Battle Lines

My sister mentioned in passing yesterday that the family is considering holding an intervention on me. Well there's some news.

Which of my many antisocial and problematic behaviours could they be planning to target I wonder? Could it be my relentless cynicism and brooding depressive belief that life is pretty shit and it is best to pretend otherwise so one doesn't spiral helplessly into an abyss of self destruction? Could it be my venomous and acidic disregard for my fellow humans and seething hatred for politicians, derivatives fund managers and smokers? Could it be my addiction to Spider Solitaire - that sensuous and seductive siren who lures me endlessly onto the rocks of lost time?

No. Apparently, these things don't rate a mention. The family takes it all on board with barely a flicker. There are bigger issues. Issues that threaten the fabric of my life if only I could wake up to their horrible implications.

I look again. Is it the dead lemon tree that I haven't removed yet from the barren (possibly poisonous) part of the yard? No. The trees need trimming? I Mean they're kind of touching those wire things at the front of the house again - that can't be good. No, not that, but yes, they do need a trim. The obsession with re-watching Chronicles of Riddick? Nope. Dodgy and worth keeping an eye on, but no.
What then!?

The evil that hides in plain sight gentle reader is this:
Too many books.

To come here I jettisoned about two thirds of my library, and I have culled and thinned and negotiated ever since. Sure there's a few "rainy day" reads put aside, there's a few in the "maybe read" pile that need to be evaluated, there's the "read once - possibly keep for re-reading" pile, there's the room full of books that fall into the "LOVED IT" category, there's the small collection of first editions, there's non-fiction and reference collection, there's the Batman collection. Very humble collections they are too! There's a few piles here and there I admit. But there are no books in the bathroom! There are no books in the hall! And there are only cookbooks in the kitchen! The shed has only 3 tubs of books, that's not bad considering how much room is in there, but I just don't trust the tubs to stand up to the bugs and pests that rule the kingdom of Shed. All the doors in the house open and close without hindrance. Oh, well, except for that one! But other than that I think the house is, frankly, thin on the ground for intellectual stimulation!

Too many books indeed!
There's barbarians at the gate. Raise the drawbridge! Fly the flags of resistance, rattle your swords in their scabbards, release the monsters into the moat! Prepare for battle!

(Oh, and if you're going to pop by, you're welcome to stay, just let me know a day or two ahead if you can so I can unearth the bed in the spare room, it just has a little "filing" on it for the minute.)

I don't like Mondays

For about eight or nine years I worked in the real world, where what you did and how you did it relly mattered in quite a direct way. That experience was far from cubicles and the monday-to-friday-9-to-5. As you probably know, in the real world, service industries (and like it or not Australia's domestic economy is largely service based) are 7 day operations. Well they are on the central planets. Out here on the rim there's not much that's open on a Sunday, or even a saturday arvo.
But I digress.

I had to make many changes when I took the colonisation shuttle here. The pamphlet said things would be a bit different, but I couldn't have guessed how hard it would be to crowbar myself back into the little box of punching the clock, trying to work on an interface centrally controlled and monitored in work processes based around political expediency and box-ticking rather than service, and with people who've grown up here and think (at best) of everywhere else as only a possible holiday destination (but why pass up a trip to the pleasure boats?). The one thing of all of these that is hardest to swallow is not the petty bitching over imaginary power bases, nor the endless chatter about the best fake tan lotions or speed bleaching of hair. It is the cold, terminal nature of Monday Mornings.

Back in the bustle and business of the central planets, Monday mornings and Friday nights are largely just like any other other moments in the purchasing/pleasuring continuum of modern life. Actual days off may vary. From the inside, Mondays and Fridays are the bi-polar manic days of emotional extremism highlighting the endless cycle of the rat-race and the pathetic occlusion of all that is organic and natural about living. Rigid, imposed and arbitary rules still are the guiding principles of bureaucratic structures, no matter their inefficiency, their pointless focus on attendence and process above output and quality, their heartbreaking monotony.

No sir, I do not like these type of Mondays at all.

Solstice and Spaceship Earth

It is winter solstice again; the long night.

I went to my little sister's place for dinner and to play cards and it was good to see them and catch up on their news. Time is moving faster for them now that she's going to have a baby. There's a very finite and concrete sense of 'time left before the baby comes' and 'everything after'. I can see what shape it is giving to weekends and plans and of course their relationship. All the natural winter urges are heightened for them.

I was thinking earlier today - what is the most beautiful thing that you can think of? Or perhaps it is a place or a person or a sound... feel the joy and the beauty it brings you. How precious and wonderful that is.
Now unless you naturally think of the Eagle Nebula, the Sun's corona or the rings of Saturn, chances are very very good that what you thought of - even your top ten - are all here on earth. Everything is here. So why is it that being a 'greenie' or someone concerned about the well being and survival of the planet is still considered such a social crime? I just don't understand how anyone can be so obstinately ignorant of the peril we're in. It isn't even that "if we break this one we don't have a spare" because we know this one is already broken and the question on every body's heart and mind should really be more like "how much can we mend it if we all pitch in?"

All those extinct species won't come back, but maybe we won't all have to genetically merge with salamanders to survive.