I’ve arrived. Or at least I think so….

Well here it is. No pretty pictures. No preamble. Big announcement: I don’t give a damn any more.

I arrived at this point finally having had enough of all the horror. Horror wrought by whoever they are who order the chemtrails, who poison the food chain, who rob the water, who subvert the law, who cheat and store up wealth for themselves while their compatriots starve, who cause the young to believe it’s a good idea to murder in the name of war.

Posting news of these things on facebook might wake up a few, but is it what I really want to do, I ask myself. And ultimately I’m not going to kid myself that the further ruination of my health in pursuit of this task is worth it. Like I’m some big deal changing the world, the unmasked crusader, boldly saying it like it probably is. And I say that because it’s impossible to tell what originates in disinformation think tanks, designed to generate feelings of hopelessness, and a readiness to comply.

So I figure, what the fuck. Next time I visit facebook I’ll try not to get involved. I’ll just look at the cute kittens and the romantic sunsets, and I’ll start posting those memes carrying gratuitous advice and cloying homilies which hitherto I sped past lest any of it come near to causing me to gag.


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The new morality

You know what? I’ve had it right up to here (indicates back teeth) with the sanctimonious, self righteous, arrogant majority which has bought the idea that it only needs to complain of having taken offense at the thoughts, beliefs, words or actions of another for the “authorities” to issue edicts or pass bills outlawing the “offense” of the accused culprit, and subjecting him to broad public outrage and censure.

So well trained to cast narrow, officious eyes on everything, even works of art are now under attack, and the nudity which never offended the Victorians now offends the delicate sensibilities of a schizophrenic public which finds no fault with the manipulated images of near naked nubile females suggestively posed to sell “the product”, but colours with embarrassment and mortification at the sight of a woman discreetly feeding her baby.

As though completely missing the point of Farenheit 451, and ignoring the warning signals which point to a future of extremely limited possibilities in which every movement, every utterance is examined by a fascist rulership having the power to punish any deviation from the permitted, ordinary people, losing or never cultivating the capacity for rational analysis and reflection, imagine that by eliminating everything which offends, a perfect or better world will result.

What the hell happened to people who leapt from the generally lauded sentiment which was proudly owned to the effect that one might not agree with what another says but will defend to the death his right to say it, to the position of proscribing a number of topics for public discussion, even limiting the permitted viewpoints on the subjects which remain open to debate so that they fall only within a narrow range, outside of which universal condemnation falls on anyone daring to express the maverick view.

I’m pretty much constantly offended by the things I see and hear in this world, but I’m here to tell you I’m still alive. It won’t kill you to be offended. Furthermore, as far as I can tell I haven’t been damaged personally by the offense I took at anything, and I’m reasonably sure you haven’t been either. The likelihood of our being damaged by something over which we’ll take offense in the future is extremely slim, I’m sure you’ll agree.

What a ship of fools we are. The ruling elite, skilled in social engineering, are witnessing the success of their experiments and have good reason for celebration and self congratulation. While waiting for the world to wake up I have become tired, and am almost at the point of saying I don’t give a damn anymore.


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Savoir faire, a joke funnier in French

In Paris one night three gentlemen, lounging with their Cognac after dinner, were discussing the essence and definition of savoir faire. “Ah, I have it,” said one, “A man goes to the opera, alone because his wife has a headache, but troubled he returns home early. He throws his hat, his cane, and his gloves onto the hall stand, and not finding his wife in the living room, he tiptoes to the bedroom and he opens the door. He discovers his best friend in bed with his wife and he says ‘Pardon Madame, pardon Monsieur,’ and he closes the door. Voila, savoir faire.”

“Ah, no,” says another. “A man goes to the opera, alone because his wife has a headache, but troubled he returns home early. He throws his hat, his cane, and his gloves onto the hall stand, and not finding his wife in the living room, he tiptoes to the bedroom and he opens the door. He discovers his best friend in bed with his wife and he says ‘Pardon Madame, pardon Monsieur. Continuez.’ Voila, savoir faire.”

“Ah, no no,” says the third. “A man goes to the opera, alone because his wife has a headache, but troubled he returns home early. He throws his hat, his cane, and his gloves onto the hall stand, and not finding his wife in the living room, he tiptoes to the bedroom and he opens the door. He discovers his best friend in bed with his wife and he says ‘Pardon Madame, pardon Monsieur. Continuez.’ And, IF he can continue – voila! Savoir faire.”

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An opinion, quoth the writer, nothing more

It’s been some time since my last post, attributable to the mere fact that I’ve had nothing to say. For the sake of giving the appearance of being amongst you I have therefore begun writing this…..

It’s of considerable amazement to me that anybody should be interested in anything I have to say. Of all the blogs out there it’s a wonder anyone finds this one, and yet increasing numbers appear to be visiting. The world is now, in the space of only three decades, so filled with opinions that it’s impossible even to have small talk with a total stranger at the checkout line of the supermarket without having to hear his or her opinions on a wide range of subjects, few of which if any falling into any category remotely resembling a subject in which he or she has any knowledge or expertise.

The television simply had to go. Everytime I turned it on I was assaulted, as I recall it now, by a barrage of opinions, for the most part badly stated, which should not really, of itself, disqualify them from consideration, often completely impertinent, but mostly unflatteringly self revealing. There appears to be a widescale tendency to believe that the more scathing the opinion the more perspicacious or intelligent the utterer. I felt soiled, complicit, guilty, merely for hearing, those words resonating inside me like some potential sickness.

“In the multitude of words there is much sin.” (No, I won’t provide the source, look it up for yourselves. This is the interfreakingnet after all.) I can fully appreciate why some groups seeking spiritual harmony or enlightenment employ the vow of silence. They hope they can get through an entire day without offending either God or man, and certainly they have some grounds for such hope. The less said the better. The tongue is a world of iniquity and can’t be tamed. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks, which can be a very unattractive thing. (I’m paraphrasing here. Again, look it up for yourselves.)

Einstein, it is said, was completely mute for the first few years of his life, finally uttering a few well chosen words of complaint. “Why have you not spoken until now?” his family quizzed him. “There was no cause for complaint until now,” was his alleged response. Nobody seems to know whether this story is true, but it serves to illustrate some point or other which I thought I may or may not have been trying to make. I’m tired of having opinions and expressing them, and I’m tired of hearing everybody else’s opinions on every irritatingly inconsequential thing.

Sometimes, in the midst of forming up an opinion on the hop, having been forced by some provocative statement I should have ignored, I find myself examining me, inwardly shaking my head in despair. My mother would censoriously accuse me of being opinionated whenever I disagreed with her, and perhaps for this reason, her voice still echoing judgementally in my psyche, I am particularly aware of the opinionator on the outside of me which incessantly and continuously tries to burrow its way into my head with its arrogant, haughty observations and conclusions. Consequently, despising myself for even having an opinion of the opinionator for whom I have nothing but contempt, I find that there is very little to say. Here are some quotes about opinions I quite like….

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”
Oscar Wilde

“When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she’s a bitch.”
Bette Davis

“You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.”
Harlan Ellison

“Everybody is wrong about everything, just about all the time.”
Chuck Klosterman, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto

“Few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social enviroment. Most people are incapable of forming such opinions.”
(Essay to Leo Baeck, 1953)”
Albert Einstein

“Those who never retract their opinions love themselves more than they love truth.”
Joseph Joubert

“There are a great many opinions in this world, and a good half of them are professed by people who have never been in trouble.”
(The Mill)”
Anton Chekhov, The Portable Chekhov

“One sticks to an opinion because he prides himself on having come to it on his own, and another because he has taken great pains to learn it and is proud to have grasped it: and so both do so out of vanity.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

“I’m not sure I want popular opinion on my side — I’ve noticed those with the most opinions often have the fewest facts.” ― Bethania McKenstry

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not entirely absurd; indeed in view of the silliness of the majority of mankind, a widespread belief is more likely to be foolish than sensible.”
― Bertrand Russell, Marriage and Morals

Anyway, if anyone is still reading this and hasn’t given up trying to fathom my point, I shall deliver a little presentiment troubling me of late, and having nothing to do with anything hitherto discussed, to the effect that something big, something very big, is about to happen. I wonder whether other people have sensed it too. Something monumental is about to take place in the world which will change everything forever.

I just thought I’d throw that in there, but hey, it’s probably only a matter of opinion.

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I note that it was International Suicide Prevention Day recently, and saw a documentary on the new dialectic underway on youth suicide. Hitherto considered a subject not suitable to report in the media, the rationale having it that rashes of suicides are provoked by any such attention, the rate of youth suicide in western countries is now at epidemic proportions, and the silence and taboo is coming under serious review.

None of the “experts” seems to have the vaguest idea why young people are killing themselves, citing the breakdown of the family and financial pressures in a desperate bid to explain what they can’t understand. Suicides resulting from bullying on school campuses and internet media accounts for a small proportion, and the rest cannot be explained by the hesitant proposition of the aforementioned alleged triggers, many suicides issuing from situations western culture deems ideal. So what’s happening here?

Suicide amongst the older generations is not so difficult to comprehend. Anyone addicted to money or position or status who loses it makes himself a likely candidate, likewise someone suffering the inconsolable loss of a loved one. Those trying to escape the torment and agony of terminal disease, or who following larceny or criminality are publicly exposed and can’t bear the shame, resort to suicide.

In an effort to understand the cause of the impulse in young people to permanently exit the manifest reality people ask themselves what’s wrong with these young people that suicide presents as their only clear way forward, and parents wonder what they could have done to prevent their kids suiciding, having taken them to medicos who prescribe anti depressants which usually hasten the undesirable outcome. But they’re asking themselves the wrong question.

It’s necessary to examine the manifest reality to see whether there’s anything so completely loathesome in it which would give rise to the desire and induce the execution of final and complete removal from it.

My God, where does one begin?

All generations until WWII were ushered into a world of stable expectations. Boys would follow in their fathers’ footsteps, girls their mothers’. In most instances a young person would expect to occupy the kind of workplace for which he was trained for the course of his working life, would expect to marry and raise a family, and the cycle would repeat itself, the exception being the one who entertained a dream of the future which did not conform to anyone else’s expectations. This is certainly not the case today.

Today all young people are exhorted to have and follow their dreams, dreams stifled by a stark reality of repressive and expensive protocols, of shrinking and withering bounds of opportunity, of commercial and political structures on the point of collapse, and widely broadcast failures. The messages by which they’re bombarded concerning their prospects are mixed and menacing, the world they inherit a horror wrought by the indiscriminate and wholesale pillage and exploitation and destruction of natural resources by an elite whose only interest and concern is its continued domination of an increasingly obedient population which chooses to believe the lies devised and fabricated by its corporate propaganda machine so that it will continue as slaves producing more profits for its bursting coffers.

Past generations met their life partners within the milieu of work and social associations, choice narrowed considerably compared with today, and expectations were never so lofty that anyone but the insufferable should be left alone. Impressed by the popular fantasy of finding their “perfect match”, or “soul mate”, or the living expression of their “wish list”, few now form loyal partnerships whilst they continue to hanker for someone who may never appear, and committed relationships prepared to weather life’s storms and honour exchanged vows are considered anachronistic.

A population well trained to aspirations which can never be satisfied is a very alienating society into which young people have been born. A schism is created in the mind of anyone expected to believe and live by lies, and psychosis induced in anyone who tries to conform himself to them. Children and young people, still sensitively attenuated to simple justice and simple truth, have little hope of reconciling the apparent with the lie. Suicide presents, under these circumstances, an end to the insanity and a freedom from torment. The pertinent question should be, given that the world is in the throes of a terrible delusion and punishes anyone who won’t fall in line, why is it that so many remain.


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Paul Robeson

How does one begin to describe such a giant of a man as Paul Robeson? I met him when I was a young girl, in a recording studio in Sydney where he and my father were recording some songs to commemorate his appearance at a concert in the Sydney Stadium of which my father was compere. He bent down his great head and shook my hand, and his deep mellifluous voice uttered words too gracious to pierce the awe the magnificence of his presence inspired in me, so that I could not have recounted what he said had my life depended on it. I listened quietly as they talked, and heard my father recite Talking Union Blues, the first rap song I ever heard, and watched as the hands of Paul Robeson clapped, like two celestial bodies thunderously colliding in the vast and cavernous reaches of space.

A lawyer, athlete, cultural scholar, author, fluent in several languages, an actor, singer, human rights and civil liberties activist, in every way a most remarkable man, who suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous political opposition, by whose occult government agencies he was allegedly eventually destroyed. Described in this short biography as the ultimate Renaissance man, Paul Robeson’s impact on American politics and the dialectic of social equality also in Australia in respect of its aborigines cannot be overestimated, to say nothing of his rich musical legacy.

As Othello

Here are two examples of his incomparable voice.

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Not insane, just emotionally deranged

Still raw and bleeding emotionally from a break up with a friend of almost thirty years whose troubles I had listened to with patience and love, with whom and on whose behalf I bore the heaviness of her trials, for whom I struggled with the residual darkness of her visits, for years and years, presenting meals over which I laboured with love, I came to a point of asking myself why the only friends with whom I spend most of my time are people whose problems they consider are of the highest importance and which occupy most of the conversation. Essentially they only know so much about me as is evident to them, presented to eye, since they are entirely focussed on themselves.

It’s been my experience with them that when they exhaust all angles on their own issues, and have arrived at some kind of resolution as to how to proceed, their lives become terribly busy and they’re seldom seen again. It’s been a pattern in my life as far back as I can remember.

Now, I have some pretty serious issues of my own going. Life has been exceedingly difficult and hard to bear since I fell to fibromyalgia around twenty years ago or more. But things hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs prior to then, as I struggled with an emotionally crippling condition latterly known to me as borderline personality disorder. Unaware for decades what the hell my problem was but reasonably convinced it wasn’t nothing, and having tried the psychiatrists couch, accepted his misdiagnosis and swallowed his antidepressant medication solutions which did nothing to help but in fact added to my distress, I had been trying to straighten myself out. Unable to regulate my emotions I was in a constant state of turmoil, and always felt disconnected from other people, viewing them as belonging to a club into which I hadn’t been invited, whose uncomplicated emotions seemed to me to deliver them blithely into acts of unapologetic selfishness. I envied them the confidence they had to pursue their own desires without feeling the least pressure to have to consult with anybody else, seeking neither approbation nor consent.

None of this came out of nothing. Nobody has this mental condition without its being triggered and driven by something. In my case a traumatic childhood, a stolen childhood, a mother who could not love me, neglect by parents who were completely self absorbed. I became used to my problems being considered an irrelevancy, and to the idea that I was of much lesser value than others. I gave myself as a sacrifice to other people for whatever use they had of me perhaps as a way of “adding value”, of being worthy to breathe the same air.

Never enquiring into my background, my history, my narrative, were they attracted to me in the first instance because on some subliminal level they recognised a wounded creature who could identify with and have compassion for their pain? Or was it that I presented as a people pleaser who so wanted to be found acceptable that I would endure with them what no one else could stand? Perhaps the case rests somewhere between the two.

Anyway, following this break up of which I spoke in opening, which my failure to be controlled initiated, my first ever rebellion from the tyranny of the perameters of conduct rigidly prescribed for me by another with an unhealthy agendum, I had finally to face what may possibly turn out to be the frightening first step in the modus operandi to my getting free of this infernal mental disorder. I had to tell her she was wrong and controlling and then abusive, and had to face my punishment as a child whose candour was an outrage and whose subsequent remorse and apologies were rejected as insufficient reparation for having finally spoken the unwelcome truth. So I’ve lost a friend. Or is it perhaps a fiend I’ve lost?


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