban civic space to the people which can now include both helot and female! To end its privatised erosion by the corporates! To end the spectator apparition that modern democracy has become! So all can fully participate in citizen assemblies! So decisions can be made by all and for all so not to leave our social destinies to cyclops bureacracies that only have an eye on the state cost rather than on any human cost or the cost to nature. To return human society to the way nature truly wants it to be as it was in neolithic communal origin with an equality more akin to nature’s organic web than to the state’s stratified pyramid. That greatest of natural pandemics that is human competitiveness must be finished off! No more Global Financial Behemoth to be resurrected at public expense! A universal basic income for all! The word ‘freedom’ emerging for the first time on a Sumerian cuneiform clay tablet after a revolt against a tyrant; this new profound word – which was not necessary in an earlier innate egalitarian period of human social development - mysteriously referring to a ‘…return to the mother…’ which would not be such a mystery to Australia’s First Nations people who reference the land that they belong too as mother for it is the provider of all life and from the dawn of their creation time Aboriginal society has had an egalitarian undercurrent in the social fabric of its complex kinship relationship system encompassing both genders; with customary law enforced and nurtured by the elders; who seemingly have no inherent authority but have it bestowed upon them through a communal mutual acceptance and trust in that they will authorize only what is right -  not for themselves - but for the ultimate good of the whole community and for the ‘mother’ land they spiritually steward; so as to echo a long ago ‘human time’ which involved as well as included a gradual social transformation away from hunter gathering to agricultural based settlements in which women had played a premiere role in helping to provide food security-

  (I fast forward in my mind to recollect Lisa moaning to now recall the following: 

 ‘Yes. Human death. Prevails. While a living Gaia remains enduring. Until the Sun swallows her. To then be in a new quantum dimension beyond any humanly perceived physiology. Earth as spirit. Soul. Earth. The Sun. The Universe to both also become quantum elements. Forever. The mind of God. In us. In everything… 

 “…Gaia. As daughter. To God. Strong. Women as strong, thus a possible threat to male dominance; so to be eventually demonized by a disquieted emerging hierarchical patriarchy. To. Religiously. Culturally. Validate. A. Seemingly. ‘Natural’. Social. Reality. Of. The. ‘Responsible’. ‘Pre-eminence’. Of. Male. Authority. A. Gender. Blasphemy- 

(MINDSCAPE: as if to be outside time and space)

The. Sirens. Who. With. Haunting. Song. Beauty. &. Desire. Draw. Men. To. Their. Mortal. End. As. Spelled. Out. By. Homer. To. Also. Be.  Informed. By. The. Ancient. Poet. Of. Such. ‘Devious’. Female. Deities. As. Circe. &. Calypso. Who. Would. Impede. Odysseus’s. Rightful. Return. To. Ithaca. Where. He. Is. The. Rightful. Ruler. Where. Also. Honourable. Penelope. Cleverly. Outwits. The. Suitors. Yet. Here. Too. Despite. The. Certain. Dishonourable. Character. Of. These. Foul. Lecherous. Morally. Cowardly. Men. There. Is. Also. A. Sublime. Cultural. Warning. As. Her. Justifiable. Deception. Regarding. The. Three. Year. Weaving. &. Unravelling. Of. The. Shroud. Is. Still. Evidence. Of. The. Mastery. Of. Matriarchal. Deviousness. A. Potent. Threat. To. Patriarchal. Supremacy. Like. The. Amazons. To. The. Modern. Mind. These. Independent. Undomesticated. Militarily. Capable. Women. Are. Perhaps. Viewed. As. Positive. A. Mythological. Presentation. Of. Female. Warrior. Prowess. Who. Were. Equal. To. The. Military. Task. Of. Fighting. The. Greeks. As. Was. The. Case. At. Troy. Where. Achilles. Had. To. ‘Work’. Much. Harder. At. Killing. Queen. Penthesilea. When. Who. For. Him. The. Killing. Of. Enemy. Male. Warriors. Was. Such. An. Easy. Task. Certainly. The. Dark. Scavengers. Of. The. Air. Would. Especially. Look. Out. For. This. Grand. Killer. On. The. Battlefield. To. Easily. Find. Plentiful. Carrion. Even. Taking. To. The. Skies. Fearful. Open. Mouthed. Severed. Heads. Between. Their. Long. Black. Beaks. Howling. Achilles. Who. Even. Respectfully. Mourned. Queen. Penthesila’s. Death. At. His. Own. Brutal. Hand. Who. Had. Loved. This. Wise. Female. Inventor. Of. The. Battle. Axe. Yet. For. The. Ancient. Greek. Male. Mind. The. Gender. Peril. Is. The. Harsh. Resolve. Of. Achilles. To. Kill. May. Be. Tempered. By. Such. Inordinate. Lamentation. Towards. A. Woman. No. Matter. How. Deserved. Yet. Thankfully. For. Such. Primal. Patriarchal. Minds. His. Blood. Lust. Was. Such. His. Mourning. Would. Be. Vigorously. Expressed. By. Further. Killing. As. Evidenced. In. Ruthlessly. Ending. The. Life. Of. Thersites. A. Greek. Warrior. Who. Had. Mocked. His. Sorrow. Over. The. Dead. Amazon. Queen. To. These. Ancient. Greek. Males. The. Amazons. Daughters. Of. The. God. Of. War. Ares. Were. A. Warning. A. Threat. Of. What. Can. Happen. If. Women. Were. Allowed. To. Have. Social. Equality. Then. Patriarchy. Would. Be. Usurped. To. Establish. Matriarchy. Dominate. Or. Be. Dominated. Was. The. Psychotic. Psychological. Male. Catchcry. To. Justify. Any. Lingering. Social. Doubt. To. The. Obvious. Unfairness. That. Surely. Is. Female. Inequality. Yet. There. Would. Be. No. Role. Reversal. For. Men. To. Live. In. Humiliation. With. Their. Social. Value. To. Be. Reduced. To. Only. To. Be. Of. Use. To. Breed. With. Only. Daughters. To. Be. Pre-eminent. Thus. To. Learn. From. Amazonian. Myths. Of. Sons. To. Be. Killed. Of. Sons. To. Be. Sold. To. Slavery. To. Obtain. Weapons. &. Of. Other. Sons. Returned. To. An. Unusual. Submissive. Male. Tribe. With. No. Knowledge. Of. The. Real. Father. Psychologically. Accentuating. A. Patriarchal. Fear. Of. Being. Femalely. Deceived. In. Regards. To. The. Sacred. Bond. Between. Father. &. Son. So. Vitally. Important. For. The. Trustworthy. Male. Generational. Transference. Of. Power. &. Property. Thus. To. Physically. &. Socially. Entrap. Women. In. Order. To. Secure. This. Patriarchal. Inheritance. Away. From. Such. Devious. Womanhood. The. Amazons. Who. With. One. Breast. Ritually. Sliced. Off. Were. Perceived. Not. As. Matriarchal. But. As. One. Commentator. Of. The. Classics. Would. Suggest. More. So. As. A. Negative. Patriarchy. Certainly. Amazons. Would. Not. Be. Kept. Women. As. Made. Clear. In. No. Uncertain. Terms. To. Young. Male. Nomadic. Scythians. As. Herodotus. Records. Who. Had. To. Agree. To. Live. In. Open. Equality. To. Bond. With. Them. Together. To. Found. Sauromatia. For. The. Women. To. Remain. Virgins. Until. Their. First. Kill. In. Battle. Riding. Horses. Being. Proficient. With. Bow. &. Arrow. Their. Weapon. Of. First. Choice. Which. Involved. Superior. Mental. Stamina. Along. With. Well. Honed. Physical. Skills. To. Be. Precise. In. Disciplined. Aim. For. Any. Effective. Kill. For. Each. Woman. To. Be. Like. Artemis. On. Earth. The. Huntress. Moon. Goddess. Who. They. Revered. For. Men. To. Be. Prejudicial. Against. The. Amazons. Who. Always. Saw. The. Bow. &. Arrow. As. The. Lesser. Weapon. Of. Choice. To. That. Of. The. Sword. That. Relied. On. A. Combatant. To. Face. Up. To. Death. Literally. Eye. To. Eye. Much. Like. The. Far. Away. Modern. Day. Sniper. Despite. Superior. Rifle. Skill. Is. Not. Always. Duly.  Respected. By. The. Common. Soldier. Who. Has. To. Always. Face. Up. To. Close. Kill. Or. Be. Killed. Combat. Such. Bitter. Irony. Then. For. Achilles. The. Greatest. User. Of. Sword. & Spear. That. It. Would. Be. A. ‘Mere’. Well. Aimed. Single. Arrow. To. Down. Him. Yet. It. Would. Prove. To. Be. The. Superior. Weapon. To. Effectively. Deal. With. This. Master. Soldier. As. For. The. Amazons. They. Were. Still. Duly. Feared. By. Their. Male. Battle. Hardened. Opposition. For. Their. Still. Brave. Warrior. Wrath. The. Discovery. In. Russian. Burial. Mounds. Of. Scythian. Women. Even. In. Their. Early. Teens. To. Have. Been. Horse. Warriors. The. Scythians. Who. Originally. Came. From. Siberia. To. Venture. As. Far. As. The. Black. Sea. If. Not. Beyond. To. Provide. Historical. Credence. Of. The. Amazons. To. Be. As. Real. As. Troy. Where. To. Kill. An. Amazon. Was. Appreciated. Not. Only. As. A. Further. Blow. Against. Troy. But. As. A. Victory. Against. Any. Possibility. Of. Matriarchal. Dominion. In The. Myths. Of. The. Amazons. In. The. Case. Of. Fighting. The. Hellenes. They. Are. Always. Shown. To. Be. Eventually. Defeated. Against. Hercules. Against. Theseus. Against. Bellerophon. Against Achilles. The. Greeks. At. Troy. To. Hubristically. Identify. With. Such. Great. Hellenic. Heroes. To. Boast. Self. Glory. By. Their. Cynical. Exaggeration. Of. The. Martial. Achievements. Of. Their. Feminine. Enemy. Of. Whom. Being. Of. Opposing. Gender. They. Yet. Still. Unduly. Disrespected. Much. Like. In. A. Later. Age. The. Greeks. Would. Feminize. Their. Oriental. Opponents. The. Persians. To. Enhance. Viewing. Them. Disrespectfully. While. At. Troy. Apollo. The. Sun. Brother. Of. Artemis. Must. Have. Looked. Down. With. Equal. Scorn. At. The. Greeks. As. Her. Twin. Sister. Would. Surely. Have. Done. Yet. Bitter. Sweet. It. Would. Have. Been. To. See. His. Detested. Enemy. Achilles. Mourn. The. Death. Of. His. Victim. Queen. Penthesilea. Akin. To. The. Semblance. Of. Humanity. That. Achilles. Also. Respectfully. Expressed. To. Priam. Who. Secretly. Came. At. Great. Risk. To. Plead. For. The. Butchered. Body. Of. His. Dead. Son. Within. The. Enemy. Camp. As. If. To. Make. Good. Apollo’s. Remarks. That. The. Fates. Have. Duly. Provided. To.  Ease. The. Unspeakable. Sorrow. Of. The. Human. Heart. Thus. It. May. Endure. Such. Unfathomable. Grief. To. Find. Solace. To. Find. Equilibrium. To. Recreate. To. Not. Just. Destroy. To. Not. Just. Annihilate. To. Not. Just. Desecrate. All. That. Is. Holy. With. An. Unholy. Nihilism. As. Is. The. Rage. Filled. Wont. Of. Achilles. Who. Surely. Only. Deserves. The. Wrath. Of. The. Gods. Due. To. His. Violent. Hardened. Hate. Filled. Demi. God. Pathological. Fury. Who. First. Fatefully. Damned. Himself. To. A. Short. Lived. Life. Incurring. Apollo’s. Individual. Wrath. For. Murdering. The. Young. Trojan. Prince. Troilus.  In. A. Temple. Sanctuary. Devoted. To. Apollo. To. Guarantee. Achilles. Ill. Fated. Demise. That. Despite. His. Apparent. Invincibility. His. Life. Would. Be. Shortened. By. An. Arrow. Piercing. His. Unprotected. Heel. Shot. By. Paris. Guided. By. Apollo. Although. It. Is. Also. Said. It. Was. Apollo. Himself. Disguised. As. Paris. Who. Unleashed. The. Fatal. Missile. At. This. ‘Invincible.’ Warrior. Yet. Beyond. Such. Competing. Particulars. Lies. No. Fluctuating. Principles. To. Falter. Ultimate. Truth. For. There. Is. Only. An. Eternal. Stable. Reality. Universal. &. Absolute. Beyond. Any. Quantum. Mortal. Perception. Achilles. Wronged. Apollo. &. As. A. Result. The. Gods. Will. Carry. Out. A. Retributive. Justice. To. Right. Again. The. Cosmic. Order. In. Heaven. &. On. Earth. Upon. The. Altar. Of. Apollo. Achilles. Beheaded. Troilus. Slicing. Clean. Through. The. Neck. Whilst. Proclaiming. A. Sudden. Surging. Of. Undying. Love. A. Madness. Brought. Upon. Him. By. Eros. At. The. Perilous. Impulsive. Instigation. Of. The. Goddess. Aphrodite. Troilus. Would. Not. Reciprocate. This. Erotic. Attention. From. Achilles. So. Was. Mercilessly. Murdered. Achilles. Holding. His. Head. Succoured. On. Cold. Lips. To. Be. Witnessed. By. Hector. &. Apollo. Achilles. Upon. This. Sudden. Visitation. By. His. Enemy. He. Threw. The. Head. Of. His. Victim. At. Hector. To. Catch. It. As. He. Had. Cried. Out. To. This. Demi. God. That. He. Was. A. Murderer. & So. He. Must. Now. Also. Be. Made. Dead. Which. Must. Have. Only. Profoundly. Bemused. Achilles. Who. For. Now. Would. Depart. Presently. There. Would. Be. No. More. Death. For. Achilles. There. Was. The. Mere. Pure. Pleasure. In. Savouring. That. His. Atrocious. Act. Was. Causing. Heartfelt. Pain. Hector. Stunned. Apollo. Witnessed. The. Blood. On. His. Sacred Altar. Morality. Defiled. Thus. Also. Defiling. The. Honour. Of. The. Sun. God. Thus.  Achilles. Ill. Fate. Was. Sealed. So. As. To. Have. Mortal. Decency. Return. To. The. World. To. End. Any. Divine. Grief. Yet. The. Gods. Had. Their. Allegiances. Although. It. Was. Ordained. That. Achilles. Would. Die. Hector. Would. Die. Too. &. Beforehand. With. Athena. Not. To. Be. Outdone. By. The. Sun. God. &. As. If. In. Parallel. To. Him. To. First. Bring. On. Hector’s. Lethal. Downfall. Unrighteousness. Unfair. For. The. First. Warrior. Of. Troy. As. He. Was. Deceived. To. Return. To. Fight. Achilles. In. Their. Stand. Alone. Duel. When. Athena. Disguised. Herself. To. Be. Beside. Hector. As. Deiphobus. Which. Renewed. Hector’s. Courage. Yet. At. A. Crucial. Point. Of. This. One. On. One. Battle. In. Desperate. Need. Of. Support. Mortal. Or. Divine. Hector. Suddenly. Realizes. There. Is. Only. Empty. Air. Beside. Him. Dread. Vertigo. He. Is. Alone. That. He. Has. Been. Divinely. Lied. Too. Such. Is. The. Unfaithful. Nuances. Of. The. Gods. To. Suit. Themselves. To. Give. False. Hope. To. Mortals. To. Demand. They. Trust. The. Gods. To. Only. Abandon. Them. Like. Birds. Flying. Off. Into. The. Distant. Sky. Now. Indifferent. To. Human. Tragedy. When. Interest. In. Human. Affairs. Is. Lost. &. Probably. Due. To. Some. Minor. Whimsy. Distraction.  Hector. To. Die. In. Vain. From. The. Violence. Of. Achilles. Perhaps. His. Last. Mortal. Sight. As. His. Blood. Spattered. Head. Thrusts. Up. In. One. Final. Reflex. Action. Is. That. Of. The. Blinding. Sun. Apollo. Looking. Down. At. This. Human. Sacrifice. Dispassionately. To. Know. Nothing. Can. Be. Done. Despite. Athena’s. Treachery. For. The. Fates. Who. Can. Have. Ultimate. Say. Have. Ordained. Hector. Must. Die. By. The. Sword. Of. Achilles. Despite. His. Nobility. Humanity. Deceived. By. False. Promise. Holy. Deception. To. Not. Be. Told. All. That. Will. Be. Noble. Righteous. Hector. Butchered. Like. An. Oxen. By. An. Inhumane. Brute. It. Is. No. Matter. For. Hector. That. There. Will. Be. Divine. Revenge. This. Is. No. Recompense. For. He. Is. Forever. Gone. Lifeless. Without. Breath. A. Rope. Through. Punctured. Ankle. Holes. To. Be. Dragged. Behind. A. Chariot. Of. His. Still. Wrathful. Murderer. Athena. Athenian. Goddess. Of. Wisdom. &. Goddess. Of. War. Who. Would. On. Occasion. Discipline. Impulsive. Achilles. To. Be. Even. More. Victoriously. Efficient. In. His. Killing. &. To. Protect. Him. While. He. ‘Worked’. Yet. At. Times. It. Was. Best. To. Let. Achilles. Run. Wildly. Viciously. Wrathfully. Amok. In. Full. Fury. As. Was. The. Case. After. The. Death. Of. Patroclus. When. Achilles. Cut. Down. The. Many. Trojans. Who. Had. Swarmed. Like. Locusts. To. The. River. Xanthus. Which. Was. By. Troy. To. Flee. From. Him. It. Is. No. Use. Their. Piling. Dead. Bodies. To. Now. Litter. The. Rushing. Whirlpool. Waters. Where. Achilles. Slaughters. More. &. More. &. More. The. Rhythm. Of. Death. Unceasing. How. Is. It. That. He. Can. Frighteningly. Be. Ceaselessly. Without. Mercy? Such. Was. His. Love. Of. Patroclus. Such. Would. Be. The. Wrathful. Expression. Of. His. Grievous. Fury. The. Whirling. River. Now. A. Violent. Red. To. Think. Of. A. Copper. Red. River. In. Spain. Unholy. Massacre. Human. Corpses. As. Soil. Particles. Immersed. In. Their. Own. Blood. The. River. God. Xanthus. Appearing. To. Implore. Achilles. To. Cease. His. Mass. Barbarity. Murder. Without. End. For. That. Is. What. It. Was. When. No. Trojan. Could. Even. Capably. Defend. Himself. Against. This. Demi. God. Beast. Let. Alone. Fight. Him. When. His. Arm. Was. At. Last. A. Little. Weary. Twelve. Trojans. Were. Rounded. Up. Instead. &. Strapped. Together. To. Be. Taken. &.  Certainly. Later. Be. A. Blood. Sacrifice. For. Patroclus. Sake. Yes. No. Matter. What. Achilles. Would. Show. No. Pity. Not. Even. To. A. Young. Son. Of. Priam. Who. Achilles. Had. Once. Caught. &. Sold. Off. As. A. Slave. To. The. Son .Of. Jason. Yet. Eventually. If. One. Has. Ascertained. A. Version. Of. The. Story. Correctly. To. Have. A. Stranger. Kindly. Have. Him. Released. From. His. Chains. &. To. Finally. Escape. To. Be. Back. In. Troy. For. Several. Days. &. Now. Again. By. A. Riverbank. To. Be. In. The. Presence. Of. A. Mocking. Achilles. With. Spear. In. Hand. To. Mockingly. Speak. Of. A. Miracle. Resurrection. When. None. Did. Occur. &. When. None. Would. Occur. The. House. Of . Death. Now. Ceremoniously. Keenly. Awaited. For. Achilles. Next. Quick. Offering. Which. Would. Be. This. Unfortunate. Trojan. Whose. Good. Fortune. Had. Now. Run. Out. To. Have. Ill. Fortune. Doubly. Take. Its. Place. As. If. No. Matter. What. Human. Action. Is. Taken. Fate. Will. Finally. Draw. A. Person. To. Their. Destiny. No. Matter. What. Human. Resistance. May. Delay. But. It. Will. Not. Change. What. Will. Be. Achilles. Mocking. His. Tragic. Victim. Who. Pleaded. For. Mercy. Achilles. Now. After. The. Killing. Of. Patroclus. Would. With. Renewed. Blood. Thirsty. Zealotry. Fanatically. Show. No. Mercy. Evermore. &. So. Joyfully. Sliced. This. Frightened. Trojan. With. His. Sword. To. The. Collarbone. At. The. Point. Of. The. Neck. The. Corpse. Drenched. In. Dark. Blood. Was. Unceremoniously. Thrown. By. The. Foot. Into. The. River. For. The. Fish. To. Feast. The. River. Divinity. Xanthus. To. Say. To. Achilles. To. Stay. Away. For. The. River. Is. So. Impurely. Stained. So. Choked. With. Dead. Men. To. Stop. Its. Flow. To. Have. No. Moving. Current. Is. As. To. Be. Dead. Even. For. An. Immortal. Such. As. Xanthus. &. Knowing. That. One. Should. At. Least. Show. Due. Respect. To. The. Divine. When. That. Divine. May. Prove. Too. Strong. To. Be. Defeated. Achilles. Would. Agree. To. Kill. Only. Outside. The. River. Yet. When. A. Sympathetic. Xanthus. Calls. Out. To. Apollo. To. Aid. The. Trojans. An. Insane. Maddened. Achilles. With. Spear. &. Like. A. Raging. Bull. Defied. Even  Xanthus. To. Enter. Back. Into. The. River. Which. Has. This. River. Divinity. To. Become. A. Large. Wave. Hurtling. The. Hacked. Corpses. About. Him. To. Quench. Achilles. Who. Firmly. Held. Up. His. Shield. Against. This. Lethal. Tide. Which. Hurled. Him. To. An. Oak. Tree. Which. He. Dearly. Clung. Too. Yet. Along. With. A. Collapsing. Cliff. It. Fell. Away. With. Trunk. & Roots. Pulling. Down. Onto. The. River. To. Dam. It. From. Bank. To. Bank. With. Achilles. Emerging. Wildly. From. A. Whirlpool. To. Furiously. Head. Back. To. The. Plain. Yet. This. Wave. With. It’s Fury. Would. Not. Give. Achilles. Any. Chance. Who. Had. To Survive. Its. Monstrous. Crowning. Crest. That. Came. Upon. Him. Crying. Out. To. Zeus. &. To. Thetis. His. Mother. Of. Feeling. Betrayed. That. His. Dismal. Fate. Was. To. Dismally. Drown. To. Then.  Bitterly. Proclaim. It. Would. Have. Been. Best. To. Die. Nobly. By. Hector’s Hand. Yet. Poseidon. &. Athena. Would. Save. Achilles. Pulling. Him. Away. From. The. Fury. Of. These. Storming. Killer. Waters. To. Soon. Instead. Have. Hector. As. His. Victim. To. Be. Ruthlessly. Cut. Down. By. This. Warring. Half-God. Half. Man. Machine. Monster. Worse. Still. Other. Achaeans. Suddenly. Appearing. Like. Some. Murderous. Street. Gang. &.As. If. With. Flick. Knives. To. Furiously Stab. The. Still. Warm. Corpse. Of. This. First. Trojan. Who. Like. Any. Hero. Dying. Bravely. In. Battle. Is. Deserving. Of. Eternal. Honour. To. Always. Be. Remembered. As. Recompense. A. Commemorative. Code. Which. The. Greeks. Know. Must. Be. Respected. Yet. Achilles. To. Dishonourably. Drag. His. Body. Behind. A. Chariot. Around. Troy’s. Walls. Queen. Hecuba. Wailing. For. Her. Dishonoured. Dead. Son. For. These. Greeks. There. Is. No. Shame. There. Is. No. Honour. Yet. There. Is. Athena. Their. So. Called. Noble. First. Woman. Who. Had. Deceived. This. Noble. Trojan. Prince. Leading. Him. To. His. Death. Not. A. Male. Divinity. Doing. This. Damage. But. A. Female. One. It. Is. Suggested. That. Athena. Represents. A. Lingering. Legacy. When. In. Much. Earlier. Ancient. Times. There. Had. Been. Much. More. Of. A. Gender. Equivalence. Between. Male. &. Female. Divinities. As. Was. The. Case. In. Early. Sumerian. Societies. When. There. Was. Still. For. Awhile. An. Egalitarian. Feature. To. Societal. &. Gender. Relationships. Duly. Reflected. In. The. Creation. Myths. Which. Had. Democratic. Assemblies. Of. Both. Gods. &. Goddesses. Who. Would. For. Instance. Elect. Marduk. To. Successfully. Defeat. Tiamat. Primeval. Goddess. Of. Chaos. &. The. Salt. Sea. Bitter, Watery. Turbulent. Fluctuating. Without. Stillness. Never. Stable. Or. Well. Defined. Always. Moving. Currents. Of. Whole. Oceans. Across. The. Earth. To. Not. Be. Easily. Grasped. By. Human. Comprehension. Yet. In. Such. Tumultuous. Expansive. Salt. Waters. Is. Also. Marine. Life. Humanly. Utilized. To. Help. Sustain. Human. Life. This. Anthropoid. Species. To. Overlord. The. Whole. Earth. Who. Will. Devise. Anthropoid. Divinities. Yet. To. Also. Have. The. Astronomy. Of. The. Heavens. Envisaged. As. Other. Life. Forms. From. Here. On. Earth. To. All. Perhaps. Sublimely. Become. As. Subordinate. As. The. Domesticated. Beasts. Of. Human. Mastery. Thus. For. Humanity. To. Ultimately. Domesticate. Both. The. Cosmos. &. The. World. A. Whole. Universe. Measured. By. Human. Dominion. Water. Is. Life. Recognized. By. Humanity. As. An. Essential. Element. Vital. In. Order. For. All. Living. Things. To. Exist. Sea. Land. Sky. Cosmos. The. Biology. Of. Life. On. This. Earth. To. Intertwine. Emerge. From. A. Whirling. Twirling. Gaseous. Universe. Comets. Their. Long. Thin. Tails. As. Snakes. On. Rock. Carvings. Their. Sudden. Apocalyptic. Collisions. Likened. To. Bulls. Thrusting. Their. Horns. Into. The. Very. Recesses. Of. This. Carved. Out. Still. Eroding. World. The. Taurus. Meteors. The Taurus. Mountains. Bright. White. Showers. Sparkling.  From. The. Heavens. Yet. For. Now. To. Meditate. On. Much. Nearer. To. Earth. Grey. Cold. Showers. From. Those. Thunder. Clouds. Entrapped. Amid. High. Steep. Peaks. Thunderous. Rains. Helping. To. Shape. A. Grand. Environ. From. Which. Two. Magnificent. Rivers. In. Parallel. Emerge. With. Enriching. Fine. Silt. In. Their. Pure. Waters. To. Make. The. Plains. Of. Mesopotamia. Fertile. With. Every. Great. Flood. The. Tigris. &. Euphrates. To. Strongly. Cut. Across. From. The. Mountains. Of. Anatolia. To. The. Sea. Of. The. Persian. Gulf. Symbolic. Umbilical. Cords. Of. The. Creation. Of. Mother. Earth. To. Human. Civilization. To. Perhaps. Have. Affinity. With. Other. Maternal. Watery. Lifelines. Such. As. The. Nile. The. Amazon. The. Mekong. The. Yellow. The. Danube. The. Mississippi. The. Murray-Darling. The. Name. Mesopotamia. Bestowed. By. The. Greeks. Meaning. Land. Between. Two. Rivers. Human. Heterogeneity. Rather. Than. Human. Homogeneity. To. Advance. Human. Development. Psychologically. A. Western. Name. For. A. Near. East. Region. Which. Of. Itself. Is. A. Colonial. Label From. The. Nineteenth. Century. From. Which. Can. Be. Archeologically. Discovered. How. There. Apparently. Was. A. General. Interplay. Of. Knowledge. &. Culture. Between. The. So. Called. Near. East. &. Other. Far. Away. & Surrounding. Regions. Such. As. The. Levant. While. In. Turn. To. Have. Had. Over. Several. Thousand. Years. Ago. A. Near. East. Migration. To. Europe. Going. Around. The. Mediterranean. Along. The. Danube. To. The. Rhine. Venturing. To. Bring. First Agriculture. Then. Writing. Leading. Abstractedly. To. The. Signifying. Symbols. Of. The. Alphabet. Such. As. The. One. Devised. By. The. Seafaring. Phoenicians. Notably. Utilized. By. The. Hellenes. Who. Perhaps. Were. Even. Influenced. By, The, Proto-Democracy. Of. The. Sumerians. Democratic. Elements. That. Could. Also. Be. Found. In. Other. Various. Societies. Including. Even. In. the. Just. Mentioned. Phoenicians. The. Greeks. Who. Would. Also. Absorb. Ideas. From. Such. Diverse. Cultures. As. Ancient. Egypt. Which. In. The. Case. Of. Its. Pyramids. Most. Probably. Came. From. A. Knowledge. Of. The. Sumerian. Ziggurat. &. Thus. Most. Probably. The. Greeks. Had. Good. Reason. To. Also. Take. Note. Of. The. Land. Between. Two. Rivers. The. Taurus. Mountains. Arising. From. A. Collision. Of. Two. Teutonic. Plates. One. Eurasian. Another. African. Named. As. An. Obvious. Abode. Of. A. Thunder. Storm. Bull. Divinity. Although. Maybe. Not. One. At. Least. Now. Thinks. of. Adad. Of. Canaanite. & Ancient. Mesopotamian. Origin. To. Still. Provide. The. Waters. That. Offer. The. Opportunity. For. Life. To. Teem. On. The. Vast. Plain. Beyond. That. Led. To. The. Sea. To. The. Vicinity. Of. The. Island. Of. Bahrain. Which. Means. Twin. Waters. Or. Two. Seas. Where. There. Was. Also. Dilmun. In. The. Bronze. Age. An. Important. Centre. For. Trade. While. There. Is. Also. Modern. Scholarship. To. State. How. Beforehand. There. Was. Also. Dilmun. Of. Sumerian. Creation. Myth. Perceived. As. The. Possible. Precursor. To. The. Hebraic. Garden. Of. Eden. Yes. The. Tigris. &. Euphrates. Flowing. Into. The. Mouth. Of. The. Persian. Gulf. Sweet. Waters. Bitter. Waters. A. Rhythm. Of. Unity. Occurring. Through. Divine. &. Earthly. Binary. Differences. Two. Opposites. In. Harmony. Fresh. Water. To. Mingle. With. Salt. Water. The. Babylonian. Myth. Enuma. Elish. To. Imperially. Overlay. An. Earlier. Sumerian. Creation. Myth. To. Have. Tiamat. Negatively. Portrayed. Unlike. The Previous. Original. Sumerian. Mother. Goddess. Nammu. Who. Is. Intimated. As. Being. Gently. Nurturing. Yet. Whatever. Calm. Celestial. Harmony. Was. Divinely. Occurring. Between. The. Intermingling. Of. These. Two. Divergent. Primordial. Waters. As. Represented. By. The. Male. Apsu. For. Fresh. Water. &. The. Female. Tiamat. For. Salt. Water. Would. All. Ferociously. Cease. In. The. Divine. Intergenerational. Wars. To. Come. Which. Will. Include. Apsu. Being. Put. To. Sleep. Then. To. Death. By. His. Son. Much. To. The. Now. Wrathful. Chagrin. Of. Tiamat. Who. Had. Warned. Her. Son. Of. Apsu’s. Displeasure. Towards. Him. &. His. Other. Offspring. &. Of. Becoming. A. Threat. Such. Discord. In. The. Politics. Of. The. Divine. Realm. To. Ultimately. Reflect. Most. Poorly. On. Tiamat. Perhaps. Reflecting. Political. Changes. On. Earth. Including. Also. To. Mirror. A. Change. In. The. Gender. Politik. Enuma. Elish. Written. On. The. Instigation. Of. Hammurabi. Will. Emphatically. Recast. Tiamat. As. Akin. To. A. Monstrous. Chaos. With. Vile. Creatures. To. Protect. Her. &. Also. Proclaimed. By. Some. That. She. Had. Become. A. Dragon. All. To. Emphasise. That. Tiamat. Is. Of. No. Deserving. Merit. &. Thus. To. Merit. No. Sympathy. To. Only. To. Be. Deserving. Of. Overthrow. By. A. New. Aspiring. Male. Hero. Supposedly. Beneficial. For. This. World. &. Humanity. Which. Is. Thus. Singularly. Achieved. By. Marduk. Which. Will. Aid. To. Authenticate. His. Claim. To. Supreme. Heavenly. Leadership. Which. Will. Have. Him. Compared. To. Zeus. &. Jupiter. To. Have. Hammurabi. Famed. For. His. Law. Code. Which. He. Claimed. Came. To. Him. By. Way. Of. Shamash. God. Of. The Sun. & Of. Justice. Of. Ancient. Mesopotamia. His. Rule. Would. Signal. In. Evidential. Archaeological. Terms. A. Final. Shift. From. Any. Earlier. Sumerian. Primal. More. Egalitarian. Social. Models. To. A. Now. Far. More. Developed. Highly. Bureaucratized. Babylonian. Hierarchical. One. &. Certainly. Also. To. Be. Perceived. As. A. Patriarchal. Autocracy. Sumeria. Initially. Only. Belatedly. Known. Through. The. Babylonian. Record. &. In. These. Modern. Times. Relatively. Recently. In. The. Nineteenth. Century. Although. Human. Civilization. Still. Abstractly. Exists. In. A. Now. Unseen. Sumerian. Epoch. For. Instance. As. By. Way. Of. Measuring. Time. Through. The. Use. Of. An. Annual. Calendar. &. By. Way. Of. The. Recording. Of. Human. Thought. &. Observation. With. The. Use. Of. Writing. Perhaps. In. More. Physical. Terms. Sumerian. Culture. Can. Be. Acknowledged. For. The. Invention. Of. The. Wheel. Which. Would. Initially. Be. Utilized. For. Transporting. Heavy. Loads. For. War. Chariots. &. For. Pottery. Along. With. Such. Emerging. Technology. Was. The. Rise. Of. Urban. Civilization. Itself. Which. Paradoxically. Would. Come. About. From. A. Shift. To. A. Sedentary. Way. of. Living. Due. To. The. Development. Of. Agriculture. Yet. By. Domesticating. The. Landscape. There. Would. Also. Be. A. Domestication. Of. Human. Culture. When. Stillness. Essentially. Replaced. Movement. Leading. To. A. Realignment. Of. Human. Thought. To. Paradoxically. Be. Even. More. Attune. With. The. Revolving. Movements. Of. The. Universe. By. Which. The. Moving. Stars. Must. Have. Also. Been. Observed. When. Humanity. Was. Nomadic. Yet. To. Now. More. So. Match. Up. With. The. Regular. Transformative. Climatic. Seasons. Of. The. Earth. Which. From. A. Terrestrial. Human. Point. Of. View. Were. Divine. &. Natural. Cycles. Inclusive. Of. Both. Cosmos. &. Earth. By. Which. To. Rely. Upon. &. Respect. In. Order. To. Successfully. Guarantee. A. Bountiful. Harvest. The. Soil. Of. The. Great. Mother. Which. Is. This. Earth. Is. Literally. &. Metaphorically. The. World’s. Womb. For. All. Seed. &. For. Every. Seed. To. Fertilize. Gaia. Must. Be. Appeased. Yet. This. Was. A. Dependent. Status. To. Be Finally. Resisted. When. The. Human. Mind. In. An. Increasingly. Urbanised. Male. Dominated. World. Saw. Fit. To. Shift. Away. From. Any. Balanced. Harmony. With. Nature. Now. Interpreted. As. Subservient. &. To. Speak. Very. Generally. To. Eventually. Have. A. Seismic. Role. Reversal. With. The. Relationship. Between. Land. &. Anthropoid. To. Have. Humanity. Be. Master. &. To. Validate. Its. Resistance. To. The. Maternal. Natural. World. By. Subordinating. It. To. A. Supposed. Divine. Wisdom. Based. Along. Patriarchal. Lines. To. Still. Respect. Heaven. Over. Earth. Yet. A. Heaven. More. So. With. A. Distinctly. Human. Image. Pertinently. With. A. Lone. Male. Mask. To. Have. Everything. Here. On. Earth. Including. The. Reproduction. Of. Life. Both. In. Biological. &. Vegetable. Form. To. Now. Be. Perceived. From. A. Divine. Point. Of. View. Supremely. Masculine. A. World. Guided. By. Men. To. Also. Overseer. The. Seasonal Equinoxes. Which. Although. One. May. Like. To. Relate. Back. To. Feminine. Agricultural. Aspects. Of. Regeneration. &.With. Any. Such. Remaining. Female. Divinity. That. Has. Survived. Any. Patriarchal. Purge. To. Still. Now. Be. Seen. With. A. Supreme. Male. Overlord. In. Mind. Who. By. Omnipotent. Inference. If. Not. By. Direct. Command. Only. Allows. Any. Other. Divine. Activity. Under. A. Male. Universal. Sovereignty. Yes. The. Greek. Gods. Do. What. They. Will. But. With. Zeus’s. Permission. Who. Despite. His. Own. Many. Obvious. Human. Like. Impieties. Still. Finally. Eternally Remains. An. Overbearing. Ultimate. Divine. Good. Hector. May. Have. Sighted. The. Sun. In. Death. Yet. He. Would. Have. Had. To. Know. Zeus. Was. Steadying. Apollo’s. Hand. To. Not. Strike. Achilles. Down. For. Zeus. If. He. So. Chooses. To. Will. Punish. Even. A. Divinity. If. One. Does. Disobey. Him. As. Had. So. Grievously. Happened. With. The. Titan. Prometheus. Although. Ultimately. For. The. Greeks. Not. Even. Zeus. Would. Supersede. The. Will. Of. The.  Three. Fates. The. Asutely. Triune. Female. Moirai. Of. Clotho. Lachesis. Atropos. Daughters. Of. Nyx. Goddess. Of. Night. &. Erebus. God. Of. Darkness. Emblematic. Divine. Manifestations. From. A. Void. Who. Perhaps. In. This. Counterpoint. Creation. Represent. A. Foundational. Moral. Order. To. Be. Infused. Within. All. Existence. Which. If. Even. A. Divine. Command. Went. Counter. To. What. Fate. Had. Ordained. Would. Unleash. An. Uncontrollable. Chaos. Then. A. Nightmare. Nothingness. With. All. That. Stood. On. The. Righteous. Mandate. Of. Reality. To. Be. Felled. With. Any. Original. Alternative. Desire. Also. Vanquished. Requited. To. Only. Have. Triggered. A. Frightening. Forever. Nihilism. Immortal. Despair. No. Tranquil. Void. Thus. Zeus. Listens. To. Hera. That. Nothing. Must. Be. Done. By. Him. To. Change. What. Even. Himself. Had. Predicted. In. Regards. To. His. Own. Son. Sarpedon. Who. Will. Be. Killed. By. Patrocolus. For. Zeus. An. Inner. Tension. Is. Revealed. Between. Avenging. The. Breaking. Of. The. Rule. Of. Hospitality. By. Paris. Due. To. His. Seizure. Of. Helen. Be. &. The. Realisation. That. In. Wanting. To. Uphold. The. Possibility. Of. An. Ultimate. Greek. Victory. It. Will. Ensue. A. Personal. Cost. With. The. Death. Of. A. Son. Fighting. For. The. Survival. Of. Troy. A. Cost. He. Will. Endure. Along. With. Enduring. The. Death. Of. Hector. Who. He. Knows. Must. Take. Place. For. Troy. To. Be. Defeated. Even. Though. Zeus. Admires. Him. Yet. Moral. Duty. Not. Personal. Loyalty. Must. Be. First. Cause. Not. So. With. Achilles. Whose. Ultimate. Loyalty. Is. Always. To. Himself. Who. After. Being. Slighted. By. Agamemnon. Over. The. Matter. Of. A. Female. Slave. Prefers. A. Greek. Defeat. To. Teach. The. Achaeans. A. Lesson. That. He. Must. Be. Respected. That. Without. Him. Victory. Would. Never. Be. Assured. For. He. Would. Not. Accept. To. Be. As. Nothing. Like. All. Other. Achaeans. Were. Ultimately. Perceived. In. The. Eyes. Of. The. Leader. Of. The. Achaeans. While. Through. The. Eyes. Of. Achilles. If. The. Achaeans. Were. To. Lose. Due. To. His. Withdrawal. It. Would. Not. Be. His. Fault. But. Clearly. That. Of. Agamemnon’s. For. Insulting. Him. Arguments. &. Counter. Arguments. All. Such. Vexatious. Issues. Seem. Complex. Nothing. Is. Simple. Except. To. The. Common. Soldier. Who. Loyally. Obeys. The. Commands. Of. Those. Above. Him. Even. Though. This. Trust. In. Such. Aristocratic. Judgement. Can. Be. Tragically. Misplaced. To. Have. Thousands. Of. Men. To. Die. Unnecessarily. Due. To. A. Petty. . Minor. Squabble. Between. Two. Flawed. Tribal. Leaders. Like. All. National. Leaders. To. This. Day. As. If. Mirroring. The. Petulant. Banal. Follies. Of. The. Gods. Who. Also. Argue. Amongst. Themselves. Without. Thought. Of. The. Human. Agony. That. Results. Agamemnon. Is. Grievously. Wrong. To. Disrespect. Achilles. &. Achilles. Is. In. His. Rights. To. Not. Have. His. Myrmidons. Fight. Even. Though. His. Disengagement. Would. Triumphantly. Swing. The. Military. Balance. Favourably. To. The. Trojans. Who. Understandably. Became. So. Adventurous. As. To. Have. At. One. Critical. Point. The. Greeks. Reeling. Back. To. Defending. Their. Own. Ships. From. Being. Burnt. Achilles. Only. Sternly. Looked. On. Knowing. If. He. Came. To. The. Aid. Of. His. Fellow. Achaeans. They. Would. Be. Saved. Yet. He. Would. Have. None. Of. It. Of. Playing. The. Saviour. For. His. Pride. Which. Had. Been. Hurt. Was. Far. More. Important. Than. So. Many. Lives. Of. Common. Men. Who. Would. Have. Pleadingly. Looked. Up. To. The. Gods. For. Aid. Yet. In. Vain. They. Are. Nothing. To. Achilles. In. The. Same. Way. He. Believes. Agamemnon. Thinks. He. Is. Equally. Nothing. Thus. A. Warrior. Nihilism. So. Men. Die. Howling. &. To. Still. Do. Nothing. For. This. Inaction. Some. May. Rightly. Claim. That. Achilles. Was. Grievously. Wrong. As. Literally. Before. Him. Was. A. Red. Line. Of. Achaean. Blood. To. Which. He. Should. Have. Militarily. Responded. For. Patroclus. Whose. Sense. Of. Personal. Duty. Is. To. Achilles. Was. Also. To. The. Overall. Greek. Cause. &. So. Unable. To. Have. Achilles. Forsake. His. Intransigent. Position. For. The. Greater. Good. He. Was. At. Least. Able. To. Persuade. Achilles. To. Have. Him. Hand. Over. To. Patroclus. His. Armour. To. Wear. Into. Battle. To. Inspire. The. Hellenes. Even. Though. Such. Inspiration. Was. Based. On. A. Falsehood. For. Patroclus. Was. Not. Achilles. Which. The. Greeks. &. The. Trojans. Were. Both. Led. To. Believe. False. Hope. False. Fear. &. With. Such. An. Overarching. Delusion. In. Place. Which. Perhaps. Also. Was. In. The. Mind. Of. Patroclus. Who. Knew. Best. Of. All. The. Falsity. Of. The. Public. Claim. That. Achilles. Had. Rallied. &. Re-entered. The. Fray. Would. Go. Beyond. The. Battle. Bounds. Set. By. Both. Fate. &. Achilles. Who. Warned. Him. To. Not. Overstretch. Which. In. the. Most. Simplest. Terms. Was. To. Avert. Greek. Defeat. But. To. Not. Go. After. The. Trojans. In. Any. Overreaching. Attempt. For. Further. Victory. Thus. Tragically. Patroclus. Would. Fatally. Fall. By. Hector’s. Sword. Who. Would. Learn. At. The. Eventual. Cost. Of. His. Own. Life. That. Rather. Than. Securing. Achilles. Passage. To. The. Underworld. He. Was. Actually. Only. Securing. His. Own. As. For. An. Enraged. Achilles. By. Which. Such. Fraught. Strong. Emotion.  Also. Had. With. It. A. Tinge. Of. Hidden. Guilt. In. Not. Listening. To. Patroclus. To. Have. Done. So. To. Avoid. Having. Patroclus. Go. Out. &. Fight. As. Him. &. On. His. Behalf. Where. Upon. Achilles. Could. Have. Also. Advised. &. Protected. Patroclus. In. The. Heat. Of. Battle. While. Now. It. Was. The. Death. Of. His. Dearest. Friend. Which. Despite. The. Portents. Of. Fate. Could. Possibly. Have. Been. Avoided. That. Would. Now. Bitterly. Draw. Achilles. Back. Into. The. Struggle. Which. Despite. Being. For. Selfish. Reasons. Would. Also. Help. To. Militarily. Serve. To. Rebalance. The. Likelihood. Of. Victory. Back. Towards. The. Greeks. Much. To. The. Secret. Relief. Of. Agamemnon. Thus. Hector. Who. Would. Have. Joyously. Believed. Ultimate. Victory. For. Troy. Was. Thankfully. Finally. At. Hand. Thinking. That. With. Apollo’s Help. He. Had. Killed. Achilles. When. In. Actuality. It. Was. Patroclus. Who. Had. Died. &. So. Had. At. This. Moment. Of. Celebratory. Delusion. The. Reality. Was. That. Hector. Had. Not. Only. Sealed. His. Own. Tragic. Fate. But. The. Damned. Fate. Of. Troy. Thus. Despite. The. Competing. Doubts. Desires. Strivings. Ambitions. Illusions. Strategies. Of. Both. Gods. &. Mortals. There. Can. Still. Be. The. Inevitable. Outcomes. That. Fate. Has. Set. Down. In. Which. Zeus. &. All. Other. Divinities. Know. They. Must. Finally. Submissively. Trust. &. By. Which. Those. Who. Are. About. To. Die. Must. Also. Trust. To. Comprehend. That. The. Workings. Of. The. Universe. In. Which. All. Individuals. Are. But. A. Grain. Has. To. Lead. Towards. Justice. &. By. Trusting. In. Such. Just. Workmanship. Of. The. Cosmos. May. Be. Such. Individual. Solace. For. To. Speak. Fatalistically. If. Death. Is. Inevitable. Anyway. Best. To. Die. With. Intent. To. Principle. To. Have. A. Good. Purpose. To. Be. Achieved. Which. So. Often. Goes. Beyond. Self. Preservation. The. Consolation. Of. Philosophy. To. Cling. To. Such. Hope. No. Matter. How. Seemingly. Forlorn. As. A. Hurtling. Blade. Slices. Into. Thy. Mortal. Self. To. Be. A. Shattered. Corpse. Still. With. So. Much. To. Live. For. Yet. To. Believe. To. Have. Not. Died. In. Vain. A. Duty. For. The. Survivors. To. Emphatically. Strive. After. That. Such. A. Belief. Is. Real. That. Fate. Is. Not. Meant. To. Represent. Some. Dark. Human. Chasm. But. Is. For. A. Human. Striving. To. Install. &. Maintain. Justice. On. Earth. For. Human. Life. To. Be. Enlightened. By. Such. A. Moral. Sense. Above. All. Other. Human. Ambition. &. Activity. For. Zeus. To. Recognize. This. As. There. Below. On. Earth. He. Painfully. Sights. The. Death. Of. His. Son. Hera. To. Remind. Him. Trust. &. Obey. For. There. Is. No. Better. Way. Do. Not. Try. To. Change. To. Only. Then. Have. A. Worse. Chaos. Resume. By. Way. Of. The. Other. Gods.  Feeling. They. Now. Had. Licence. To. Also. Attempt. To. Defy. Fate. By. Seeking. Out. To. Also. Save. Their. Favoured. Mortal. Zeus. Who. Had. Faced. Rebellion. From. The. Other. Gods. Knew. He. Could. Not.  Undermine. The. Edicts. Of. Fate. While. Working. To. Strengthen. His. Cosmic. Authority. Hera. Who. Would. Know. This. Thus. Espoused. The. Corporate. Speak. For. Fate. To. Keep. Her. Husband. In. Line. Especially. When. She. Also. Vengefully. Sides. With. The. Achaeans. After. All. She. Was. Along. With. Athena. Rejected. By. Paris. When. He. Chose. To. Give. The. Golden. Apple. To. Aphrodite. Who. Promised. The. Young. Innocent. Shepherd. Helen. In. Return. For. Him. Judging. Her. The. Fairest. Goddess. Of. The. Three. Which. An. Unenviable. Role. Bestowed. On. Him. By. Zeus. Who. Perhaps. Feared. To. Make. Such. A. Difficult. Choice. Knowing. He. Risked. The. Fury. From. Any. Of. The. Other. Two. Passed. Over. A. Twin. Damnation. That. Could. Now. Be. Accommodated. Upon. Paris. But. Now. Not. Only. On. Himself. But. Also. On. His. Nation. For. The. Capture. Of. Menalaus’s. Wife. To. Troy. Would. Set. Off. A. Thousand. Ships. Where. At. Ilium. The. Prescribed. Destinies. Of. Many. Were. To. Be. Bitterly. Played. Out. To. Damned. Ends. Hades. The. True. Victor. From. The. Judgement. Of. Paris. Death. As. A. Supreme. Beauty. A. Void. In. Which. Nothing. Ages. Is. Nothing. To. Allow. For. A. Heroic. Memory. To. Remain. Absolute. Within. The. Memories. Of. The. Still. Living. To. Overcome. A. Foreboding. Of. Ill. Fate. Now. Wholly. Feminized. A. Mythological. Misogyny. At. Work. Through. The. Spiritualized. Devious. Male. Equation. Of. A. Female. Life. Spirit. With. A. Negative. Sensibility. Deathly. Immoral. The. Genesis. Of. Death. To. Have. This. Earth. The. Great. Mother. Whose. Soil. Is. The. Regenerative. Womb. Of. Life. Recast. As. An. Underworld. Tomb. Of. Eternal. Death. As. Described. In. Heroic. Journeys. By. Both. Divinities. &. Mortals. To. An. Ominous. World. Of. Entrapped. Dead. Which. Register. Onto. The. Human. Mind. A. Hostile. Subterranean. Realm. Although. The. Earth’s. Crust. Provides. Immediate. Material. &. Agricultural. Sustenance. To. Humankind. A. Higher. Moral. Purpose. To. Be. Served. By. Voluntarily. Descending. To. Such. A. Darkly. Underworld. &. To. Return. Positively. Transformed. Through. Overcoming. The. Foreboding. Threat. Of. Succumbing. To. A. Deathly. Eternal. Acquiescence. Of. Course. There. Was. Persephone. Who. Was. Kidnapped. By. Hades. &. Taken. To. The. Realm. Of. The. Dead. With. Zeus. Having. To. Intervene. So. Demeter. Can. Be. Returned. To. Her. Harvest. Goddess. Mother. Persephone. For. Spring. &. Summer. Whilst. She. Must. Return. For. Autumn. &. Winter. Due. To. Swallowing. Pomegranate. Seeds. In. Hades. Which. As. The. Fates. Would. Have. It. Would. Normally. Restrict. Her. From. Ever. Seeing. The. Surface. Again. As. A. Mortal. Cannot. Usually. Leave. The. Underworld. Once. Anything. From. It. Has. Been. Eaten. Yet. Demeter. Who. Searched. For. Her. Beloved. Daughter. Refused. For. The. Corn. Harvest. To. Occur. While. Persephone. Was. Entrapped. In. The. Underworld. Thus. Forcing. Zeus. To. Initiate. A. Compromise. Otherwise. There. Would. Be. Starvation. Winter. Especially. Becomes. A. Season. Of. Planetary. Emotional. Austerity. With. Demeter. Residing. Against. Her. Will. In. The. Kingdom. Of. The. Dead. While. A. Seasonal. Celebratory. Mood. Prevails. With. Spring. &. Summer. When. Persephone. Guided. Back. By. Hermes. Is. Reunited. With. Demeter. Can. Stay. On. The. Earth. The. Feminine. May. Have. Had. A. Victory. &. Rightly. So. To. Bring. On. Some. Semblance. Of. Justice. To. What. Is. A. Heinous. Crime. There. Were. The. Elysian. Mysteries. A. significant. Agrarian. Cult. At. Eleusis. In. The. Vicinity. Of. Athens. Which. It. Is. Said. Whose. Rites. Were. Kept. Secret. With. Two. Major. Celebratory. Festivals. Of. The. Lesser. &. Greater. Mysteries. In. Spring. &. Summer. With. Demeter’s. Ascension. From. The. Underworld. Grip. Of. Hades. Typifying. The. Ongoing. Renewal. Of. Life. That. A. Human. Soul. Can. Hope. For-

  Like strands of the same rope which form to keep it all together a multiplicity of inner voices of the same mental chorus…a mutual interweaving humming of the brain with its multitude workings…(…yet each mindful deliberation distinctively spatially apart…yes…for each one to be distinct…)…in harmony yet there can be a fraying discord due to inner disagreements, queries, doubts, alternative opinions…yes, a general chaos…nevertheless, searching…always searching…to hopefully arrive at what may be true…to seek after reassurance…(…oh yes…yet it has been right to assume how the truth may always seem extreme at first sight in a world full of so many lies…)…what is truth…?

MIND CHORUS

I

 ‘The Trojan horse with its alluring deception of an everlasting peace seemingly never ceases to entice humanity to pleasantly behold it (perhaps much like the human likening of the golden calf) but to lead not to any requited salvation but rather always only to an unforeseen unforgiving damnation. Peace; it is a desirable state of human affairs; not only to be sought between nations but also to be sought within societies themselves, thus co-operation rather than confrontation is seen as the premier alternative in order to secure human tranquillity. To societally have an equilibrium which leads to social harmony rather than any imbalance which only weights towards social disorder. Thus it can appear that after any negative period, of say, social or economic turmoil, it is advocated that differences of opinion and desired results could possibly be resolved through dialogue by which there may be amongst the ‘war weary’ combatants a willingness to see what can be achieved without the usual round of polarising accusations that may only further entrench already established enmities and with no long lasting equitable solution ever to be reached. 

 ‘…although, …(alternatively)…it has to be admitted that in living memory it is too often the case that there have been too few peace agreements - as well as truth and reconciliation commissions - which have had genuine co-operation between previous viciously violent opponents which can actually attest to successfully power share as well as seek out judicial settlements so a just peace can prevail…nevertheless, a real and authentic process that aims for substantive healing and justice is still a purposeful, humanitarian aspiration to aim for…for it is good when an apparently ‘impossible reconciliation’ does work-

  ‘ …yet there must be trust from all sides so no one will undermine the good will of another in order to gain a distinct advantage. Betrayal. Usually to come about when compromise – so often a positive quality in itself - is instead insincerely utilised as a ‘Trojan horse’ expediency…‘essentially’ brought to bear so as to seemingly overcome an ever ongoing tumultuous cycle of ceasefire-conflict, ceasefire-conflict, ceasefire-conflict…that can go on ad infinitum…for the hopeful to sincerely believe that an authentic good can ultimately be cemented, to justify to one’s self at least, that with the pragmatic lowering of one’s idealistic expectations, a ‘peace of sorts’ will be enabled, to be seen as ‘best’ when the ‘only’ alternative that will apparently remain is ongoing instability or that the final cost of any victory is so high it will be a pyrrhic one. Yet, afterwards when all is ‘guaranteed’…to have no turning back…yes, only when it is too late, with any so called ‘reasonable compromise’ already ‘achieved’, is it bitterly realised a too great a cost has been paid, so often to be at the expense of those who naively, truly did believe that they would not be betrayed, who trusted that any such negotiated process between wholly opposing forces could arrive at the said equitable outcome that was seemingly so desired by all…instead, to suffer humiliation, but worse, now to be powerless. To be unable to redeem one’s self from a new disadvantageous position once all rhetorical as well as actual disguise is finally lifted, yes to become clearly visible. To have given up the high ground, now exposed on lower plains-  

 ‘In an extreme case the fog to lift between yourself and what you thought was your one single opponent to clearly see - yet when it is too late - you have always been surrounded by other enemies, to now have no escape other than to ‘negotiate’ so as to simply only save one’s very self…

 ‘Yet, to reiterate: it is not a humiliation akin to that which can be suffered by a defeated foe, cajoled to sign a treaty enforced by a powerful victor that which so singularly adds to the indignity of having lost; no, not a retributive ‘peace’ treaty which, internationally, would only obviously sow the ‘dark seeds’ of new revenge and new fear and new atrocity to be ‘harvested’ by the next war-ready-young generation; but rather a humiliation akin, at first glance, that is associated with something so apparently benign in a so called peacetime domestic arena-

   A faded Bringing Australia Together election poster. 

 ‘…for what suddenly comes to mind from a different sideways mental avenue that at this present moment of earthly time which is memorably from one’s more earlier youthful days is not the Saturday nights at hotel band venues or house parties or holidays on the coast or uni days or later travels to far off places overseas and a metaphorical million other social and daily events that are preferable to think back too but rather to a historical ‘background event’ that had no immediate direct bearing on one’s good life while still not in full time employment but in hindsight perhaps one should have been more attentive for one now thinks of a signature governmental policy which would eventually have an immense major impact on one’s own life…on the lives of many individuals…on whole generations including even on those not yet born…such as something as droll (at least personally so back then…) as a co-operation agreement between the powerful and the powerless- 

 [Complicity: the Apparition of a Discordant Political Commentary]

  ‘…in which all signatories (unwittingly including except for a handful of exceptions even those of the left of the labour movement) of a national mutual agreement revolving around an industrial relations accord - who even with their competing opposite motives ranging from wage justice through to business profitability - could at the time all be initially heralded as victors…but it would gradually turn out over time that political and economic power would especially still shift spuriously towards those already most able to prosper so as to have it become dismally clear that the most vulnerable - usually with low income and lacking  secure employment and who would certainly remain in need of the most state protection from any social or economic vicissitude - would eventually become irrevocably, unseemly ever more disadvantaged-

 “Be careful what you unwittingly wish for!” 

‘After the many years one has to still agree…yes…to have so many left today to live a precariously economic life-

 “The fate of each mortal life akin to a falling leaf directed by the wind!” (To think of a Homeric quote regarding human generations which come and go just like leaves come and go to be new but to then be old and be spread across the earth by the breath of Gaia; however, with new leaves from still living trees to come again with each new seasonally resurrected Spring. 

 Yet while mentally delving deeper into ancient fate to think that what had fatally passed to still affect what was yet to come for what is newly born).

[Multi-Channel: Inner Voices]

 ‘Echoes. Abysses. In a darkened square exhibition room with a circle of large thin screens at head height on thin supports. A multi-channel exhibition with a different image on each screen and in the centre a large square leather cushion couch to sit on. (As if I to also have a multi-channel memory). Yet not to sit, but to circle around it, always moving to view each image to give each one equal attention. Square. Circle. Haunting music, at times fully enveloping the mind with a heightened crescendo of dramatic sounds. Mountain scenes. Ice. Snow. Greenland. Switzerland. Ice cliffs. Freezing lakes. Icy rivers. A sheet of white. Walking around. A hooded man walking in a circle in such a nirvana vision of all white. Emptiness. Mirroring this man by walking as if metaphorically side by side with him in the physical darkness. To have no sight except to only have sight of what is on electronic screens. Black. White. Black birds circling in a white sky. A white bird flying across a white wall of ice. Everything fading into darkness between each new series of related images. Underworld caves. Clasping hands. Then forcefully letting go. Golden leaves. A hand holding a branch. To know to cling to nature when humanity fails. Gold. Leaves. Human. Spirits. Angels. Beauty. Terrifies-

  “I. Go. On.”

 ‘Deep reflection. Needed. A reflecting of images. Shimmering. Circle mirrors held in rivers surrounded by mountains. Mountain streams. Mountain canyons. All icy. Cold. White reflecting snow. White. On. White. Reality in the mind. Birds, always birds. Angels. Mirrors. Angled. In the human hands. Of one male being. Heavy black coated. Still. Yet. Slightly moving. To have slightly moving mirrored reflections. Always pointing skywards. The sides of high cliff walls. Bird formations. The slight swing of eternity. To and fro. Shimmering light. Always. (To finally have a white screen. A single man. Walking in a line. Across empty space. No reference to time. A pilgrim within a vast white eternal destiny). Yet in the search of reality there are, there can always misgivings. Misdirections. Unseen. Blind spots.  (Where upon chaos can possibly arise). A super-positioning of reality. (Multiple. Realities). (Quantum. Possibilities- 

 Mortal lives scattered. Yet there can also be an underlying, invisible unity. The world stable yet also ever changing while linked to the sameness from before and so always also imperceptibly transformed. Past. Present. Future. Together. Time. Existent. Time. Non-existent.  All is wholly absolute yet relative from a single point of view. To have multiplicity. 

  A mental photosynthesis. Transformation of mind. Re-energised. Expanding. Anew.

 Thus from reflecting on the outer to then examine the inner to look into one’s ever whirring mind stream to focus on a relative handful of particular ‘memory leaves’ floating along its fast moving swirling mental currents like the life giving blood within one’s arteries and veins with each floating memory if like a leaf having also within it a myriad array of veins from the main central stem; pertaining to one’s experiences and also to what was known of the experiences of others with all such watery organic composition passing over submerged mind ridges which could, in quantum terms, affect the psychological approach one takes in dealing with the world. 

  To entwine universal nature, mortal being and unending spirit. Water vessels. Blood vessels. Memory vessels. 

 (To suddenly remember the Argo going into unchartered territory, seemingly to the ends of the earth…venturing to not well known, foreign surrounds…Georgia…between two Carpathian mountain ranges…fertile ground, (…metaphorically speaking the truest ‘golden fleece’…)…streaming rivers flowing down from that which bounds the terrain but which also gives its life…the living arc of human experience between birth and death then extinguished, yet to find after deep reflection a fertile inner resolution with the attainment of some wisdom- 

   After meditating one last (final) time on Rilke’s poetic elegies, (yes to put down a book of the Dunio Elegies) so as to ephemerally (in the unseen mind itself) move onto another, yet perhaps more severe, mental orbit: to acutely note how one may devise one’s political, cultural and social outlook by way of one’s (personal) education as well as by (universal) events (…including also what is presented in the world by way of various persuading points of views…which of course may not necessarily be objective, thus in terms of what is true to have to agriculturally discern within one’s mental territory the wheat from the chaff…) to perhaps also be affected also by an intuitive evaluation (instinctively) based on (personally) filtered (varied) observations and experiences…to (even attempt to) homogenise a bearable daily order-  

  ‘STOP-START…interruptions to mental, literal and visual transmission-

  ‘There is, after all, the process of change…what is that other word…? Ah yes, transformation…

   ‘…the nexus between perception and understanding…to realise to know what one is listening, reading or looking at and to trust it to then learn from what is personally sanctioned to be real, (while even to deduce there are other ‘reals’ for there can be other points of view, but what must matter that human values such as justice and equity underlie our notion of universal reality, for to have fairness blossom over corruption…)

  “The mind is an abyss filled with echoes!”

‘…the mind needs liberation…in this world there is a nihilism not of darkness but of glowing neon…it was Nietzsche a philosopher who identified how there can be an emphasis in moving away from what can be perceived to be ‘higher values’ to ‘lower values’ which one may which to visualise in terms of human geometry as a diagonal line whereby it may symbolise humanity en masse going down a hill which is the easy path rather than attempting to ascend to any heightened mental zenith. (To work against the social gravity of the times can be an individual effort which involves going upwards. To go against the tide). Living water reflects. Yet, a social current may not be reflective, to have no serious thought when the immediate priority has become to only take on a passive state of thoughtlessness so that there is no need to exert much effort to be satisfied in what life has to offer to ease one’s way along a smooth path which has no tribulation but only enjoyment…yes, to not be arduous, to live pleasantly, as if akin to the Lotus Eaters who in their slumberous ‘soma state’ were unduly apathetic…(…yes, to see a digital soma today…to stare virtually at screens…to pass the time in an electronic tavern for the mind…happiness, no pain…)…life without struggle…no complaints, for all to enjoy their lives but maybe waste them when there is now every possibility of never reaching one’s full human potential, nor to even care…yes, to laugh through life, which is fine, no complaints, to have no regrets…(cynical laugher). Yet, for the individualistic mind, who wants to rise above any Nietzsche described ‘human herd’ which in the end only leisurely preoccupies itself with wasting away there is only melancholy…(…to have not chosen to go a separate way to go deeper into one’s interior self to discover and enact out one’s multi-dimensionality),… to have only in the end only lived in one dimension, this shortcoming a human tragedy-

 (Yes…it is not a wanting to be of the elite, to think one as above others…but rather that all to be above…for all to equally arrive at one’s true human station…to not be dragged down...or to drag others down- 

[A Cultural Deliberation]

That etching by Gregor which so amused Michael of an elegant Cyclades figure sculpture from Ancient Cyprus with a food chain chicken bucket placed crassly on its refined head, worn as a dunce hat like those seen by the cheering crowds at one-day cricket games and to title it ‘The End of Civilization’-

 ‘To read dystopian literature to understand how there is a state desire to have by different means a narrowing of all thought - most famously either by way of Huxley’s numbing joy or Orwell’s numbing terror or as is so often the case a mixture of these two principle mass stratagems - to make it incapable to even think in any higher order as well as to also to not have the words to articulate what maybe instinctually surmised as incorrect or wrong or abusive so rebellion will become nigh impossible…especially when it is not even possible to intellectually surmise that one is oppressed in the first place…yet, what is maybe worse than to be oppressed by the state is to oppress one’s self-

…as it is said by others: there is fragility, with ourselves as humans…with our ecology…both the human and Gaia’s…with the ‘modern’ urban especially affecting the natural world-

 ‘…to envisage a rainbow is a circle but we rarely see all of it unless at times at some very high vantage point…otherwise the horizon interferes with our view in the same way our mental horizon can interfere with our view of the full infinite spectrum of the universe…circles…to have watched Tibetans in ceremonial gear including wearing wide brimmed decorative head gear and large skull masks dance surrounded by many Tibetans in a square surrounded by small temples and buildings during Tibetan New Year in Xiahe which can be seen as being part of Outer Tibet (although the official map would denote it as within China) and by way of one’s ignorant western eyes to superficially view this ritual performance as a ‘dance of the dead’ being a rhythmic, mesmerizing performance which went for five hours…to be hypnotically as in psychological unison with the heartbeat with the universe…to escape time…and space…birds circling…the large no enormous…thanka…the Sunning of the Buddha…unravelled down a large hill in the chilly morn in front of tens of thousands of Tibetan nomads and many priests…trumpets blowing…to be viewed briefly then stored in human memory for another year….wilderness…(…it is what Neil Murray sings…)…a lone man walking in a white ice wilderness…a linear dark dot…or walking in a line to the edge of the screen in the multi channel installation…there he is in multiples as if in one dimension of space and time yet in many all at once…alone…(abandoned…?)…walking towards a destination which is not made visible but would have to be a sanctuary, to survive, to live, for another day…a white abyss…yes, an abyss is dark…but in the everyday that is only so in our minds…for we do not live in an everyday darkness…(…yet, as Hamlet once deduced nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so…)…from the abyss to arise to new living, life enhancing insight, is this our hope…? 

  Yes, (…and yes again…) to come across a quote from Rilke with its Nietzsche-like overtone who talks of even living within the abyss so that paradise will turn back from its theologically presumed eternal residence so as to thus rather abide within you in this mortal here and now…(…to now predictably think of the  Berlin angels with their long winter coats in Wings of Desire…)…by which the angels shall praise- 

ETERNAL RECURRENCE

Silence Can Be Deadly

 ‘Most of the Myall Creek murderers were hanged which stunned many colonists who could not actually believe in a world whereby the actual life of a ‘savage’ indigenous person could really be seen as of the same human value as their ‘civilised’ selves so as to then be in a sort of collective catatonic shock and so in dire response there then came as mentioned before a different sort of national silence whereby poison ‘gifted’ in flour became an increasingly more common method for genocide rather than outright slaughter so no one could be readily blamed for the mass deaths of indigenous peoples. Lack of evidence. Yet to say again and again and again ad infinitum the evidence is certainly there for all to see in today’s negative political universe with the ongoing historical denial that is invisibly layered upon to this very day to hide the obscene truth. Yes, to have a hallucination of peace based on a silent genocide which is not being truly revealed for with poison becoming a favourable means of mass killing a massacre could remain unrecorded. A whole country’s prosperity founded on a lie; that it has always been at peace with itself. There was no evidence otherwise. To be content with itself by being content with having an infantile avoidance of what is the reality. A nationalist mainstream history with heroes – they are promoted - but also with falsehoods – they are hidden. Perhaps waiting for the moment that it will be mature enough to have revealed. Waiting…oh always waiting…little Johnnie…are you ready yet to take away your newly washed hands from your eyes to look at the human butchery which your daddy cold bloodily committed...?...oh…that is not the wind blowing but human screams. A young country, yes, still very much adolescent, to be besieged with an ever increasing number of nationalist narcissists stridently vocalising their psychopathic prejudices onto the nation’s impressionable mindset to make it venture even more cautiously than before towards a much needed adult maturity…yes, the human brain does not fully develop until it is twenty five years old and Australia in global historical terms can sometimes feel like an entity that is not much past twenty-one…the first flush of youthful, encouragingly rebellious, liberating exuberance now gone…suppressed by an anti-progressive, historically denying cultural impulse which in recent decades has politically come to the dominant fore that has helped to maintain a self inflicted historical amnesia which aids the politically insane who go on striving to try and control everything…nevertheless in some grand display of national cognitive dissonance the beguiling myth of an egalitarian classless society clinically, desperately persists. There were some in power who were sane but now they are gone. To yearn for their return; to herald in some new political prophet who is genuine who is not a self-serving populist who is a true visionary for the good of all. Alas, I see no one coming over the horizon. The sun sets. Darkness. There is only The Great Dictator. To appease my political depression. A comic. (How bitterly ironic and is also a North American). Chaplin. With the square moustache. Officer hat. Officer black tie. Officer uniform. Who proclaims as if speaking for this generation when really he was speaking to an earlier generation burdened by fascism many decades ago which seems to be only fully re-emerging; with refugee boats ceaselessly turned back. In the Arafura Sea. In the Mediterranean. Where despicably there are European countries willingly choosing to adopt with some elation the hard line refugee boat policy of Australia. No brave new world but an insidious one whereby deal can be made with countries to become barriers to stop the flow of a human mass attempting to reach safety from the Global South to the Global North, in Europe to have hard line populist leaders who have found their political stars rise including in countries whose own people had once fled from tyrannies; to have refugees left languishing on islands and humanitarian ships saving refugees crossing the Mediterranean Sea able to face prosecution while other countries refuse entry to those seeking sanctuary; to be tarnished with the label of ‘economic refugees’ to justify such calculated inhumanity. To note refugees risking their lives to cross the dangerous jungles of the Darian Gap which links the South Americas to the Central Americas yet to be only the beginning of an arduous journey to find final sanctuary in North America. To note also in other parts of the world many refugees languishing in vulnerable living situations in the Middle East in Africa and also in Indonesia for years and without rights-  

  History is full of lies. 

  How many an acclaimed white explorer in school text books really relied on their Aboriginal trackers and the goodwill of the indigenous tribes of the lands they went through in order to unwittingly open up the country for further exploitation by these locust-like marauding foreigners. To think of so many main roads and highways are actually laid down where originally were Aboriginal tracks some following song lines that stretched across the whole continent both east-west and north-south.

  Xenophobia. A colonial people that in the mid nineteenth century actually built up an island fortress in Sydney Harbour because of a sincere belief that as a loyal colony of the British Empire the Russians who were warring with England during the Crimea War may sail all the way down from their vast country to attack it. It takes a sea invader to understand the threat of an invasion coming over the ocean. Thus the need to dehumanize your supposed foe even when the ‘enemy’ are desperate refugees who have only chosen to head towards you in flimsy fishing boats is because of the misplaced notion that because you have been a welcoming, civilized nation in the past you shall be so again in the present. The uncivilized can takeover. It is the case in Australia. Yet the barbarian is not necessarily some bestial apparition dressed in a fascist black uniform but rather in business outfits which confer a sense of well ordered civility and reasonableness and so who reasonably choose to dehumanize those they claim to protect only to establish for them a tyranny-   

    ‘So I go over again and again in my oscillating mind and sometimes almost word to word with the same troublesome preoccupations which mostly remain nationally avoided or deflected and so are unresolved and so they return and return not just to myself but to the nation and will do so until a resolution can be arrived at which may only forcefully occur when they are forcefully spoken about…’

Mind Fever

 ‘Like the planetary cycle of the seasons there are also human cycles which follow the same regenerative principles whether it be a new generation or a new empire always emerging from what was once also new but has in turn also become…the latest old…yet with an ageless life force much like a heart pulse to be moving on with each new physical dynamic whether that is another human being emerging from a womb from a passing generation or whether that be another human civilization emerging from the crisis of another civilization which is descending…everything to rise up and fall away cyclically with perhaps an ‘eternal present’ as still an ongoing anchoring mindful mainstay having already had its way to shape what came before to also influence what will become of the world in a near future incantation…generally…to have humanity’s multiple diversities all whirring on various cycles and perhaps at different anthropological speeds yet microscopically corresponding with the DNA double helix of the human gene…universal…nevertheless with historical, cultural, agricultural, cosmological as well as ongoing technical developments only enhancing a more narrowed notion of linear progression as has been the scientific case with so called enlightened human societies in recent centuries…for it to be argued: rather than leading to open thinking for the planet sake’s…with deep time staying far more apparent in indigenous communities who actually are often far more in acute rhythmic scientific tune with the universal rhythmic vibrations of ancient Gaia…overall…to have time envisaged not only as chaos or as cyclical or linear but also as a spiral with an imperceptible notion of ascent or descent…(…to sweat…)…perhaps existing…(…clearly transparent…perspiring water trickles down a hot  brow...yet in the mind’s eye to reflect only a mental linear narrowing…humanly ebbing towards psychological blindness…the accumulating heat is unreal…yes…to deny this climatic change…to not want to conveniently accept any inconvenience…yet only when it will all to be too late…only then to find much needed social and technical solutions but when it is all too late…)…with either any upward or downward impulse of human motion corresponding with a decisive moment of a particular generation…a singular point whether it be in a time of great prosperity and peace or whether it be in a time of great deprivation and war…also including when there was the abstract onset of the theory of relativity as well as quantum mechanics…(…a forehead matrix of droplets…)…the dilution of time…especially through space…which also meanders within human as well as earthbound and cosmic geographies…as seasonal solar impulses from the cosmos can daily affect human perception so too can historical circumstances also sequentially affect human psychology…(…this mental burning…)…thus to perceive any physical and mental reality in both its temporal and permanent variances as both being equally applicable at the same time…in this present…so to speak…(…please help…alas too late…to lose vision…)…& always ongoing but (…a blurring lack of insight…)…also always in the here…(…there is no relief…this heat…oh…I want…sight…)…& now…

  “…to have…” states a sobering voice “…through negative human intrusion for the regenerative to become degenerative-

   Silence. A hot night. To intuitively look back on what has been implicated in what one has thought. (As if also, perhaps, to self-edit rather than self-censor for what will be eventually scribed to produce a proficient presentation). “There is no sense!” 

  ‘To note the diminution of human reason; the political dismissal of morality on the altar of strategic advantage. It was Niccolo Machiavelli who said that politics has no relation to morals- 

  Thinking of the criminal bombing in a New Zealand harbour of the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior by the French secret service which had also tragically cost a man’s life; doing so while switching on the television to watch The French spy series The Bureau as it focuses on the complex politics and wars of the Middle East; especially so in regards to Syria and Iraq during the time of ISIS at the zenith of its unholy power. “It’s all there…the proof for Machiavelli’s dictum.”

  Alliances between older enemies to pragmatically defeat a new very threatening common foe and to know afterwards old enmities will be resumed including an assortment of betrayals that will only lead to even the further loss of innocent life and to a further violent trashing of democratic ideals and legitimate national aspirations. In the Great Game individuals and even individual groups can be sacrificed for the ‘greater good’ of achieving the aims of the largest power players…(…it is something Michael would be all too aware of in regards to Cyprus…)…while the Kurds…it seems will never have their homeland…yes the smaller players who are used…or abused…are always the sacrificial lambs…thus politics has to be reshaped so that it does actually primarily relate to morals and not just to the use of the rhetoric of morality to publicly justify the private aims of high governance for when one often sees what ‘results’ have been achieved what is often only affirmed by such ‘realpolitik’ is how the moral rhetoric rings hollow…yet at the same time there is no point to always focus on a politics of despair as moral results can be achieved even if the motivation in order to achieve them may have been for other far less pious reasons…after all human moments of moral clarity still exist…even if sometimes rare…when it is all too clear that what one is fighting for is just when inversely what is fighting against is all too vividly, tragically unjust…

 “Fight the invaders!” A primal call for survival first announced at the beginning of human history. Ever recurring. 

 ‘Yet to also know how the ‘threat’ of being invaded can be falsely used as an excuse to ‘justify’ a so called ‘necessary’ pre-emptive invasion.’ 

   “We must attack before we are!”

  ‘True…yes…it can be true to do so on occasion but so often it is also not the case…oh so often to have to discern between subterfuge and reality…what is truth?...political mutations of a multi-headed hydra beast… akin to the multitude of snakes that are Medusa’s ‘hair’…(the hearts of warring human beings hardened to stone…human hate…)…to fruitlessly always be cutting off one extension of a harmful multiple to see only another extension emerge…yes…even so when one even attempts to pre-empt the invaders…yet they still come…to even realise that one has also become an invader even though one has thought to have a moral justification…there is none…when one occupies another it is really always for one’s self-gratification…inhuman irrationalities…to conjure beautiful illusions to macabrely justify immoral realities-

 To sweat. 

 ‘To resist an unprovoked assault until one also becomes a provocateur. It is this moral danger that is always to be resisted- 

  A mental tailspin.

 ‘…yes…eternal recurrence…political mutations…yet ultimately there are… (cyclically)…eternal mutations…eternal hydras…

  An Old Dutch painting. Interior domestic scene. Two balding elderly philosophers with beards wearing customary monkish robes. Sitting on oak chairs with an old oak table between them. A chequered black & white floor. With an ancient map of an old empire on the wall behind them. A candle lit to highlight them as well as the furniture and the map otherwise the room is dark with a window yet it cannot be determined if there is sunlight striking its four clear glass panes or that they are reflecting the strong candle light. 

 Philosophy is ancient. History is ancient. So also is the quest for power. Sunlight. Candlelight. What is visible can be seen with one’s eyes those ‘clear glass panes’ yet it is ultimately the mind that must decide as to what is actually being viewed. The mind is represented by the two philosophers who one assumes maybe debating over as to the true source of light; as to what is real or what is a chimera. To what is liberation. To what is oppression. Freedom is a political window pane. Shine the light. Reflect democracy. Reflect terror. Darkness. Light. Natural. Artificial. Real. Unreal. Authentic. Inauthentic. True. False. Eternal. Mortal. What is the spiritual essence of the moral distinction between infinite sunlight and finite candlelight…? 

 “It was St. Augustine who queried that if you remove justice from this world then what will become of kingdoms other than to become gangs of criminals on a large scale…?”

 ‘It is in such a nefarious world that those with power will make sure to have it fully and they will determine ‘freedom’ to be the uninhibited ability to overturn any semblance of democracy wherever it may still arise or still survives…yes, for the only freedom that matters is to have the freedom to both gain and to hold onto total power and such ‘freedom’ seems just as important to have in the corporate world as it is to have in the political sphere; with such complete authority it can also be decided who among the powerless are potentially a threat to their ‘liberty’ who would not want them to imperiously impose on humanity their economic or political will especially to be countered with some ‘absurdist’ or ‘ideal’ claim that everyone had a right to have a just life which would mean to fully requite one’s human potential culturally, economically, politically, socially, environmentally, spiritually and so forth without exploiting anyone else to thus have human liberty exist without any overbearing power to imbalance such an equitable world with individuals and communities living within the social boundaries of such communally balanced social fairness…yes, which accentuates as much as humanly possible…(as unfortunately, there will always be some shortcomings)…social equilibrium rather than social hierarchy-     

  ‘Niccolo Machiavelli once said something along the lines that never try to win by force that which can be attained by deception.”

 ‘A dictum which comes to the fore while reading an article on how in Syria with the use of foreign amateur ‘reporters’ of the far left which both Gregor and Caterina deride as ‘tankies’ will shamelessly peddle out regime propaganda while at the same time local professional journalists who - if one may share a personal opinion - do not so much critique against the regime per se so as to simply deride it in a sort of opposition reflex action but wanting to simply write what is true which in this terrible case is that simply put the regime has been murderous towards its own people. To be professional, unbiased and neutral were unfathomable notions for propagandists to comprehend so a genuine journalist could be easily dispensed with simplistically accused of being a mouthpiece of the opposition who which was now coyly framed of being solely made up of terrorists even though from what one can basically ascertain from afar that radical groups had taken up the opportunity to fight in this civil war which had initially blossomed like spring flowers on winter branches from a genuine reformist democratic impulse to thus want to bring down a cruel regime with local journalists simply reporting this truth which would set the Syrian people free yet such a just truth has always been the biggest enemy to a morally dark regime based on glaring lies made to shine so bright as to blind any observer from seeing what lay behind such dazzling deflections yes an unnatural light like glowing white phosphorous floating down onto innocent victims to burn through skin to incinerate eyes all so as to not reflect on the actual authenticity of what was really a dire situation for so many innocents; for the main deception which the regime was cultivating after so many years of civil war through these anti-heroes from the West who had journeyed to an underworld not so as to conquer such a hellish world but to glorify it so death would not be defeated but rather to reign supreme-

  “They made a wasteland and called it peace!” exclaiming Tacitus.

 ‘The ‘untruth’ which the regime wanted to now propagate was that despite there still being opposing military forces the war was nevertheless as good as won and most of Syrian territory had been secured and so was peaceful as if there was now no danger for those who still disliked the regime and this insidious Siren song of safety amplified mainly by so called foreign influencers for the regime cynically suited those countries who wanted Syrian refugees to return to this destroyed country such as from Denmark, Turkey who want it believed that Syria was now a safe country and that the civil war was as good as almost over (in the case of Turkey it was in the millions which had also been kept back from moving onto the EU thus not meeting humanitarian obligations whilst providng financial compensation for Turkey which it is said has not been fully realised); thus the many Syrian refugees in such countries could have their asylum seeker status revoked and be forcefully offloaded back to Syria like transporting cattle so that such vulnerable peoples still basically in desperate human need of sanctuary would no longer be a burden. (Yet to immediately read a news report of a government assault supported by Russian warplanes on rebel held Idlib in northern Syria which left many civilians wounded or dead). While these foreign propagandists enjoyed their celebrity status authentic local journalists involved in telling the truth faced becoming outcasts, forced into exile, being arrested, imprisoned, tortured or outright assassinated; whilst other journalists in the region such as in Lebanon still wanting to cover what was really going on in Syria were finding it hard to making a living due to a lack of interest as the political myth of a stabilized Syria gained the ascendency which would also provide the opportunity of foreign governments to also again ‘do business’ with Syria. Yet, one can also read of an Australian journalist who had  sought to seek out and inform the world of the sufferings of the East Timorese during the dark period of Indonesian occupation but often struggling at times to find editorial decisions going his way to get into print what was tragically happening; one maybe of the opinion that it was a commercial censorship rather than any straight out political censorship as it seems human rights only made ‘good copy’  to be a worthy issue only when it could definitely sell newspapers. (After all, western audiences may like to be informed but they also do not want to be depressed, so yes let us know what is happening in the Middle East, Myanmar, Haiti and so forth but please not too much human suffering so as to always be the headlines; the same hallucinatory attitude even persisting towards a global pandemic when what was wished for high percentages of populations after some time of having to face a virulent disease head on that life could ‘resume back to normal transmission’ even thought fatalities and long term symptoms still very much prevailed and thus to have governments of all political persuasions finally to have their own ‘great silence’ and to even behave medically negligently and to only state that it actually was in the ‘public interest’ to downplay the health terror that was still very much in play). Telling the truth will not set you free. It may get you killed. Yes, for many local journalists in oppressive regimes interested in the truth of what was happening the only freedom that awaited them was a nihilistic one. No freedom. Just death. Medusa’s snake hair. Writhing. Teeming serpents. To face her, yes, to become stone. The Raft of Medusa. Cannibalism. Murder. An inhuman individualised survival strategy savagely employed by the strong who abused the weak while aimlessly floating precariously on a vast ocean. Madness. Suicide. Starvation. No salvation. No aid. Only brutal self-interest. This fragile world also being ruthlessly dictated by an increasingly oligarchic few as if to leave this planetary raft bereft of its self-sustaining ability to regenerate life. To be marooned. In this vast cosmic ocean known as the universe. Too much of  what is organic being stripped away so as to only materially serve a highly consumptive human habitation so much of which is urban. Yes, to literally turn this planet into stone to be a destructive Medusa which is now ‘thriving’ as an anti-thesis of a nurturing Gaia which is now suffocating. To be devoid of life. A void. Venomous king snakes multiplying. The Serpent is inhuman. This world deranged. A lunatic, bestial, corruption delivering a moral stench. Void. All is void. Vile. A wry observer of Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa stated when it was first hung that it was a reflection of the society of the times for this tragedy had occurred due to the incompetence of the late-middle-aged captain of the Medusa who was appointed not for his seafaring ability which was minimal for he had not been at sea for decades but because of his loyalty to the monarchist regime that immediately followed after the demise of Napoleon. One reads how the Medusa was one of four ships sent to West Africa to restart trade relations with Senegal that had been disrupted by the wars of the Napoleonic era and which would also involve the resumption of the shipment of slaves. The Medusa would lose touch with the other ships and led astray the ship found itself along a section of treacherous West African coastline infamously known for its shallow waters where ships had grounded on to be wrecked. The Medusa would become another shipwreck after the captain ignored the warnings of other crew members who could have competently negotiated the ship through its present danger so as to steer it to safer waters; this expertise was especially needed as the ship had been ill prepared for its voyage and the maps on board were inadequate so they could not be relied on; notably, there was also not enough life boats and so when the ship was abandoned a raft was built on which over a hundred and forty odd unfortunate souls would have to rely on for their safety. An abandonment that only occurred when the captain refused to throw over the ship’s cannon which one thinks was of no use anyway as barrels of gunpowder had already been thrown overboard in an initial attempt to lighten the load of the ship as the idea was by having less weight it could rise in the water so as to float freely again. Yet the captain had prioritized what to him was a valuable material object over human life. Not a golden calf but a heavy black cylinder that could be used for the acquisition and protection of further wealth. It is said that more people out of the four hundred on board could have been placed in the few boats available which would now venture towards a distant African coast but it was only those most favoured by the captain and his immediate followers that were guaranteed a place in them. Thus, in a political sense the worst aspects of the restored Bourbon monarchy were on display here, made worse when after a few days of attempting to tow the raft the rope was cut which linked it to the boats, sending it adrift to be abandoned possibly to the worst fate (while it must also be noted that public expectation was not met when the captain when he was finally put on trial for his negligence that he would only be sentenced to serve a few years in gaol, when he should have faced being executed for not being the last person to leave the Medusa. As it was throughout the time of the wreckage and to this moment and afterwards on the raft itself only social chaos had reigned supreme as there had already been much tension and mistrust on board due to the clear inadequacy of the leadership which had led only to panic and disorder rather than to heroism and any stoic self-discipline. Mutiny would occur on the raft itself as human strength prevailed over human leadership with the prevailing descent into the deepest depths of hades, for the raft was already in hell, would include with the use of small axes, blades and apparently even by eye gouging to blind people so they would not be able to effectively resist, there would be the factional slaughter of innocents, usually much weaker, so they could also be also eaten; otherwise to be thrown into the sea to give the strongest occupants of this floating damnation a better chance to finally survive for it has to be also said that the raft which had initially started to submerge anyway after only forty people were already on it would eventually become so crowded most on board it had to stand. A diabolical sight to behold as the others comfortably in the boats would have rowed away. Atrocity driven on by hunger. Human physicality, not human spirituality to be ascendant in the worse way.

as tp the pandemic it is no surprise that there are comparisms made to Camus thr plague if only on the level that while he equated the plague to taotalitarimsin one can also see an underlying eugnic indifference in the ongoing response which of itself can lead to a totalitarian impulse in terms that some lives are worthy of sacrifice – most often the eldely so as to avoid a collective action which will inconvenience the majority who mostly do not actuallyface he ame risk fo death. Also in terms of neoliberalism where the economic intersts have to be saved for the free market to avoid a collective economic response whh is more to towards clooectivism etc such as with a n ubi , note casualization only becomes an issue as due to inconveniesne ec , to failow socioeconomic are only time a low socio economic area is mentioned etc Fairfield etc  

camus etc so plague etc what does camus have to say               

Human       

Human failure.     

Medusa was ill equipped     

Apparently, the captain ignored the warnings of other crew members who were competent in negotiating  

eople were beaten, stabbed, hacked with hatchets, bayoneted, had their eyes gouged out, and were pushed into the sea. In this relentless frenzy, factions slaughtered one another. By dawn, another 60 were dead. On the third day, the hunger was excruciating. Some ate their leather scabbards and portions of their greasy hats, and the cannibalism began. 

Binary. What is opposite to it etc foutrth estate – journalism etc       

To have this planet inhumanly become an antithesis of a nurturing Gaia. yes, to literally turn this world into stone devoid of

 in this vast cosmic ocean we know as the universe to have this planet become as if an inhumanly devised Medusa being an antithesis of a nurturing, cyclic Gaia. Yes. To have what is living, thriving and self-sustaining to be suffocated to turn what is organic into stone. Venomous snakes multiplying. The Serpent is us. Inhuman. World. Bestiality. Corruption.  

Camus te plague and totalitarinarism 

The  

Medusa    

to be dictated inhumanly devised Medusa as an antithesis of a nurturing Gaia, Yes, we too turn all that is organic into stone.       

outcomes of a so called survival strategy of those marooned in a a vast ocean

characteristics of a survival strategy etc  

epitomising the Medusa a human devised antithesis of Gaia.

Gaia the this medusa the antithesis of 

Gaia   

 in the world’s trouble spots  portraying it       

bereft of apleasing the 

 which was surely still not safe for all which Turkey, Denmark want to be true so can reutrn   

aye ot ant-hero or cowards or Judses etcbut deceivers 

grngo trail – three etchings  atrca /asia/alatin America 

medusa et the raft of the medusa of by gericalultyetc

 Russia wanted to be more than just a spoiler while china and usa emerge as two nw superpowers at leat now the world now had its attention on Russia with Ukraine invasion etc

    To slightly paraphrase Seneca. “Appearances are deceptive and betray the hopes of all!”

  ‘For the incoming tyrant what is ‘human liberation’ is to be personally free of all previously collectively implemented constitutional restraint and any new constitutional ‘safeguard’ that is now put in place to replace what democratically existed before is to ‘authenticate’ the tyrant and to ‘legalise’ the tyranny and to officially enforce laws now bereft of justice onto those who if they now choose to ostracize themselves by refusing to abide by what is now ‘law’ (i.e. legislated criminality) can be arrested, imprisoned and even have their lives extinguished for the ‘goodness’ of the tyrant who supposedly is publicly the ‘first servant’ (the proverbial ‘Number One’) who works to keep upholding the ‘law’ for the ‘goodness of all’…human fear to replace human trust-  

 “What suits a wisely inspired humility rather than naked human ambition is to be preferred!”

 ‘So a law is just depending on the reason it was instigated whether it be for all or for one…thus what may appear to be a just law may really not be so at all and actually be criminal when it is for criminals that it is actually purposed for…yes appearances can be deceiving-

 “The law is powerful more so if only written by the powerful…”

 ‘Democracy is to give power. Totalitarianism is to take power.

 “What is human is temporal. What is divine is permanent.”  

 ‘There is an ongoing human obligation to always find succour with what is divinely good such as the moral precept that is justice to then be generationally eternalized within what is otherwise our individual mortal human psyche…

  Cat the self-interlocutor always dialoguing with himself stating aloud some of his meandering thoughts while other random musings still remained unstated in his swirling mind. 

  Watching an amateur night time recording of two musicians with guitars playing in Master’s suburban backyard which is filled to the brim with an appreciative audience. Bek Jean with her powerful, compassionate beautiful voice singing You’ve Got Fever with her male offsider Shunt providing back up support.  “Light…light shining into your room…”

 ‘Yes, it was Aristotle who had inferred that ti took a genius mind to see the inter-relation of all things…especially when things appeared unrelated…yet, a I a genius…? I cannot help but think that I am not…yet I also cannot help but think of Joseph Heller’s Picture This a novel which focuses on and revolves around Rembrandt’s painting of Aristotle viewing with some seriousness a bust of Homer; to interweave the rise and decline of Athenian democracy at the time of Pericles and the Peloponnesian War and its aftermath with the economic ascendance of Holland with its far reaching merchant empire during the time of Rembrandt’s life. To inevitably compare the post-war Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union with the long war between Athens and Sparta which followed soon after the Hellenes had fought off the Persian invasions and by which one may also extend such a historical equivalence to see the Athenian decline in democracy as best represented with its unprovoked siege of neutral Melos which would lead at the very least to the slaughter of every male of fighting age and which had with it the infamous Athenian rebuttal to the well founded point that it was morally correct for Melos to not give in to the threat of brute force especially when Melos itself was no threat to Athens and had up to then followed a policy of neutrality in the Peloponnesian War;

in a more democratized society the socratic method has been able to come accessible to a wider audience but it was not really the intention of him that the general public learn of his what he has o ay as he was thought we were the common person was incapable to understand and it was not necessary for him or her to do so and this must be kept in mind when 

 “We must attack before we are!”

Human being as mechanism and not as organic – dea explored with realpolitik of thenians et 

Henry moore underground shelters akin to the mother’s womb

Nevertheless, although not related I cannot help but think of Joseph Heller’s Picture This. Rembrandt’s painting of Aristotle viewing with some seriousness a bust of Homer; to interweave the rise and decline of Athenian democracy at the time of Pericles and the Peloponnesian War and its aftermath with the economic ascendance of Holland with its far reaching merchant empire during the time of Rembrandt’s life. To inevitably compare the post-war Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union with the long war between Athens and Sparta which followed soon after the Hellenes had fought off the Persian invasions and by which one may also extend such a historical equivalence to see the Athenian decline in democracy as best represented with its unprovoked siege of neutral Melos which would lead at the very least to the slaughter of every male of fighting age and which had with it the infamous Athenian rebuttal to the well founded point that it was morally correct for Melos to not give in to the threat of brute force especially when Melos itself was no threat to Athens and had up to then followed a policy of neutrality in the Peloponnesian War; the Athenians, cynically bemused by this high moral stand which from their hegemonic viewpoint was both impractical and suicidal to what should have been Melos’s main cause: to submit to Athenian demands so it could at least survive intact so as to not needlessly lose its men and have the women and children enslaved. (Yet, in victory, the Athenians could have shown compassion towards their defeated foe, why even shown admiration to a foe who had been willing to stand up to a greater military power as Athens itself had done against Persia, but no the Athenians saw that any realpolitik set in motion had to go through the expected process of showing no mercy for to spare the lives of anyone deemed ‘worthy’ to die or to be enslaved would be viewed as a sign of weakness by present enemies and other would-be-enemies such as allies or neutrals who if not choose to directly switch sides and join with Sparta would choose to at least rebel against Athens so as to no longer be in the Delian League the defensive alliance against Persia which had mutated by way of Athenian political design to become the ‘foundation web’ of the Athenian empire; thus the Athenians themselves were no longer free thinking but behaving as pre-programmed machines as it was seen that there could be no choice other than to kill and enslave the people of Melos otherwise it would have been seen as a sign of weakness to show compassion which may have encouraged others to also rebel; a free choice had been made in an earlier incident whereby an order to execute the men of M had been rescinded ; yet, Melos had not rebelled against an oppressor but had fought to avoid being oppressed and in the end it was a total military failure for Athens as Melos would eventually fall under Spartan control anyway and ironically, when the war was lost it would be the Spartans who were not democratic who would not act mechanically and persecute every man in Athens although what they did establish was a tyranny that was murderous towards any opponent and which had to be overthrown.   

not abide t  

enforcement  

Tyranny is only able to exist when there is no constitutional restraint which is why for the tyrant their definition of liberation is to have any such overarching safeguard to be removed and in its place to 

will decide what is liberation which for them to be free from all constitutional constraint; who will decide what is tyranny which is for them to enforce constitutional constraints

fulfil 

live one’s life   

 to their freedom to exploit and it will certainly be those who claim that human liberty is about the right to live one’s life without someone else imposing their economic or political will over you or you to have overbearing power over them; thus to have an equitable world that accentuates as much as humanly possible social equilibrium rather than social hierarchy- 

I wish to speak with other words of a socially balanced fairness 

Yet, any human equation which tries to maximize equity instead of domination 

Those who have power decide what is freedom for to overturn democracy it can be decided that the only freedom that matters is of those who do have power; thus these with power can also decide who amongst the powerless are a threat not to freedom but to their freedom; who will decide what is liberation which for them to be free from all constitutional constraint; who will decide what is tyranny which is for them to enforce constitutional constraints on anyone who aims to take power away from them

so as to have what may be seen as a socially balanced fairness based on human trust rather than to have human fear an imbalanced, exclusionary hold on power ‘justified’ by human coercion to have  

a human equation with a balanced fairness that is equitable rather than an imbalanced domination that is inequitable 

a balanced fairness based on human trust rather than  

exploitiveness based on human fear 

 that will encourage a sense of balanced fairness between people rather than social hierarchy which can lead to -   

without someone else stopping you to have 

who will 

ing the right of anyone to  

for what is freedom in an autocratic mind is to have the ability to exploit not the right to be liberated from exploitation and to live one’s life unhindered by such a threat to one’s personal liberty 

mortal vs divine etc human power vs eternal principle    

I fear that this is the endpointthat the world is reaching now etc etc 

You’ve got fever!  Sunlight oming into yor room a backyard performance rtc 

Those who have power decide what is freedom for to overturn democracy it can be decided that the only freedom that matters is of those who do have power; thus these with power can also decide who amongst the powerless are a threat not to freedom but to their freedom; who will decide what is liberation which for them to be free from all constitutional constraint; who will decide what is tyranny which is for them to enforce constitutional constraints on anyone who aims to take power away from them.

Ideology preprogrammes people etc

Yet everything was pre-programmed to go to dinner sprties and feel that one was a psychic as one knw how the discusson would go as people said the same old predictable things to say it before it was to knowwhat was to be sai before it was spoken and to act accordingly . human predictability a curse etc 

During a cold war period etc which Sparta wuld not wat to run againt e small are sacrificed as expedient etc 

Although Sparta did not come to Melos’s rescue when it was fighting the Athenians, which maybe seen as a betrayal of sorts, at least arrived later tc

to automatically kill and enslave the people of Melos who, incidentally, fought impressively and were not so much defeated outright by a superior military invader but just as much by internal treachery which guaranteed a full victory to the Athenian military. To have shown mercy would have been viewed as a failure 

military advantage to the Athenian .

 who were defeated not so much by a superior exterior military force but by internal treachery which finally gave the military advantage to the invader.     

Two white squares..what is truth…? Perception ..white on white…blank papers seen as fighting against h system etc  o do an inverse of malveich’s black square etc  

Did nato impulse come from uk and france saying would defend Poland…would us really help the Baltics etc was it not the system of alliances that plunged the world into global war n Europe?     

 even though there was no real chances of victory were 

We live in a period of history which is much like the end of democratic golden age etc for the world to languish n  new dark age etc until democratic principles can be resuureted again with culture to when allthings will notbe monetised but have their spititual value eutnr etc     

United States which should be noted its financial centre New York was formerly known as New Amsterdam and which post war in the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States there was also inevitable historical equivalence with the long war between Sparta and Athens whereby the democratic decline of Athens inevitably compared with its loss with Vietnam etc and lead to aghanista etc to be a spiteful act towards the soviet uion which would have been briefly feeling it had the upper han etc – has the Russian invasion seen in this way as can be compared with Iraq – same resoning impulse etc – us looking it was in brief withdrawal

comparism

As would not be until Iraq that it would get fully over its vietnam complex although was 1991 and stil interventions in central America but proxy wars which would end in the fal of the soviet union etc – other invasions in georgeia etnd etc 

Bsolute truth vs relative truth 

it was suffering its own first real shock to its hegemony with the loss of the war in Vietnam.   

More information but less knowledge etc – t.s. eliot’s dictum also proven to be tue etc 

New theatre norma disher etc   

the former 

the moral degradation of   

which has had its  

   Between the Soviet Union and the United States of America

South Africa and money meant for hiiv spent on military arms etc moality of money spent for ukaine etc but need the military hardware etc 

it was suffering its own first real shock to its hegemony with the loss of the war in Vietnam.   

Great replacement theory with immigrants , refugees etc 

initiating Holland of Rembrandt’s life

a global business empire. Idealism. Materialism.  

Power. Source. 

Spectacle. Performance.

The source of power determines what will   

The eomen who protested for their jew husbands with the Nazis so protest did occur etc etc        

“The U.S.A. supported the Mujahedeen against a Marxist Afghan government imposing reforms on a rural population which would be supported by the Soviet Union yet both worild close etc  

yet from which would finally emerge the Taliban to fight the U.S.A.

collinialms all about invasion for the good of all etc to turn what is savage into civilisation is the other tmain theme etc 

we have our aown agency we are not passive etc in whay we thonk to be moulded ec 

the United States and some would say cynically supported supported the Islamist Mujahedeen who were resisting a Marxist Afghan government which was imposing secular reforms onto a rural population which 

maybe no need to go into great detail but maybeas footnotes only as main idea Taliban et c arose from the muhajddeen et c sadam wasus.s ‘s man in Iraq iran war then war ended etc 

The U.S. to cynically support the islamist mujahedeen who were resisting the Afghan government which was Marxist which was imposing reforms onto a rural population which was only arousing resentment (which the same would happen when the U.S. came etc) yet knowing there was a risk that this would provoke a Soviet response which there was and which the U.S. now saw as an opportunity to draw Russia into its own Vietnam War. Yet Brehzhnev wanted a quick war to stabilize a pro-Russian faction of government as it feared another faction was U.S. which was the catalyst for the invasion. The U.S. was opportunistically taking advantage of the situation of the Afghanistan situation yet the Russian invasion of Afghanistan would have likely occurred anyway. In any case, the people of Afghanistan was not a real consideration of either Russia or the US and this also goes for those who only criticize the U.S. for its imperialist response as do they think that an authoritarian government was worthy to remain? A false moral response to critique against the U.S. when in actuality there is only an overarching amorality in regards to the behaviour of both the U.S. and Russia. While Russia wanted a regime on its border that was friendly to it the U.S. was using Afghanistan as a ‘thorn in its side’ without any real forethought as to what would result whether in lives lost in Afghanistan or what it would be like to have an Islamist insurgency succeed and to hubristically think it would be grateful to the United States to then automatically fall into line to support United States interests. The United States would have also not really assumed the Soviet Union would fall but merely be weakened etc but the war in Afghanistan would help bring about the end of the soviet union and when soviets left US interest lessened without realising it had sowed the seeds of September 11 as during its hyperpower period it shifted its strategic interests to its reactive respnses to the Balkans and middle east etc after saddam invaded Kuwait and where the resentment of the U.S. power was equally disdained as much as soviet power and set in motion – had no interest in overturning the Taliban in humanitarian intervention like with bosnia art and would baulk in Rwanda etc as well. Reagain    one assumes saw supporting the mujhahdeen in a proxy war in same way as was occuring in cental ameria and in bitter realuty now adfhanistan is being laid to waste again by the Taliban as the focus returns to Russia bc of Ukraine. 

a whistlenblower who exposed aust war crimes on trial/?

Saudi journalst killed by Saudi etc 

  ‘A primal call

to defend what is good against an invader unprovoked etc  

yet, what is disappointing what can be enraging is to be dismayed by those who claim the high moral ground only to do so to accuse not to rectify, to utilise what is immoral so as to benefit an even greater immorality…on their ‘moral’ terms… 

for their    

there are still  

moments of moral clarity…even if rare…when it is clear that what one is fighting against if   

yet what dismays me…or rather disappoints is that  

Often the rhetoric of morality is used but the results achieve often ring hollow..

and one knows not to side with any one or other larger player for the sole aim that their specific ambitions will be requited but rather to argue the case that  ”  

COSMIC INTERRUPTION

Just more points to finish off the whole draft…? On all issues yet to be mentioned – except on Chomsky that can follow on from americn beuty and maybe Socrates as kinda related so goes there etc as well…

FRAGMENTS Final Final. A separate PFD as different margin at end of all text.