The Viper’s Bite.

Australia is now a wounded animal, it’s social , political and cultural psyche is wounded and the wound, like the viper that strikes at it’s own wound, is now poisoned by a vile attitude and fear that has penetrated to its very heart.

This poison first penetrated our body social and politic from the time of the conspiracy of the LNP’s Malcolm Fraser with the drunken sot ,crown representative John Kerr to conduct a coup against the democratic elected govt’ of Gough Whitlam. This act of gross treason against the people and the State of Australia deserved to be answered with the most summarily justice possible..Whitlam should have torn up that piece of fraudulent paper, and sent the raging mob to give rough justice to those traitors involved and hung their rancid carcasses from the girders of the bridge spanning Lake Burley Griffen till their rotting corpses dripped piece by piece into the sludge of the bottom of the lake. THAT would have both expediently cauterized and sutured the political wound that now is poisoned by the continuity of LNP. corruption. This corruption has spawned a plethora of opportunist individuals and minor parties quick to “cash-in” in every sense of the phrase on the “divide and rule” culture promoted by the conservatives of the country.

The metaphorical “Vipers Bite” that has poisoned our people and society has dragged on much too long, giving us govt’ after govt’ of self-righteous LNP. conservatives that are better suited to corporate servility than civil governance. They have betrayed our economy through destruction of manufacturing, our society through pitting one section of vulnerable people against another and have betrayed our delicately emerging culture through isolating only one specific Euro-culture and claiming it as dominant over all others and to the detriment of all others including the bleedin’ obvious indigenous culture..

If ever there was a political party most deserving of physical removal from office, it has to be the LNP., for it now appears obvious to even the most obtuse that they are in obsequious servitude to foreign media, foreign corporations and their own pecuniary interests. Nowhere, in four years of governance is there a budget visible or has even passed that provides for the benefit of either nation nor citizen on the whole. Selective groups, selective education platforms and vested interest lobby groups are most catered for while the most vulnerable even to the nations aged workers relying on a well-earned and contributed to pension are belittled, demeaned and demonized as bludgers or welfare leaners. Such abuse of a nations own citizens gives serious credential to the claim that the LNP. is a party neither fit nor deserving of the right to govern..such a party that best serves with a forelock tugging obsequience toward the most wealthy taxation avoiding conglomerates and criminals over their own people deserves to be removed from office by the most expedient means possible , with extreme prejudice!

 

 

 

 

Pearl.

Image result for Pics of Pearls.

The tide had ebbed.

He was strolling down the still waxy sands, she, with her two frolicking children, aged three and five approached from the opposite direction. Suspended from a coarse, frayed piece of rope gripped in his hand, was a glass net-float. It swung, pendulum like as he walked. As they drew near to each other, their eyes met and their gaze held one another with that curious cognizance that lingers longer than is usual with strangers. A search not timid nor wanting but rather, as with like minded travellers in new lands, a polite familiarity in each other. The wide open sands of the tidal beach allowed plenty of room for personal space. The older child, a boy, saw the glass float, its surface sheen reflecting, with rhythmic precision of the swings, a shaft of evening sunlight into his eyes. He ran over and touched it, open mouthed, wide eyed and with the innocent inquisitiveness of a child.

“What is it?” he asked, his fingertips palpitating over the glass surface.

“A float, a glass float off a fishing net” the man continued to explain. The other child approached with the mother, its tiny arm clutching around the mother’s leg.

“Where did you find it?” The boy persisted.

His query remained unanswered because the man gazed at the woman who in return exchanged greetings with her eyes. He held out his hand.

“David MacKinnon”. he announced. She took the tips of his fingers lightly.

“Suzanne”. she replied with the natural caution of omitting the surname.

“What is it?” she asked. one hand waving across her face to chase away flies. The bridge of her nose pinched in a wrinkle.

He held the orb up by its rope, looking for all the world like a severed head with the bits of straggling seaweed.

“A glass float, rather old though.. they use plastic ones now.. or styrene foam..”

She didn’t remark on the information, just stared at the orb as it gently turned on its rope axis this way then that like a mesmerists fob watch, the “oily” aged glass swirled marbled with rainbow tracks.

“It’s almost… like…a pearl!” she delightfully exclaimed. there was a pause as he gazed.

“Why.. yes, yes…I suppose you could say that”. the thought attracted and attached itself to his mind. “But then it’s only appropriate to find a pearl at a pearl-fishing part of the coast.”

The little boy reached up to spin it around, but his hit swung it against the man’s body….he lowered it to the sand and let the boy roll it around…it had no value to him.

“I dug it up back there” he motioned toward a dark hulk of a wreck of a boat back up the beach, its rusty skeleton softened by a cluster of mangrove fronds over it.

“Maybe it’s from that boat?” she remarked.

“Maybe..but that’s not a fishing boat, its a pearling lugger.” he said.

“How do you know?”

“By the sweep of its’ deck, ….oh, I don’t know really..I’m just guessing…a feeling rather….it’s the way they used to build them”.

She laughed gaily.

“Well perhaps that is an old pearl.” she said pointing to the float “After all, I bet they don’t make THEM like they used to!” and they both joined in the friendly levity.

They stayed there together as the children played with the glass float. he looked intently at the children.

“I have two children myself.” He announced vaguely.. “A boy and a girl…”

“Oh…how old?”

“Seven and eleven.” ..

She nodded.

Here was comfortable ground and a chance to talk to another human being after that interminable drive up from Perth, with every town a seeming thousand miles from the next and oh! the dreadful endless road and the tedious bitumen.

“Where are you headed?” she asked.

“To Perth.. home ….And you?”

“We’re off to Darwin…to a new home….or at least we hope to call it that for the next couple of years.”

“I’ve just come from there.” (as if it was just up the road).

“Oh.. what’s the place like?”

“The tropics are beautiful this time of the year. It gets very oppressive in the “wet”….yes, I enjoyed it there.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a carpenter.” he replied.

She smiled…for there was something secure about a carpenter, the thought of his hands smoothing over a piece of wood…the trueness of his eye, turning the wood, gauging the grain with a sureness of judgment to match and make….a workshop strewn with curled shavings, the odours of Pine and Fir resin…joss-sticks…sandalwood? ” Yes, a carpenter must have a patient touch” she mused.

“Are you driving straight through?” she asked.

“No…not tonight..I’ve just arrived..” he pointed to a distant campervan…

“I’ll book into a caravan park for the night. Get a bit of a clean-up.”

“There’s a nice one just up the road a little…at the edge of town, we’re camped there ourselves for the night too.” She gave this information over lightly, without invitation.. just as information.

“I s’pose that’ll do then…I’ll give it a burl..Gosh!..look at that sunset!” they both turned to face the ocean. the sinking star shimmered and quivered into the lapping mercury of sea. He snorted humorously.

“It’s a pearl too”.

They both stared silently.

“Yes.” she softly murmured “It’s quite divine..”

David turned to see the children frolicking, their stretched shadows flickering over the waxy sands…

” …and we live our lives in the shadow of the divine..” he said.

The caretaker showed an informal interest in his booking as there were few people staying there that night.

“Just find yourself a park over there near the ablutions block an you’ll be right”.

As he steered his van to the site he saw again the woman outside a station-wagon. She was with her two children.

“Hello!” he called, “Do you mind if I park nearby for the night?” and he smiled.

“Suit yourself it’ll be good company”.

They crossed paths to the showers later that evening and after more small talk agreed to sharing a coffee after the children had gone to sleep.

The sweeping silence of the night lent a comforting familiarity to the talk and it wasn’t long before they were sharing confidences and laughter.

“Yes, I did meet some real characters up there in Darwin there’s some beauties, especially in the building trade.”

“Tell me about one.” she leant over the little table in the van, her face supported by her fist under her chin.

“Ahh!..they’re too crazy”.

“No, really, tell me.” there was a tenderness attached to her inquiry.

He rubbed his fingers over his brow as he pondered, aware all the same of the purring sensuality in her voice, an early indicative sign that men interpret as woman’s intention and act instinctively. He sat upright and began.

“Here’s one….There was this bloke I knew up there…a Kiwi fellah…a contract painter…any how, he was telling me he done this big job for a wealthy family, the whole house, inside and out….a couple of months work..and they didn’t pay him…couldn’t get the money out of them….rich people can be the worst payers….and him with all the material costs, all the paint…and the other blokes he had working for him…a fortune..and it was sending him broke but he got this other job…with another wealthy family. He was up on a ladder painting the cornices with this dark, crimson paint one day and thinking of going down the tube what with these others not paying and thinking one thing an’ another an he didn’t know how he did it but he dropped his pot of paint!…and it fell outside the groundsheet!…all over the white carpet!….”Holy shit!” he cried “I can’t afford to pay for that!…” and he was just about to panic when the woman’s poodle walked past (he knew she wouldn’t be far behind)….He quickly grabbed the dog and threw it onto the spilled paint and cried in an exaggerated yell…”You little bastard!” ….the woman came rushing into the room ,threw her hands up in the air ….”Oh Pickles!…oh you naughty dog, I’m so sorry,..I’ll…. I’ll pay for the paint ”

Suzanne laughed as she threw her head back.

“Oh the rotten bugger!” she cried.

”Yes, I guess so…though I suppose he had to do something and I daresay the insurance would pay for the carpet…”

They both giggled a bit more, then a silence fell between them, and within that silence there rose in each of them a warmth of companionship and familiarity so they both knew the others desire, but the restraining codes of society held them yet apart. Instead, he pursued the desire with some small-talk.

“Huhm….and what are you going to do in Darwin?”

“Who, me?…oh..I work in jewellery shops…an assistant….so I suppose…” she left the answer open to the inevitable conclusion.

“Jewelry…” he repeated, his eyebrows raising swiftly. “Then I may have something that will interest you.” and he turned to reach into a drawer on the side of the van.

“Just a minute” she said, her hand raised and lay familiarly on his shoulder “I thought I heard one of the children…be back in a minute.”

When she returned. David had a small, dark wooden box on the table. It was very ornate with chunky carvings, of the chest-type from Thailand, only smaller, about ten by six inches. Suzanne pulled her stool up closer to David, her hair brushing over his shoulder, she noticed the “goose-bumps” that arose and she smiled to herself.

“And what has he got in his little black box?” she smirked…He chuckled.

Lifting the lid gently, a chamois bag was revealed, he lifted it from the chest and placed it between them on the table. Dave slowly untied the soft, woven cotton pull-string that choked the neck of the bag….slipping two fingers into the opening, he eased the bag apart wide. In the tarnished glow of the mozzie-candle, lay, like the waxen orbs of many tiny eggs in a nest, a regular bounty of…pearls!

Suzanne pursed her lips, for they were indeed attractive, and in this light, their buffed skins took on a living glow, like the promise of an egg about to hatch! she put her hand forward as if to touch, but David, not noticing her movement, had placed his own fingers into the burnished silvered cache. As he lifted the pearls up and let them fall dull-tacking back into the fold, he looked to her face . It was intent on the pearls, the dancing flame of the candle light lapping into and onto the soft features of her face, a face not yet drawn with the lines of care nor bitterness, a face still open and serene..David pondered on his own features, were they as easy to read? were his eyes still capable of showing impromptu emotion?…but he quickly dropped these introvert thoughts.. he longed to touch her…would she allow….?

“Where did you get them?”

“From a Melville Island local….they call these “roughs”, as you can see, they aren’t nicely rounded. but they are still pearls…”

“Why did you buy them ?” Suzanne asked, not taking her eyes off the luscious hoard.

“I liked the look of them.. the feel of them.. the sound as they touch each other….”

“Were they expensive?” she asked…he laughed.

“No…”  then softly, almost dream-like he ran his hand through them again. Suzy placed her hand on his shoulder…he gazed at it, then rubbed his hand over hers, they smiled together.. she turned her attention back to the pearls.

“Why do you keep them?”

“I keep them because of how they feel.. because I like how they feel.”

“I have to ask…it’s the way you run your fingers through them.”

He looked to her eyes to gauge his answer, to feel out her capacity for a simple truth…a male truth.. for there are some secrets neither men nor women would share with each other.. her eyes answered him encouragingly. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, she pressed her cheek against them..but how does a man reveal that named desire for the untouchable, the impermissible part of a woman that he is both slave to and yet feebly jealous of without himself sounding feeble, or foolish in a description..a name for that most powerful sexual part of a woman.

“They remind me…” he paused in trepidation, to consider, then spoke , the timbre of his voice firm, but softly tender “I sense..they remind me..of..a woman’s  cunt .” His eyes moved away from hers to the pearls as if in apology for using such a vulgar noun, even though his pronunciation of the word was rather a reverential tone than cutting slander. But how else could he say it in truth?..He once again dipped his fingers into the pearls, their satiny surfaces making a sound like…like silver….He continued ; “sort of velvety-smooth…and pleasant to touch, a sense of moist….but these, of course, are dry..” he picked one pearl up, pinched between thumb and forefinger….he rolled it gently around the ball of his fingertip….”and by themselves, like this, they are like a woman’s erect nipple….almost firm yet…so gently pliable”.

David spoke in a detached but tender tone. She had at first balked at his use of the vulgarity and she watched him closely, looking to detect any trace of lechery in him, but no, while certainly he could be called a sensualist, there was not that oleaginous sleaze that is attached, film-like, to the seeking voice of the degenerate. No, he had used the word as such because in the descriptive circumstance there was no other with the strength of emotion to encompass the fierceness of that strange male hunger.

Suzanne stretched her hand over his to touch the pearls with her fingertips. The smooth opalescence of her skin in vast contrast to his tanned workman’s hands….and as she dabbled them into the glistening bag, his hand moved to the inside of her thigh….Her head came forward to rest in the crook of his shoulder, his lips sought her ear….his other hand moved down the spine of her back to lift up the base of her blouse, his touch had found her so warm..he felt his hunger for her body rise..and ohh to touch that forbidden place and then to be encouraged to go further..David sighed . He freed the clasp of her bra and slipped his hand to cup her breast….her lovely breasts, so full and voluptuous he squeezed the nipple gently as she softly gyrated her hips to his caresses…

“Mmm, “she cooed….”I see what you mean.” she spoke as she fingered the pearls.

“How do you know?” he teased.

She smiled.

“Oh…just a wild guess..” and she pulled back arms length with her hands clasped at the back of his neck.

They sat looking at each other for a full minute without speaking, the insect-candle sending its whisper of citrine scented plume curling over their heads. David placed his hands on her hips.. it was settled, and it seemed as if some enormous imprisoning weight had lifted from their hearts to be replaced by a freedom of movement liberated from the constraints of the artificial dualism of civilized human – spiritual animal!

Suzanne moved her hand down and grasped his erection…

“All rise to the power of the beast!” she laughed quietly…he chuckled with her…”how good a carpenter are you?”

“Oh…fair to middling I always try to put my heart into my work.” he smiled.

She worked his zipper down and released his “beast” from its “cell”.

“Mmm..with a bar like this you should be able to jemmy any door!” they both laughed heartily but softly, then again a small silence…Suzanne gave his penis a gentle squeeze, noting again that soft, silken feel of the hardened flesh…with the oh so gentle undulations along its length…she felt a rising anticipation for it to press against and then to enter the opening of her vagina slowly pushing in deep up to its full length…..her breath deepened at these thoughts she had…David’s words on the beach reverbetated in her mind..” … and we live our lives in the shadow of the divine.”

“Will you stay the while ?” and David patted the cushion of the seats….”It folds down to a double bed.”

She felt a sudden flush of colour rise to her cheeks, a warmth of emotions that she had not experienced since her teens when her body was master over her mind…before the demanding constraints of social convention had enslaved her desires.

“Will she stay the while?….” Suzanne repeated his request. She looked into his eyes, she leaned toward him, her breath quickened, their eyes held till the hiatus was broken by the gentle touching of their fingers intertwined….

A kiss! a kiss!

The first glimmer of dawn sweetened the charcoal sky as Suzanne changed into top gear and headed up the highway toward her ultimate destination, the memory of parting still warm on her lips. They had made love on awakening and she had left him there in the park and drove away so as to get a good start before the children awoke. A kiss and a wave of hand the last time she would see him….oh yes!..also the pearl! The pearl David had given her as a momento. She took one hand off the steering wheel to feel into her breast pocket…there it was!

She took it out, held it up in front of her eyes and gazed at it, its polished husk glowed like a moonstone….but wait!..the moon!…there, suspended in space on a lightening horizon was the full moon, as polished and opalescent as the pearl itself! a compliment to each other! she smiled as she thought of that morning’s quiet love-making in the bed and ahead of her lay the interminable road. She glanced back at the children still asleep and then, smiling wickedly, took the pearl and dexterously slipped the treasure down inside her panties to place it strategically and comfortably between the still moist lips of her vagina.

The Creeping Poison of The Lie.

 

It is common knowledge that while a truth will give strength and courage to a moral cause, the lie will only weaken one’s position and weaken one’s moral argument. What we now see in both the LNP. Govt’ and its pimp; the MSM. is not only has it blatantly lied on policy intent and delivery, it is now reached the position , along with it’s  pimping media, of LYING about when it lied…the corruption is complete, it only can go to physically defending it’s illegitimate position from here..and rest assured, without drawing on Godwin’s Law on this, those “operatives” from the IPA.,along with the fools from the Hansonist  side of politics possess ALL the ingredients of Himmler’s Gestapo or Mussolini’s Fascisti.. and I doubt there would be any hesitation in their psyche to use such!…There is nothing new under the sun.

There is a great, continuing historical lie that the Barbarians destroyed the physical structures of ancient Rome..As Gibbon has pointed out, those Germanic warriors,  educated in both the Latin tongue, culture and military tactics of the Empire had neither inclination nor time to do any damage of a lasting nature to the solid edifices of the Capital. Considering that the conquering armies only remained in the capital to loot for from 3 days to 15 days, they only really had time to lift the more portable wealth to carry away on their wagons and packhorses…No, the sad truth and horrible lie is that the catholic church under subsequent Popes looted from and destroyed the alters and temples and burned the original, irreplaceable  manuscripts of that pagan civilization to both enrich their own basilicas and palaces over a personal liesure and millennial timeline.

The Abrahamic religions have and continue to wrought great and grave destruction on ANY agnostic or atheistic civilization. The blind obedience to such ignorance is no more than a pathological sickness that has granted , in our society, the likes of political right-wing elements to dwell in a sick , paranoid hiatus on a deep-seated fear of the different.

My own Father, an escapee of fascist Italy, along with a host of other Italian refugees from that murderous foolishness were interred for at least four years during the 2nd.WW. along side their arch enemies ; the fascist sympathizers in Aust’, for no reason than just being here. The ongoing contribution of those same internees after the war is a story of incomparable success of the multi-cultural story of Aust. Yet now, in this day and age, after a multitude of ethnic group successes of integration into our nation , we STILL get these sick delusions of unconscious fear of the unknown, not just by Anglo Australians, but also from Euro/Asia migrants several generations entrenched in the country .

Which persons or what lie is fuelling this fear?

Simple..look as Cicero did in prosecuting the case of Verres…: “For whose benefit?” is the question and the only answer we can come to is; the conservative side of politics. You hear no argument against immigration of whatever  ethnic group from the ‘Left” side of politics, nor from any currently vilified minority group..only from the right-wing crazies and the Machiavellian LNP. and their associates. It is beyond time that the Right-wing have some sort of therapy to address this deeply ingrained fear factor that holds the country back and isolates us from the greater community of world inclusion..There is a healthy community gathering going on “out there” and many are here hiding behind the drawn curtains too afraid step out for a promenade with our neighbours. It is an indictment upon the nations leadership that progress has stalled on this most important policy.

It is a sad, sorry and unforgivable state indeed.

 

 

The Patience of the Predator.

Back in the days of my callous youth, when I would go hunting rabbits with my trusty .22 repeater rifle, I soon learned the basic rudiments of the predator vs. the predated. For instance, if I came to a section of bush that showed all the signs but none of the movement of quarry, instead of waltzing out to the middle of the clearing and announcing my intentions to all and sundry, I would stand dead still, and breathe quietly and listen carefully…the intent of course was to place the opportunity of mistake on to the quarry, for as long as either of us remained quiet and still, neither would be discovered..But if one moved…and with myself being in the dominant position of power… this is where the nous of the hunter is put to the test..if there is one thing the predator must have in spades, it is patience.

If you but observe the tactics of a cat…with the experienced hunter, it is usually the quarry that loses patience first..and then…

“The leisure-class canon demands strict and comprehensive futility, the instinct of workmanship demands purposeful action. The leisure-class canon of decorum acts slowly and pervasively, by a selective elimination of all substantially useful or purposeful modes of action from the accredited scheme of life; the instinct of workmanship acts impulsively and may be satisfied, provisionally, with a proximate purpose. “

The managerial middle-class has perfected the principle of the patience of the predator. The impulsive nature of the ‘producing class’, with it’s need and or requirement of immediate results, lures it into rash decision and opinion making..such impulsiveness will often lead the general collective of this class into an economic or political trap..The managerial authority has , through proven historical experience adopted the hunter’s prowess of seek out and destroy through a waiting game, that which denies their uninterrupted governance. This is best achieved by adopting the methods learned down through the ages of strategy and cunning used in many diplomatic and military exploits, and then passed on through the filters of education to those selected out and best suited for such invidious managerial pursuits.

“As it finds expression in the life of the barbarian, prowess manifests itself in two main directions—force and fraud. In varying degrees these two forms of expression are similarly present in modern warfare, in the monetary occupations, and in sports and games. Both lines of aptitudes are cultivated and strengthened by the life of sport as well as by the more serious forms of emulative life. Strategy or cunning is an element invariably present in games, as also in warlike pursuits and in the chase. In all of these employments strategy tends to develop into finesse and chicanery. Chicanery, falsehood, browbeating, hold a well-secured place in the method of procedure of any athletic contest and in games generally.”

Well may it be attributed to the Upper class of England to claim that..: “The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton”..

Of course all this may just be passing trivial information except for the current political games being played by the Right-wing of the conservative LNP. to search out and control the recognized opposition that will cause them the most bother in the years to come..They have learned the sorry way the mistake of charging out into the clearing and spraying bullets all around and hitting no particular quarry except perhaps their own mates..a blue on blue!..Now they wait..they are playing the long game..they are drawing out the quarry with strategy..; they propose debates with all the appearance of reasoned logic..”Why not let the people discuss?”…”Why not encourage the unemployed to help themselves?”…” What is wrong with securing our borders ?”….discuss.

With cunning they recruit marginal commentators to push their points by way of “free speech”…”the other side of the debate”, “ The right of another point of view”..But these are just strategies of playing the waiting game. Waiting for the first to blink, to break-cover and panic..and then…their “dogs” in the MSM. go for the throat , selecting the one vulnerable group or person, cut them out, they marginalize them, demonize them and hold them up as example of justification for the action taken. Just like the stalking procedure of the big cats..lying in wait for their pre-selected victim.

“The habitual employment of an umpire, and the minute technical regulations governing the limits and details of permissible fraud and strategic advantage, sufficiently attest the fact that fraudulent practices and attempts to overreach one’s opponents are not un-forseen features of the game. In the nature of the case habituation to sports should conduce to a fuller development of the aptitude for fraud; and the prevalence in the community of that predatory temperament which inclines men to sports connotes a prevalence of sharp practice and callous disregard of the interests of others, individually and collectively. Resort to fraud, in any guise and under any legitimation of law or custom, is an expression of a narrowly self-regarding habit of mind. “

The practice of the patience of the predator is used by the managerial class throughout all walks of society as a method of control of those considered “out of control” or “unstable” ..every strata of skilled management utilizes the “pause, wait and see” strategy to give as much time as required to destabilize and unsettle the victim..waiting for the first false move or mistake and then once off-guard, they pounce!

“The astute man, it may be remarked, is of no economic value to the community—unless it be for the purpose of sharp practice in dealings with other communities. His functioning is not a furtherance of the generic life process. At its best, in its direct economic bearing, it is a conversion of the economic substance of the collectivity to a growth alien to the collective life process—very much after the analogy of what in medicine would be called a benign tumor, with some tendency to transgress the uncertain line that divides the benign from the malign growths. The two barbarian traits, ferocity and astuteness, go to make up the predaceous temper or spiritual attitude. They are the expressions of a narrowly self-regarding habit of mind. Both are highly serviceable for individual expediency in a life looking to invidious success. Both also have a high aesthetic value. Both are fostered by the pecuniary culture. But both alike are of no use for the purposes of the collective life. “

Thankfully, they can be easily identified by their lack of real creativity or inventiveness in any given situation..They are totally predictable.

(All quotes are from Thorsten Veblen : “The Theory of the Leisure Class”..)

The Final Solution : The LNP. and Democracy.

Image result for Praetorian Guard pics.

The answer to that pesky problem of Democratic Governance by Bureaucracy  for John Howard floated serenely over the Australian horizon with the arrival of the Tampa with a number of refugees rescued on board..who immediately morphed into “illegal arrivals” and were dealt with by sending a detachment of SAS. Military to take control of the situation.

With that one svelte move, John Howard had crossed many international treaty lines, many democratic ideals and usurped both bureaucratic and military convention and took Australia momentarily by his unilateral decision to use the military for a domestic political solution, to a “Military Monarchy”…With himself as “head of State.”

This was no small moment in Aust’ history…no shrug of sleeper awakening..this was THE clue, sought by the conservative side of Aust’ politics since Menzies left for his “adopted home” on English soil to admire that ; “…butt that did pass him by…” This action, pragmatically unchallenged by any constitution or military legality, gave conservatism the “physical” clout that would guide their hand in many future decisions both domestic and abroad.

But it was only a temporary incursion into military monarchy, the conservative mindset from Turnbull / Abbott to Howard to Fraser to Menzies is not one to usurp REAL regal power..that is why it is always a “forelock tugger” to Buckingham Palace before it would take a major step like domestic treason. It is why Fraser would “consult” the Governor General before acting a coup..something Whitlam and subsequent Labor govts’ would not consider in their wildest frolics on the lawns of The Lodge.

“ Impracticableness of the Ideals…: However much of the ideal of his party and of his youth–to found a Periclean government in Rome not by virtue of the sword,but by virtue of the confidence of the nation–Caesar had been obliged  to abandon this in the struggle with realities, he retained even now the fundamental idea–of not founding a military monarchy–with an energy to which history scarcely supplies a parallel.Certainly this too was an impracticable ideal–it was the sole illusion,in regard to which the earnest longing of that vigorous mind was more powerful than its clear judgment.  A government, such as Caesar had in view, was not merely of necessity in its nature highly personal, and so liable to perish with the death of its author just as the kindred creations of Pericles and Cromwell with the death of their founders; but, amidst the deeply disorganized state of the nation, it was not at all credible that the eighth “king of Rome” would succeed even for his lifetime in ruling, as his seven predecessors had ruled…” (Mommsen; “History of Rome”).

One could never imagine Julia Gillard usurping military right to enforce domestic policy as has the LNP.  SHE governed with democratic bureaucracy, and governed very successfully. Unlike the LNP. leadership with it’s quasi military “Borderforce” and the now affiliated “AFP” and “Asio”. Tony Abbott was very keen to talk about a “Guided Democracy”..the idea of himself as head of state in such would see a new type of Military Monarchy that would fulfill his adoration of monarch with his love of martial rule. If such a order of governance could have been put in place..and we have to concede that there was work being done to allow more power..MUCH MORE POWER (witness the Flinders Street Border Force “stop and search” day in Melbourne) to those arms of martial authority, then coupled with the meta data surveillance by Brandis and the placement of IPA. apparatchiks in the Senate and retired military personnel in places of authority, the scenario was set for all the makings of a new “Guided Democracy” that satisfies both the conservative love of Monarchy and demand for “Born To Rule” power…and it was only the complete incompetence of that ‘c#nt-struck” imbecile that forestalled its implementation.

There is a danger with installing a military flavour into a democratic government that can have far reaching consequences for the future of a nation..:

“…the standing army–after it had during the last civil war learned its power and unlearned its reverence–once more as a subservient element in civil society.  To any one who calmly considered to what extent reverence for the law had disappeared from the lowest as from the highest ranks of society, the former hope must have seemed almost a dream; and, if with the Marian reform of the military system the soldier generally had ceased to be a citizen,the Campanian mutiny and the battle-field of  Thapsus showed with painful clearness the nature of the support which the army now lent to the law.  Even the great democrat himself could only with difficulty and imperfectly hold in check the powers which he had unchained; thousands of swords still at his signal flew from the scabbard, but they were no longer equally ready upon that signal to return to the sheath.  Fate is mightier than genius.”

And THIS is the eternal flaw in “far-sighted policy” of the right-wing..as prepared as they are to unleash reprimand and admonishment upon a peoples, they then do not have the power to pull back in check those vicious implements they gave licence to enforce such demands..History lends evidence to the result.

John Howard’s “final Solution” to his confected “illegal immigrant crisis” has laid the ground-work for a desired form of governance that stands ready in the darkened shadows of democracy, neither total dictatorship nor tyranny, but certainly a blunt-instrument toward the Abbott (and one would suspect many others)ideal of a “guided democracy” with a “selected” Head of State.

“Caesar desired to become the restorer of the civil commonwealth,and instead became the founder of the military monarchy which he abhorred; he overthrew the regime of aristocrats and bankers in the state,only to put a military regime in their place, and the commonwealth continued as before to be tyrannized and worked for profit by a privileged minority.”…

(All quotes taken from ; Mommsen ; “History of Rome” )

People do Ask.

People ask ; “how could it be that Australia has come to this?”..But the answer is right there, revealed in one generations lifetime..From the Fraser treasonous “gaming” of a drunken, deluded sot of a Governor General, to the conservative machinations of  High-Court judiciary and cemented in situ by the sniveling bile of a store-keepers son to “…choose who will come to this country and the means by which they do it”…and to that whine of desperate acknowledgement of the insignificant, was added the beggars chorus of the once hid-in-shame racist bigotry of  redneck, bogan “battlers” from the rest of the drunken deluded sots of the nation.

This “movement” of racist insistence to be heard, not unlike any other rush of need to relieve one’s bowels of waste of space, has it’s roots, it’s “philosophy”, it’s creed, it’s demands, it’s blind obedience to the guiding hand of imbecility and callous disregard, in the party-room of conservative politics. The root and branch of such nation destroying vomit (one can not honestly call such ; philosophy) has been copulated, promulgated , incunabulated  from the guts of  the whoredom of LNP. ideals. These thieves of both dignity and booty do now wallow and embrace all that which once was seen as dis-honourable and disgusting in our land.

“The notion of honour in theft too was already developed ; the big robber looked down on the little, and the latter on the mere thief, with contempt ; anyone who had once for a wonder been condemned boasted of the high figures he had extracted. Such was the behaviour in the provinces of the successors of those men who had been accustomed to bring home nothing from their administration but the thanks of the subjects and the approbation of their fellow citizens.” ..Mommsen.

I fear that the progression of hate and debasement of minorities, encouraged by a servile MSM. will reach a pace unstoppable save for the release from this life of certain media moguls, redundant political figures and a forced submission through charged commissions royal of many members of the above Party and it’s affiliates.

Their criminal intent is obvious, their division of the nation is obnoxious and their persons not wanted in any society that seeks conciliation and integration into a fair, just and equal community. NO country, NO society and NO civilization survives on a diet of cruel oppression for any longer than the oppressed take up whatever arms are at hand and wreak havoc on the very structures that support that society.

THAT is not an opinion, THAT is example of the entire history of human existence…NOT an if or but, rather a : WHEN.

A “Boomer” Perspective.

Once upon a time.

In many years hence, when the cold, unconcerned hand of historical research vivisects this period of Australian politics, not only will it detail, with wincing eye , to those researchers, the incomprehensible ineptness of this LNP. government, but it will surely blink in disbelieving wonder at the complacency of a goodly proportion of the populace to tolerate such obvious interference and corruption from capital-based corporations and lobby groups.

 

Not since the time of Julius Caesar, have such cashed-up cabals, with their “affiliates” , equal in disaster, violence and intent to the rampaging days of the political gangs of Clodius and Milo had such bribery and coercive influence been used. There will surely be more than a little mirth when the portraits both pictorial and matched to the verbal utterances of persons like George Brandis or Christopher Pyne are held to the historical lens and their activities dissected and displayed. Comparisons could easily be drawn between the most comical characters of a legion of dramatists of the theatre.

 

But there will be another analysis, I believe, that will have heads shaking in dis-belief..And that is how a society moved from a deeply caring, non-aggressive multicultural success story to a divisive, racist, scornful mob. Irony and satire aside, there will be confusion at the cognitive dissonance of that section of society who, refugees themselves to a colonized land, could then set upon– both those refugees that followed them to freedom and those who occupied the land before them—with all the tools of crazy outrage that such folk could have intention as to”steal” THEIR NATION from under their very feet….there will have to be question raised about the collective sanity of the era.

 

But I am thinking I could save some time if I can explain here, the strange motivations of the “abandoned generation” that is currently in power in Australia. This generation of conservatives sprung, doomed, like late season fruit from the baby-boomers “Tree of Liberation”..

 

There are three phases to the “baby-boomer” generation..: The first, from the immediate latter war years to the fifties, then the second wave from the early fifties to the latter years of  the decade, and then the doomed “left-behinds” of the late fifties/early sixties. The first were subject to the hard militaristic discipline of their parents..the second were spared such severe social punishment through the “boom years” of the mid-fifties, the third were the lost-cause of child-rearing once the great social revolution of the sixties got into full swing.

 

The first wave of baby-boomers set a hesitant stumbling pace of radical change..a change more marked by a shift in style of fashion and music, than in social behaviour..in THAT they grudgingly stuck to the old principles…mostly..there were social radicals sure, but they quickly fled to the greener pastures of Europe.

 

It was left to the second wave of “boomers” to shrug off the local yoke of “work-ethic” demands and obedience to create a many-headed hydra of wild abandon to seek alternative knowledge no matter how discursive or obscure, from Kahil Gibran to Kant , from Nostradamus to Nietzsche, from The Beatles to Bach to Leonard Cohen..we spread our “search” to the widest of wide open spaces, into the depths of confining crypts..Abandoning job security, our homes and family ties, casting aside the very cloth of our society, we threw ourselves into the teeth of a world-wide social storm and stood as children naked!…To quote Milton in Aldous Huxley,,: “Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves” and it was this searching, the gathering together of the many threads of life’s loose tapestry that ended up giving us the nous to see back to the past behaviour of our parents and grandparents and to project forward to envision a near future that allowed us to cultivate what was beneficial to our body and soul and to cast aside that which was detrimental to the well-being of a society…but in a lot of cases, it must be admitted; it was chance washed us up Robinson Caruso like on this Island of good fortune.

 

THIS , though, was our mistake ; to selfishly leave the following “children of the night”, the last born of the generation in the wake of our parting ship…to wallow in little spiritual reward and gross waste of a ruined society of post-mortem Menzies, post boom years sixties, post Vietnam War and an emerging brutality of Hollywood fantasy and worse..MUCH worse..; disco music!

 

They were left in the rubble and we were gone.

 

Armed with all the historical example that our self-awakening study revealed , coupled with a self-confidence in our gained professions, did we not carve out of the remains of decrepit conservatism our own private Australias and set about securing our financial borders for the very thing we never really believed would come …old age.

 

And now..here we are, somewhat bent with age but still rebellious , at the mercy of a medical intervention system that we instigated for our old age protection , but sadly now beholden to a political class that both despises our past capabilities and resents our past abandonment of their persons in the post revolution hangover.

 

It has to be noted, that while we of the second wave boomers may not have bred these frustrated conservatives, we were remiss in not seeing that where our parents failed by clinging too tight to their last children, we did not take these waifs, these orphans of a lost conservatism regime along with us for the ride of their lives! We should have..We should have!

 

But hey…we would then surely, perhaps,  been accused of perverting the morals of a minor.

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Hancock.

It’s funny, you know…; the image of adults one has as a child, compared to the actual reality known by the adults of the time around you. Mrs. Hancock used to cut our hair when we were children…the four of us ; from the oldest brother (about 10 yrs) , down incl’ to my sister, then myself (the youngest about five yrs). We would be marched down across the railway-line by the eldest (“hup-two three four”), each clutching a bob (one shilling) in our sweaty little hands to get that one generic haircut for which Mrs. Hancock was infamous..: “The Baseoh”…about once every couple of months, it seemed, most of the kids in the district would sport a Mrs. Hancock “special”…and we’d be lined up on the railway station going to school, looking like a lot of miniature “Moes” (as in The Three Stooges!) waiting for the train….girls incl’, you know!..I wonder that some social science person didn’t do a study on ; “Demographic by haircut” kind of thing for those days?..there must have been a “Mrs. Hancock” in every suburb…truth be known, I believe most barbers..like most architects, have one basic style..and everything else is a derivative there-off.

The image I had of Mrs. Hancock as a child was of this frumpy old lady, dressed in ‘lop-sided’ cardigan and dress, living in this dreary old fibro house, with creepy shadows and dull lighting…she would sit us in an old stuffed, armless chair next to one of those “side tables” of dark timber and curved legs and armed with scissors, a smelly fag and the endless glass of water, she would attack our tangled locks with all the tactics of “Tojo in a Zero” coming out of the sun!….the fag-end would send an endless swirl of smoke past her wincing eye…she’d take a gulp of water, vice-clasp our head unceremoniously with her left hand and her right hand would start with the then continuous…”snipsnipsnipsnip…snipping” as she dove into the job, to come out the other side in an undisturbed arc, the arm ascending upward to hover above our heads somewhere “sit still child!”..mechanically, continuously, snipsnipsnipsnip snipping !….one sat in a horror of anticipation for the next “strafing” (and you know, I can’t stand being “dive-bombed” by mozzies to this day…I don’t mind so much the bite…it’s the hovering, whirring, buzzing that drives me crazy!). Her house was the last one on that side of the road..behind the train station…I think it was called “Cygnet Terrace” before it was pushed through and became “The Cove Road”, thereby cutting off the notorious Emma St. Crossing that cost the lives of a young couple whose car was hit by the train coming out of the blind cutting there at the crossing…a cold wind would cut down through the barren gullies there in winter.

But it wasn’t till years later, when I first started going to the pub as an older youth, that I realized that the “glass of water” always at her beck, was gin and tonic…..Yes, poor old Mrs. Hancock was a gin-soak….and , going by her familiarity with her fellows in the front bar of The Seacliff Hotel ; an old hand at the game. I suppose that is why her front parlour where she “scalped “ us kids always had the curtains drawn…but , you know…my mother would have heard of that..but then again, many in that “fringe district” where we lived were escapees from reality….my old man bought there because it was cheap land…not now though!….It was at the end of the railway line…hang on, that’s not quite true…there was one more stop..”Hallett Cove”…but that place only got two or three trains a day then and it was the refuge of bankrupts, hermits and criminals….I got to meet quite a few in later years, so can confirm the statement!

Back to the mistaken image of adults one has as a child…I remember also being taken into the front-bar of the Brighton Hotel by my dad as a very young boy..he having a beer and me a raspberry..and this man bending down to me and saying in a beery voice..” hello little fellah..what’s your name…eh? eh?” and I got real scared, but my dad was just smiling…I couldn’t then understand why he didn’t chase the ugly man away!…poor old bastard was just another drunk saying hello to a kid……but then..I was a sensitive child!………………………….still am!

Adam Jablonskis.

Adam Jablonskis.

 

I have to tell you of this bloke…particularly now that a very weird thing happened concerning my curiosity about him…You know that piece I put up about Mrs. Hancock and our haircuts….well, it got me thinking about people around there then and I remembered the Jablonskis family who lived across the road from Mrs. Hancock who used to cut all the kids in the district hair…then I remembered those kids never had the “Hancock baseoh” that we all had!…I rang my old mate Jon Potter, up in Darwin to ask what happened to Adam Jablonskis and about those haircuts….well Potter answers the phone , abuses me as usual and says; “Here, guess who this is?”…and gives the phone to some bloke I didn’t have a clue of!…”It’s Adam Jablonskis”…the other bloke finally says….Hey!….Hey!….WTF!!…what’s going on here, I’m thinking…WOW!…I haven’t seen or heard of Adam for at least forty years…and just when I go  to ask someone about him, he turns up on the end of the bloody line!!??….Hey?..Hey?..far out man!….now I’ll HAVE to tell you the story.

 

The Jablonskis family lived in a fibro house over the road-one down from Mrs. Hancock. I suppose they are Polish..I never thought of asking..no-one seems to have..but then there were many weird names in that fringe district..: Leuschel, Skrypek, Aloia, Verstaphen, Hogben…now there’s a moniker..: “Hogben”…what is that?…Anglo-something?.. I sometimes wonder how they got along…I do remember the Jablonskis kids never sported the “Hancock Base-oh” that many others did…perhaps, being neighbours, so to speak…? Of all the people in the Jablonskis family, and there were a few, I only remember three…Adam…his brother Alex and old Mrs…..

 

Adam’s brother, Alex, had extraordinary balance..or at least it looked that way…he could have equaled John Travolta as “Vinnie” when he did that twist dance in “Pulp Fiction”…he (Adam’s bro’) would walk like he was forever facing into a force ten gale…I don’t know how he stayed upright, he seemed to be sloping backwards at least twenty degrees from the vertical!….some of us kids would try to imitate him on the railway station as we waited for the school train….no way !..Marlene Oxford, when she spotted him walking on the street, from her window, would hold a broom-handle vertical to see how many degrees from it he leant…she reckons if you made the handle at twelve o’clock, Alex sloped backwards at about one-thirty / two!….she was a wit was Marlene…she married Tex, the fisherman…I must tell you about him and Ingo Skrypek one day.

 

But Adam was a strange one…he gives proof that one can show all the signs of conservative on the outside, but be totally “unusual” on  the inside….he would accept most challenges…Once, Potter, Mick Oxford and some others scrapped their pennies together and bet Adam that for two bob he wouldn’t eat a caterpillar…he accepted..but they then stipulated that THEY would choose the caterpillar…ok…they chose the fattest, hairiest one they could find….he ate it…one bite at a time…..every kid there nearly vomited…Adam, non-plussed, nonchalantly remarked after finishing the job, that it wasn’t the yellow goo that he minded so much as the hairy bits getting between his teeth!…..more vomiting!!

 

Adam worked for the old PMG.(post masters general dept’) till it got broken up into Telstra … He was one of those old time public servant eccentrics, who gave the service it’s reputation as an imaginative innovator…Adam was in electronics…I remember he showed us kids then how he had rewired his old man’s EH. Holden so he had a row of toggle switches on the dashboard that controlled everything from an electric aerial (novel those days!) to radio and lights and many other fascinating things…he was a marvel!…at least we kids thought so..I often wonder what his old man thought of it all?

 

Another dare he took up was to drive his car in reverse from Brighton Jetty back to Marino Rocks (home) a distance of approx’ ten miles by road…a  challenge he attempted..I say attempted, because he had got a fair way toward success when he was pulled over by the cops up near the top of Brighton road, by the war memorial and asked to “please explain”…he had some difficulty!

 

Old Mrs. Jablonskis was a bent-backed old lady, who always wore black…we kids thought of her as some sort of witch….and would run from her whenever she came onto the railway station..poor old thing, when I think back on it now…she must have had some tragedy in her life to be wearing that black..as is the custom, I believe…kids added to ignorance are cruel things…I think we must have upset her some days with our insensitivities….little shits!

J’accuse ! – MSM. -J’accuse !

An open accusation toward the Fourth Estate / Main stream media..on their sabotaging of the Labor gov’t of Julia Gillard. But still relevant today.Indeed, it needs an update to take into consideration all the acts of gross bastardry that have followed on from that dastardly act of National betrayal which crossed the lines of treason against the democratically elected government of the Labor party. The MSM. has colluded to propagandise against and to act in conjunction with foreign interests to sabotage many pieces of social and manufacturing infrastructure integral to the stabilising and functioning of our State of Australia.

With the next change of govt’, to a more progressive govt’ there must be implemented some sort of tribunal to assess the infiltration into national politics those vested interests from outside this country who used and rewarded their “agents provocateur” to undermine, destabilise and demoralise this nation just to assist in the plunder and rapine of our economy and resourses. Any persons found to give allegiance to, assist the helping of or to receive payment from any foreign national incl’ any media mogul, that wreaked havoc to the political situation and social well-being of the peoples of this nation must be referred to the attorney general for consideration of criminal prosecution…This treason must stop!

Now here..given my trade is but that of a Carpenter / Joiner, you’d be excused for dismissing my missive at this very juncture as the ravings of an irate citizen. BUT..given that I have been working in my trade for over forty-five years, you’d have to grant me experience,same as yourselves, in public interaction and give me time to deliver my complaint to you in terms best understood by all and not misunderstood by any.

If there is one thing experience and time in ANY public interaction occupation, be it .;  Carpenter, policeman, teacher, spare-parts salesman or even journalist, it is the accrued skill to “suss out the situation”…if I may use the vernacular. For instance ; when I first meet with a customer to look at a job and give a quote, I not only have to access the site etc. I also have to do a quick “once-over” of the person I am going to be dealing with….and I had better be accurate as many a budding “self-employed” person has been bought undone by the overestimation of a customer’s capacity to deliver when it is pay-day! This is where life-experience allows one to use language, nuance and observation to make reasonable judgment of the client.( An excellent and wiser estimation of this requirement can be found with such an article by Clarence Darrow…”On selecting a jury”).

The second principle of good work is time…I constantly hear of the 24hr. news cycle making it difficult for journalists to meet quality with quantity, given the demands on their time. For that I can mostly agree…there are times when work-loads do tend to crib into each other…BUT, this again is where experience comes in to foresee a situation arising and to make preparations for such, and one would imagine that a journalist, with his “ear to the ground” would be very savvy to a developing situation.

For instance…I first posted a shorter version of this piece on a site that had several profesional people as moderators..two of which are self-employed contractors..one ; is a optical lens manufacturer / polisher..of the highest quality..A post I read many months ago where he enthusiastically related his success in polishing a lens to such fine measurements, he felt called to share his excitement at the quality of finish NOT..not out of a sense of self aggrandisement, but that internal self-rewarding feeling of a job well done! The other is a trucking contractor , who started the site with little knowledge of blogging technology, but a fistfull of confidence that HE could tackle it…a confidence gathered, I’d warrant, from years of coordinating and timetabling loads and schedules and personally “mixing it” with highway traffic and conditions that would try (as we all know!) the patience and vocabulary of a saint.

I relate all these facts to you because I know, as we all know that having a loaded and busy schedule is no excuse for shoddy work…if there was,that professional’s lenses would be “cross-eyed” and the trucking contractor would be smashed on some highway up the coast, and I would be “called back” to right the wrongs of my constructions. Those with long experience at their craft are constantly thinking of technical points relating to that job even while sitting relaxing, or on the road or even at another job…plotting the lines, the theme, the time-line, the length or load…not to mention the personal obligations of our everyday lives. The skilled “Professional and Artisan” must have the capability to do this even while doing handstands to entertain the kids!….There are no excuses for sloppy workmanship in the professional work-world. It disgraces both the craft and the creator.

So….:

J’accuse.

I accuse the Fourth Estate / Main stream media of deliberate negligence in accessing the source and validity of their reporting material.

I accuse the Fourth Estate of mendaciously slacking off in the preparation of their work and failure of dedication to ANY quality of delivery.

I accuse the Fourth Estate of submitting their collective necks to the yoke of Media Mogul ownership and a willing “servant” to that ownership.

I accuse the Fourth Estate of “gross indifference” to the veracity of their craft and to seek personal vanity over value of the news product.

I accuse the Fourth Estate most of all in the lack of professional application to the “dignity of letters”, a dignity bestowed through a good education and favourable employment that has allowed yourselves the pleasure to deliver, in print, with your own by-line, articles of what ought to be erudite delivery and succinct and truthful opinion…as against the cautious uncertainty of the amateur, whereby one of such self and mixed education as yours truly, must place oneself in the front line of possible literate ridicule just to draw attention to YOUR shortcomings.

Now, after reading an ‘expose’ on the main stream media’s / ABC’s attitude toward accurate reporting on the failings of the LNP govt’s version of the NBN. …I accuse you of the most gross cowardice and behavior not worthy of a loyal citizen of this nation…I call you ALL ; filthy traitor!

I accuse you, I accuse you , I accuse you…..and in the end….I DAMN YOU!