It is deeply unAustralian to dislike hot weather, be largely disinterested in sport and be underwhelmed by the idea of mowing in middle of the day, but nonetheless, here I am. Your personal representative of that irritating single digit demographic of population that insists on watching SBS, reading books without pictures and not eating meat. Frankly, under Howard the sedition laws were getting very close to netting us pale non-sporties and veggos. I don't think any of those "patriot act" style laws have been revoked, but I'm pretty confident they haven't continued to expand. (Of course, they may have. My deliberate ignorance of news means that I remain unaware of what new evils the blandly congenial face of our Current PM hides).
I used to find the idea of sedition very interesting. As I understand it (ie, vague guessing rather than any looking up of definitions, or actual research. I like to start off with a kind-of gestalt feel and spiral my way towards accuracy. Lends slightly more to poetry if there's any in the offing than just diving in to the dictionary. But I digress.) sedition is kinda like mutiny, but on land. Or the idea of mutiny. Of course learning about Pirates has shown me a few more things about mutiny too. Sometimes 'mutiny' was a fairly straightforward commercial decision where a strongly held difference in acquisitional strategies and philosophies of plunder led to simple (ie bloodless) partings where the pirates' fleet (yes, they often had small convoys and even fleets) would experience a re-distribution of crew and a ship or two would peel away and head to fresh horizons. Seems reasonable. In other times, most notably in the above-board commercial world and the navy, mutiny was the last line of defence against a Captain gone buttfuck crazy - wigging out all over the place and homicidal on an unsustainable trajectory. Of course, Captains get to write the Ship's Log, so later on it could be hard to get the dead to speak in one's defence if the Captain had a lucid moment with quill before the parting of ways.
So anyway, why might this be interesting? It seemed to me that crumbly empires get more concerned with what you might be thinking than what you're actually doing. Critical thought can become a crime. Frank conversation about how things could practically be different can become a crime. Not a misdemeanour, not a concern, not a 'no scones for you naughty thing!' but a crime.
A much greater thinker than I, George Orwell, has of course covered this ground superbly, in his seminal work of paranoia "1984". I recommend it to myself for a re-read and to you dear reader for your own edification (read it here for free).
I'm not up to Orwell. I'm just saying that for some reason a few years back, we started making it explicit that thinking was problematic to the Australian way of life. That was interesting because it seemed so quaintly old-school and utterly, utterly pointless. Then it wasn't interesting at all for a long time, just another example of how shitty life can be, and keeping that list is a really dull hobby. I let it go.
Then last weekend I watched "Death Race" and it set me to thinking (as incredibly brutal, masochistic, post-collapse action films often do) about what we like to think of as "fiction" and therefore entertaining, and who we think are suitable people to fill the roles of villains. Not many people saw Death Race, despite Jason Statham in the lead and Ian "Swearengen" McShane in support so let me break it down for you... and bear with me as the plot does not hang together in the film so this will not sound very cogent*.
An ex-con who happens to also be an ex-car racing guy's wife is brutally murdered and he is framed for it so that he can go to the commercially run jail where they RACE (a la Running Man) in a competition to THE DEATH to win their freedom. BTW the race of fortified and armed cars is telecast live and viewing is by subscription, thereby earning the prison mega-bucks.
Ok. Nothing new there. Literally (it is a remake of a '76 film). I won't distract our conversation by going into the gender stuff (other than to say it is tediously predictable - the wife is a corpse before she gets 2 full lines out, the uber-evil Warden is a post-menopausal corporate witch drone, and then there's 3 or 4 bootylicious and interchangable sets of tits and arses to dress the cars up. Sorry "navigators" from the women's prison.) That was a long set-up for a short pay-off. The fiction here (can you spot it?) that makes all of this allowable - is that "in the future, prisons will be run for (dramatic pause) profit!" (GASP OF SHOCK) Only in that kind of hideously peverted world would something so craven come about.
But of course this fiction is a fiction.
Prisons the world over, and here in Australia, are run by contractors to lesser or greater degrees already. Some in the States are already "purpose built facilities" completely funded by commercial interests. Running a prison is like removing garbage - one of those services that the community expects gets handled, but actually as long as the name and the signage is ok, really don't care who exactly is taking care of that business, and it's a growth industry. It's the Indian call-centre approach to staffing and funding. A hollow-core world, and, most importantly to this discussion, it is old hat. Maybe in 76 it seemed a wild idea, great for some future world (Mad Max-esque - if you will. Actually Mad Max came out in 79 - but you get my drift.) and certainly when Ghosts ... of the Civil Dead came out in 88 it was a chilling commentary on a system running loose and note - even the title tied it in to the concepts that prisoners were people, with rights (BTW Nick Cave co-wrote this, and had an acting role in it. Keyword: BLEAK. It is not a popcorn and beer type film - unlike Death Race which is clearly made to be consumed as Entertainment "Ghosts..." feels like a nightmare documentary ). But I digress.
To bring this back to sedition, it seems we have eaten our own tail. If sedition is a crime of thought in which criticism of the ruling system is entertained, what is it called when telling the truth about the ruling system is seen as distasteful or undesirable enough that we maintain a consensus reality that these unpalatable truths remain fictions?
How close are we to a situation where, on the books at least, speaking aloud a truth becomes a crime?
Close enough, I'd say, that someone will be able to furnish an example in Australia of where this is already the case. Or proposed to be the case. Probably in that that bundle of ridiculous on-line measures. Anyway. There it is. I don't really know what to do with that line of thought. It begs for action of some kind. But what?
In a hollow-core world where do you toss the molotov?
* WARNING - PLOT SPOILER. You and I know that it is unlikly that you're going to:
a. Watch this film, eva.
b. Not see this twist coming, and
c. Have the pleasure of watching massively overclocked cars race around almost endlessly brutally killing 'people' ruined by this brief synopsis. Basically this is a film that delivers on the core promise of the title. "Death Race" That's what they were selling and that's what they made. No nancy-pantsing around.
Showing posts with label world gone mad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label world gone mad. Show all posts
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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.)
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.)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Too many Days
The 28TH of December poses a real and present danger to the capitalist way of life and should be dispensed with under the Keynesian Laws of Market Stimulus (1927).
This problematic day creates a hiccup in the smooth flow of capital from the proletariat to the businesses of escape and should either be commercialised or excised. The major investment poured over the decades into creating a day of massive consumption (code name "Christmas") and the corresponding after party (Code name "Boxing Day" - both 'sales' and movie premiers) has been inordinately successful. The use of all subsequent days as lead-ups to New Year's Eve and the increasing commercialisation of this event is being undermined by the subversive elements within Dec28TH and this cannot be allowed to escalate and put at risk all that we have achieved.
Situation Report
Undercover agents have again reported unacceptable behaviours on this day such as the vague and somnambulistic questioning the value of ongoing consumption of disposable consumer items, public expressions of symptoms and sensations of boredom, even a desire to connect with other non-familial humans without the purchase of special clothes or equipment in order to do so, and most problematically, some were seen to take a long walk on this day and to read a non-fiction book when they returned. Obviously this is not yet a crisis, indeed may of these behaviours are part of the cultural legacy inherited by the system from the previous historical construct. They are weakening overall but the cabal feel that at this juncture of the dominance of global capital such outbursts constitute a warning sign. This undercurrent of unease could be used by the rebel forces to politicise and activate currently placid consumers. That risk is unacceptable.
The Decimal Option
A further investment of funds into a fresh event is always possible. However analysis suggests that both December and January are sufficiently subscribed to meet requirement. Many other months are desperately under-subscribed, entire quarters in some instances (August, September, October for example remain barren of all but the weakest events. Despite ongoing investment and marketing application, Father's Day remains sluggish against expectations). This presents an opportunity to instigate a radical re-visioning of the year as we know it in line with some other goals of the cabal. Let's be honest - 365 has always been an unwieldy number. Non-decimal, pagan, geo-centric it represents a psychologically uncontrollable random element to life and commerce. Frankly, it's just annoying. Twelve months is two too many. Seven days a week - WTF? - let's make it 5 or 10 and neaten up the whole calendar business. The year would be much more manageable at, say 200 or 250 days length. Each month would then have a perfect four or five weeks (at a 5 day length) and in the course of two comparative centuries, we would accrue an extra 92 Christmases (using the larger 250 day a year model, results are even more dramatic at the 200 day a year rate). Thus creating an increase in the rate of return on investment for cabal members that I'm sure will be persuasive in and of itself.
On the Front Foot
There's simply no downside to this option, and at this point in history we have the power, the reach, the will and the advertising budget to pull it off. So many of our niggling and accruing problems would be dealt with through this one rational measure. There are simply too many days in the year, and it is time we handled it. Time we created a tighter, pacier year that zips and flows from one major celebration to the next. It is time for this cabal to shine the digital decimal light of market forces onto the slapshod rambling world and really rip some returns for our shareholders. Analysis suggests that implementation costs would actually function as a market stimulus (much as we've recognised that the targeted and deliberate reduction in carbon emissions would). I urge the cabal to get on the front foot and do it now while they're on their knees from the 'credit crunch' (you've got to hand it to our marketing department and their snappy names) and then as a reward we can ease the reins a little. What we lose in control of the crunch will be nothing to what we gain in the big matrix.
This problematic day creates a hiccup in the smooth flow of capital from the proletariat to the businesses of escape and should either be commercialised or excised. The major investment poured over the decades into creating a day of massive consumption (code name "Christmas") and the corresponding after party (Code name "Boxing Day" - both 'sales' and movie premiers) has been inordinately successful. The use of all subsequent days as lead-ups to New Year's Eve and the increasing commercialisation of this event is being undermined by the subversive elements within Dec28TH and this cannot be allowed to escalate and put at risk all that we have achieved.
Situation Report
Undercover agents have again reported unacceptable behaviours on this day such as the vague and somnambulistic questioning the value of ongoing consumption of disposable consumer items, public expressions of symptoms and sensations of boredom, even a desire to connect with other non-familial humans without the purchase of special clothes or equipment in order to do so, and most problematically, some were seen to take a long walk on this day and to read a non-fiction book when they returned. Obviously this is not yet a crisis, indeed may of these behaviours are part of the cultural legacy inherited by the system from the previous historical construct. They are weakening overall but the cabal feel that at this juncture of the dominance of global capital such outbursts constitute a warning sign. This undercurrent of unease could be used by the rebel forces to politicise and activate currently placid consumers. That risk is unacceptable.
The Decimal Option
A further investment of funds into a fresh event is always possible. However analysis suggests that both December and January are sufficiently subscribed to meet requirement. Many other months are desperately under-subscribed, entire quarters in some instances (August, September, October for example remain barren of all but the weakest events. Despite ongoing investment and marketing application, Father's Day remains sluggish against expectations). This presents an opportunity to instigate a radical re-visioning of the year as we know it in line with some other goals of the cabal. Let's be honest - 365 has always been an unwieldy number. Non-decimal, pagan, geo-centric it represents a psychologically uncontrollable random element to life and commerce. Frankly, it's just annoying. Twelve months is two too many. Seven days a week - WTF? - let's make it 5 or 10 and neaten up the whole calendar business. The year would be much more manageable at, say 200 or 250 days length. Each month would then have a perfect four or five weeks (at a 5 day length) and in the course of two comparative centuries, we would accrue an extra 92 Christmases (using the larger 250 day a year model, results are even more dramatic at the 200 day a year rate). Thus creating an increase in the rate of return on investment for cabal members that I'm sure will be persuasive in and of itself.
On the Front Foot
There's simply no downside to this option, and at this point in history we have the power, the reach, the will and the advertising budget to pull it off. So many of our niggling and accruing problems would be dealt with through this one rational measure. There are simply too many days in the year, and it is time we handled it. Time we created a tighter, pacier year that zips and flows from one major celebration to the next. It is time for this cabal to shine the digital decimal light of market forces onto the slapshod rambling world and really rip some returns for our shareholders. Analysis suggests that implementation costs would actually function as a market stimulus (much as we've recognised that the targeted and deliberate reduction in carbon emissions would). I urge the cabal to get on the front foot and do it now while they're on their knees from the 'credit crunch' (you've got to hand it to our marketing department and their snappy names) and then as a reward we can ease the reins a little. What we lose in control of the crunch will be nothing to what we gain in the big matrix.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Generation Kill
There's always someone worse off.
It's not meant to be a cheering thought, but it is. As a fat, white, middle-class-ish Australian, roughly 92% of the world is worse off than I am, but of course I don't usually see them and so, every now and then, I just completely forget.
This week I've been reminded of this fact by watching the HBO mini series "Generation Kill".
There are many levels on which this mini-series is fascinating. Before I get into any rave or meandering, I'll own up immediately to the following points:
1. It is based on a book (Generation Kill by Evan Wright. There's quite a good review with excerpts at the New Statesman). I haven't read it but my brother-in-law is reading it and tells me that the two versions are very close.
2. I read (and "enjoyed") Jarhead.
3. I couldn't finish 'Catch 22' (but intend to give it another go now that I have some more 'water under the bridge').
4. I loved 'Waiting for Godot'.
5. I work in a (local) government body.
I'm not sure where to start. It's not so much about American politics (or even so much even about the war) as about bizarre reality. This is not a 'story' but neither is it a contrived 'reality' show or documentary or mock-u-mentary. A long time ago we might have used the term cinema-verite to describe something like this - but actually I think this is a new flavour, a new style. A very modern, unsentimental, "unpurposed" approach to this kind of subject matter.
As the first credits came up, I thought "Why am I exposing myself to yet more American culture and *another* take on Iraq?" - not the thoughts of a ready-to-cheer fan, but what drew me into the world of this group of men was the understated treatment of a hysterical, terrifying, aggro subject in a neutral, intelligent way. Nothing about the marines' behaviours, thoughts, language, politics or concerns are explained, diminished, justified or homogenised. Some of them are very thoughtful brave men, and lots aren't.
How does anyone stay sane in this environment of continual flip-flopping of command, the petty focus on 'grooming standards' above issues of resupply (of rations and ammunition - "you want logistics, join the army. Marines make do."), the constant 'bad comms' and blackmarket for essentials like batteries (what good are night vision goggles without power?), friendly fire, rotting feet and superstitions?
They don't.
These men are warriors. They're also opportunists, psychos, working Joes and reporters. They aren't philosophers or diplomats or politicians. They're warriors, trained to kill and cultured to win. They're largely fuelled by video games, sugar and caffeine. I am unsettled by how easily I can relate to them and their bickering and sing-songing on what must have been interminable drives , their dark, wry humour and the restlessness and frustration they experience of being deployed into tasks and positions they were not trained for and unused for exactly the missions they were.
What is best about this series is the attention to remaining complex. In one scene, the motorcade is passing a body. The body is vivid, bloody, personal. The camera tracks a number of responses in the marines (interest, sadness, revulsion) the reporter is shocked, and his immediate response is to raise his camera and take a picture. One of the marines confronts him "that's exploitation man" and he is shamed. The Reporter - our everyman for the viewer, our representative of the media - is the one who could least handle the moment but did so by turning it into an image, something that could be documented and filed. Distancing himself from it in one of the ways that we all do. Otherwise, what would he do with that experience of seeing and smelling that death of an innocent? What action, what sense is there for him? What is there for us? We saw these deaths too, despite the control over what images went out, we saw civilians hurt and murdered.
I am finding this series to be complex, confronting, valuable. I'm not sure it should be called entertainment. I don't know what to think. More importantly, I don't know what to do.
Still not cheering, but definitely a fan.
It's not meant to be a cheering thought, but it is. As a fat, white, middle-class-ish Australian, roughly 92% of the world is worse off than I am, but of course I don't usually see them and so, every now and then, I just completely forget.
This week I've been reminded of this fact by watching the HBO mini series "Generation Kill".
There are many levels on which this mini-series is fascinating. Before I get into any rave or meandering, I'll own up immediately to the following points:
1. It is based on a book (Generation Kill by Evan Wright. There's quite a good review with excerpts at the New Statesman). I haven't read it but my brother-in-law is reading it and tells me that the two versions are very close.
2. I read (and "enjoyed") Jarhead.
3. I couldn't finish 'Catch 22' (but intend to give it another go now that I have some more 'water under the bridge').
4. I loved 'Waiting for Godot'.
5. I work in a (local) government body.
I'm not sure where to start. It's not so much about American politics (or even so much even about the war) as about bizarre reality. This is not a 'story' but neither is it a contrived 'reality' show or documentary or mock-u-mentary. A long time ago we might have used the term cinema-verite to describe something like this - but actually I think this is a new flavour, a new style. A very modern, unsentimental, "unpurposed" approach to this kind of subject matter.
As the first credits came up, I thought "Why am I exposing myself to yet more American culture and *another* take on Iraq?" - not the thoughts of a ready-to-cheer fan, but what drew me into the world of this group of men was the understated treatment of a hysterical, terrifying, aggro subject in a neutral, intelligent way. Nothing about the marines' behaviours, thoughts, language, politics or concerns are explained, diminished, justified or homogenised. Some of them are very thoughtful brave men, and lots aren't.
How does anyone stay sane in this environment of continual flip-flopping of command, the petty focus on 'grooming standards' above issues of resupply (of rations and ammunition - "you want logistics, join the army. Marines make do."), the constant 'bad comms' and blackmarket for essentials like batteries (what good are night vision goggles without power?), friendly fire, rotting feet and superstitions?
They don't.
These men are warriors. They're also opportunists, psychos, working Joes and reporters. They aren't philosophers or diplomats or politicians. They're warriors, trained to kill and cultured to win. They're largely fuelled by video games, sugar and caffeine. I am unsettled by how easily I can relate to them and their bickering and sing-songing on what must have been interminable drives , their dark, wry humour and the restlessness and frustration they experience of being deployed into tasks and positions they were not trained for and unused for exactly the missions they were.
What is best about this series is the attention to remaining complex. In one scene, the motorcade is passing a body. The body is vivid, bloody, personal. The camera tracks a number of responses in the marines (interest, sadness, revulsion) the reporter is shocked, and his immediate response is to raise his camera and take a picture. One of the marines confronts him "that's exploitation man" and he is shamed. The Reporter - our everyman for the viewer, our representative of the media - is the one who could least handle the moment but did so by turning it into an image, something that could be documented and filed. Distancing himself from it in one of the ways that we all do. Otherwise, what would he do with that experience of seeing and smelling that death of an innocent? What action, what sense is there for him? What is there for us? We saw these deaths too, despite the control over what images went out, we saw civilians hurt and murdered.
I am finding this series to be complex, confronting, valuable. I'm not sure it should be called entertainment. I don't know what to think. More importantly, I don't know what to do.
Still not cheering, but definitely a fan.
Monday, May 26, 2008
A Great Day for Science, and a pretty Crap day for Art
Woo!
What a crazy little while it's been!
How totally frackin exciting was it that Phoenix landed safely on the Mars polar region. Woot! Go you crazy rocket guys!! Yeah! Those rocket thrusters were fully sick. Why has it taken so long for actual space missions to look like our very well rendered games? I swear that "artists impression" footage was taken almost directly from "Masters of Orion". We all knew the airbags were dodgy as all fuck.
Congratulations earthlings on taking one more step towards becoming Martians.
Here's the master on the subject:
"Fools, fools. There is life on Mars, and it's us. We are the Martians now."
Ray Bradbury, Mars's first poet-in-non-residence.
Also, in other news of massive importance to the geek community, Neal Stephenson is releasing a new novel on September 9 of this year! So soon! Only 4 short years since "System of the World" was unleashed upon our puny minds we will receive "Anathem" (no, that's not a typo). I don't know anything else about it! Wait, and read it, and be happy.
Oh, that's right, and then there's this utterly utterly ridiculous situation where the NSW police force seem to think that it's about 1898, and that art is to blame! In a classic, one might be tempted to say textbook implementation, during a period of high economic stress (rates increasing! petrol prices increasing! chinese workers distracted from their factories by unpredictable natural phenomena!) what do we have? Why look, it's a very public condemnation of art as dirty pornography (I note, somewhat cynically, that many of the online news sources chose to run the unpixellated versions of the images). I refer, of course, to the new series of work by Australian photographer, Bill Henson.
his images are amazing. There's so much pap-art, it can be possible to forget what it's like to be confronted, really asked to engage with an artwork. I saw the image that went out to invite people to this opening (our Director is on the invite list) and it was captivating. Utterly astonishing and confronting. Sure. It's confronting.
That's what makes it so great - because this is the power of art - to reflect what you the viewer carry around inside you and never question. Then when it's projected - what do you see? You see your own darknesses, your own fears, or your own wonder and beauty. In these images, I see sadness and vulnerability. One of my work colleagues sees beauty of an almost transcendent nature. Talking to her about this has opened my eyes to her beauty and generosity (which has been a marvelous and unexpected benefit of this discussion!).
It is the yabbering and thoughtless reactions of people (such as, I'm sorry to say, Prime Minister Rudd) that contribute to an environment in which art of this nature and power is even more necessary. I think the attacks on this work make perfect sense for a culture where we have continued to dumb-down our public discourse, and where we have all but eliminated situations where there is any ambiguity or nuance. One of his previous series' images was in the Strange Cargo exhibition we hosted over last summer. Because of this kind of response, we arranged a "preview" viewing for the media and marketing teams of council so we could explain his work - knowing that if we were going to receive any complaints from our local audience, it would probably be for this naked and muddied girl being carried/dragged by two naked young men .... and yet (maybe because the town is so catholic) there was no complaint about this (but I got complaints about the monster/sculpture scaring young children)!
As a feminist I am sensitive to images of women which are exploitative, and his work asks us to look at that space, but from an angle of reflection about our own devaluation of youth, innocence and powerful transitional states. Any commercial on television is likely to be far more harmful and fundamentally exploitative than these amazing creatively fashioned (and I mean fashioned in the sense of consciously made, not in the modern sense of fashionably designed) images.
BTW, I'm not sure I *like* them ... I would buy different art for my walls (and I acknowledge too, that I am a long long way from being able to buy artworks of this status, so my opinion and knowledge must he held in that context). But I do know that when I am standing in front of one of his works from these series, I have that inner turmoil and satisfaction that comes from making an unexpected relationship with something, and that's when I know I've met some Art, and it has made a mark on me.
What a crazy little while it's been!
How totally frackin exciting was it that Phoenix landed safely on the Mars polar region. Woot! Go you crazy rocket guys!! Yeah! Those rocket thrusters were fully sick. Why has it taken so long for actual space missions to look like our very well rendered games? I swear that "artists impression" footage was taken almost directly from "Masters of Orion". We all knew the airbags were dodgy as all fuck.
Congratulations earthlings on taking one more step towards becoming Martians.
Here's the master on the subject:
"Fools, fools. There is life on Mars, and it's us. We are the Martians now."
Ray Bradbury, Mars's first poet-in-non-residence.
Also, in other news of massive importance to the geek community, Neal Stephenson is releasing a new novel on September 9 of this year! So soon! Only 4 short years since "System of the World" was unleashed upon our puny minds we will receive "Anathem" (no, that's not a typo). I don't know anything else about it! Wait, and read it, and be happy.
Oh, that's right, and then there's this utterly utterly ridiculous situation where the NSW police force seem to think that it's about 1898, and that art is to blame! In a classic, one might be tempted to say textbook implementation, during a period of high economic stress (rates increasing! petrol prices increasing! chinese workers distracted from their factories by unpredictable natural phenomena!) what do we have? Why look, it's a very public condemnation of art as dirty pornography (I note, somewhat cynically, that many of the online news sources chose to run the unpixellated versions of the images). I refer, of course, to the new series of work by Australian photographer, Bill Henson.
his images are amazing. There's so much pap-art, it can be possible to forget what it's like to be confronted, really asked to engage with an artwork. I saw the image that went out to invite people to this opening (our Director is on the invite list) and it was captivating. Utterly astonishing and confronting. Sure. It's confronting.
That's what makes it so great - because this is the power of art - to reflect what you the viewer carry around inside you and never question. Then when it's projected - what do you see? You see your own darknesses, your own fears, or your own wonder and beauty. In these images, I see sadness and vulnerability. One of my work colleagues sees beauty of an almost transcendent nature. Talking to her about this has opened my eyes to her beauty and generosity (which has been a marvelous and unexpected benefit of this discussion!).
It is the yabbering and thoughtless reactions of people (such as, I'm sorry to say, Prime Minister Rudd) that contribute to an environment in which art of this nature and power is even more necessary. I think the attacks on this work make perfect sense for a culture where we have continued to dumb-down our public discourse, and where we have all but eliminated situations where there is any ambiguity or nuance. One of his previous series' images was in the Strange Cargo exhibition we hosted over last summer. Because of this kind of response, we arranged a "preview" viewing for the media and marketing teams of council so we could explain his work - knowing that if we were going to receive any complaints from our local audience, it would probably be for this naked and muddied girl being carried/dragged by two naked young men .... and yet (maybe because the town is so catholic) there was no complaint about this (but I got complaints about the monster/sculpture scaring young children)!
As a feminist I am sensitive to images of women which are exploitative, and his work asks us to look at that space, but from an angle of reflection about our own devaluation of youth, innocence and powerful transitional states. Any commercial on television is likely to be far more harmful and fundamentally exploitative than these amazing creatively fashioned (and I mean fashioned in the sense of consciously made, not in the modern sense of fashionably designed) images.
BTW, I'm not sure I *like* them ... I would buy different art for my walls (and I acknowledge too, that I am a long long way from being able to buy artworks of this status, so my opinion and knowledge must he held in that context). But I do know that when I am standing in front of one of his works from these series, I have that inner turmoil and satisfaction that comes from making an unexpected relationship with something, and that's when I know I've met some Art, and it has made a mark on me.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Politics anyone? (Rated: MA)
Are you interested in politics? Well now, let me see if we agree what we're talking about here (English - such a sloppy language).
If we're talking about the bastard child of vigilante justice and corrupt management masquerading as leadership and patriotic paternalism, then yeah, we're probably on the same page, and my quick, accurate and honest answer is "no way". Am I addicted to it in the way of cheezy soaps and sleazy lying two-timing boyfriends - "way!".
It's my dirty secret, I don't think I'm worth a good life any more than the next sad, overweight, brain dead tv-addled moron. And I'm right. I get what I deserve, and I'm getting a lot of politics. And a new season of Biggest Looser - 6 nights a week. Alternated with "Big Brother". Right there in the juxtaposition of those two titles tells you all you need to know about the state of our country and it's info-tainment mindset. It's ok, you don't need to ask - yes I do feel dirty and hate myself for it. But that's the beauty of self-hatred, it's a perfect cycle, leading directly to self harm, self sabotage and indulgence in reckless behaviour - like reading the newspaper, watching the TV or just believing any guy when he says he'll call you.
I'm not even feeling especially bitter today, just bored with being bland, and sick up to the back pass with living in the suburbs. What fucking shit-holes we make for ourselves, and then squabble over the price of buying into them like sarky ill-mannered little rats. Ignorant, angry rats, gagging to hole-up somewhere and gnaw away at the wiring and stray dog kibble. Breeding as fast as we can so it's our bigoted, bored offspring tunneling away into the next natural area of our dwindling stockpile and roaming the streets bored and jacked up on cheap drugs and subsidised petrol looking for a new abuse to amuse for a few minutes. As long as it's not those icky fuckin rats from over the water. In the immortal words of Ms J: Fuck that shit.
Ex-xactly.
So, here I am. Sending out to you from the impacted colon of the arse of Australia. Since the Roman senate, politics has been about paying off the noisiest interests and distracting the dimmest or least powerful interests. The only fracture in this process at the moment - sport disappearing off the free-to-air. Bring back our circus! Riiiiiight. Not the creeping corporatisation of our public services, not the preventable diseases and deaths from reckless driving or the huge amount of money we as a country piss away in corrupt defence contracts or "lost" armaments, or the fact that our literacy levels are heading towards the same levels as Nelson's approval rating. No, we're pleasantly distracted by Guillard's haircut (or lack thereof) and the liberal party failing to grow a new head.
Well I don't have any answers. I'm part of the problem and I know it. I am disillusioned, cynical and fed-up. I've got more than half of my life in front of me - almost enough time to make sure that if I work 'hard enough' I can "self-fund" my decrepitude. Gee, thanks. It's not like I can even plan to do the reasonable thing and top myself when the time comes. That's been outlawed. Good thinking guys. And can anyone give a real reason for the criminalisation of self-responsibility in one's end days that isn't soft wet hand-wringing? No? I didn't think so.
I'm no more interested in politics than I am interested in the practise trepanning to relieve back-ache.
If we're talking about the bastard child of vigilante justice and corrupt management masquerading as leadership and patriotic paternalism, then yeah, we're probably on the same page, and my quick, accurate and honest answer is "no way". Am I addicted to it in the way of cheezy soaps and sleazy lying two-timing boyfriends - "way!".
It's my dirty secret, I don't think I'm worth a good life any more than the next sad, overweight, brain dead tv-addled moron. And I'm right. I get what I deserve, and I'm getting a lot of politics. And a new season of Biggest Looser - 6 nights a week. Alternated with "Big Brother". Right there in the juxtaposition of those two titles tells you all you need to know about the state of our country and it's info-tainment mindset. It's ok, you don't need to ask - yes I do feel dirty and hate myself for it. But that's the beauty of self-hatred, it's a perfect cycle, leading directly to self harm, self sabotage and indulgence in reckless behaviour - like reading the newspaper, watching the TV or just believing any guy when he says he'll call you.
I'm not even feeling especially bitter today, just bored with being bland, and sick up to the back pass with living in the suburbs. What fucking shit-holes we make for ourselves, and then squabble over the price of buying into them like sarky ill-mannered little rats. Ignorant, angry rats, gagging to hole-up somewhere and gnaw away at the wiring and stray dog kibble. Breeding as fast as we can so it's our bigoted, bored offspring tunneling away into the next natural area of our dwindling stockpile and roaming the streets bored and jacked up on cheap drugs and subsidised petrol looking for a new abuse to amuse for a few minutes. As long as it's not those icky fuckin rats from over the water. In the immortal words of Ms J: Fuck that shit.
Ex-xactly.
So, here I am. Sending out to you from the impacted colon of the arse of Australia. Since the Roman senate, politics has been about paying off the noisiest interests and distracting the dimmest or least powerful interests. The only fracture in this process at the moment - sport disappearing off the free-to-air. Bring back our circus! Riiiiiight. Not the creeping corporatisation of our public services, not the preventable diseases and deaths from reckless driving or the huge amount of money we as a country piss away in corrupt defence contracts or "lost" armaments, or the fact that our literacy levels are heading towards the same levels as Nelson's approval rating. No, we're pleasantly distracted by Guillard's haircut (or lack thereof) and the liberal party failing to grow a new head.
Well I don't have any answers. I'm part of the problem and I know it. I am disillusioned, cynical and fed-up. I've got more than half of my life in front of me - almost enough time to make sure that if I work 'hard enough' I can "self-fund" my decrepitude. Gee, thanks. It's not like I can even plan to do the reasonable thing and top myself when the time comes. That's been outlawed. Good thinking guys. And can anyone give a real reason for the criminalisation of self-responsibility in one's end days that isn't soft wet hand-wringing? No? I didn't think so.
I'm no more interested in politics than I am interested in the practise trepanning to relieve back-ache.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Status: Denied
The Company's New Year resolution was to withdraw net access to Facebook. Ah well, it had to happen sooner or later. You could almost feel the slow drag each morning as hundreds of slightly bored and disaffected staff started to idly log-in and check their buds, super-poke someone or upload some more fun-in-sun shots from the weekend at Wet'n'Wild or the Caxton.
Our new staff member who started this Tuesday looked at me incredulously "What do you mean you can't access any web email or networking?!"
"I *know*!" I said. "Stuck here in every way."
I meant to write yesterday, but I went to my boss's office to ask a single question (that needed a yes/no level answer) and lurched out gasping over 2 hours later with about 5 pages of action points. So, work has picked up again and things are quite busy. That's good really. Instead of it being hump day and me trying to find a way to motivate myself, it's already the end of Thursday. Excellent!
Roll the dice, get paid, pass Go, collect $200.
In other news, I am fascinated with Corey and his unfolding melodrama of the Myspace open party. What a modern moment! The publicity, the posed shots, the inarticulateness, the fuming parents copping flak for having such a dickhead for a son and/or for having left him unattended with an internet account. Hi-Larious! Almost as good as the storm this week in Trash City papers over a local being charged $10 for a chicken and salad sandwich at the new shopping centre. No really - it made the front page!! Plenty of finger-pointing in the Letter to the Editor sections too, I can tell you.
"You have to laugh," I tell myself "but don't try satirising it!"
Reality is plenty strange enough right now.
Our new staff member who started this Tuesday looked at me incredulously "What do you mean you can't access any web email or networking?!"
"I *know*!" I said. "Stuck here in every way."
I meant to write yesterday, but I went to my boss's office to ask a single question (that needed a yes/no level answer) and lurched out gasping over 2 hours later with about 5 pages of action points. So, work has picked up again and things are quite busy. That's good really. Instead of it being hump day and me trying to find a way to motivate myself, it's already the end of Thursday. Excellent!
Roll the dice, get paid, pass Go, collect $200.
In other news, I am fascinated with Corey and his unfolding melodrama of the Myspace open party. What a modern moment! The publicity, the posed shots, the inarticulateness, the fuming parents copping flak for having such a dickhead for a son and/or for having left him unattended with an internet account. Hi-Larious! Almost as good as the storm this week in Trash City papers over a local being charged $10 for a chicken and salad sandwich at the new shopping centre. No really - it made the front page!! Plenty of finger-pointing in the Letter to the Editor sections too, I can tell you.
"You have to laugh," I tell myself "but don't try satirising it!"
Reality is plenty strange enough right now.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Work Intranet Weirdness #2
Once again the intranet E-bay has got a corker:
For Sale - Into Creepy Crawlies? SNAKES For Sale
3 Adult Coastal Carpet Pythons, Easy breeders. also 2 adult male spotted pythons. Various fully equiped large cages also available, with lights all wired up. Licence required. Contact Nicole via email. Thanks.
Price: $Various
For Sale - Into Creepy Crawlies? SNAKES For Sale
3 Adult Coastal Carpet Pythons, Easy breeders. also 2 adult male spotted pythons. Various fully equiped large cages also available, with lights all wired up. Licence required. Contact Nicole via email. Thanks.
Price: $Various
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Aust Post: Axis of Evil?
Increasingly the "service" from Australia Post grates harshly.
Queues, dullness of intellect, poor English skills, padded product ranges - all these are but nothing compared to the incessant creep of that most insidious franchise behaviour: the upsell.
"May I have a book of ten stamps please?" is no longer a request, but an invitation to offer me a ream of paper on special, envelopes, a book of 20 stamps, a pack of highlighters.
"Just the stamps....gritted teeth...please."
Do they think we are that inane? That dim witted?
"Gosh, I forgot, yes, I am completely out of envelopes, highlighters, and dodgy teddy bears (stocked here for no apparent purpose), load me up!"
If I could buy stamps from a slot in the wall I would, and willingly, to forgo this element of modern life. Are there no standards anywhere anymore?
Queues, dullness of intellect, poor English skills, padded product ranges - all these are but nothing compared to the incessant creep of that most insidious franchise behaviour: the upsell.
"May I have a book of ten stamps please?" is no longer a request, but an invitation to offer me a ream of paper on special, envelopes, a book of 20 stamps, a pack of highlighters.
"Just the stamps....gritted teeth...please."
Do they think we are that inane? That dim witted?
"Gosh, I forgot, yes, I am completely out of envelopes, highlighters, and dodgy teddy bears (stocked here for no apparent purpose), load me up!"
If I could buy stamps from a slot in the wall I would, and willingly, to forgo this element of modern life. Are there no standards anywhere anymore?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Honeymoon is Over
Hi,
I'm back from the Honeymoon. I really thought it would last longer - maybe even a whole month - but looks like I'm too old now to stay starry-eyed for long. Not that things have taken a bad, downward turn, just that there's hope, and then there's reality. I find it easier to deal with the reality and push it forcibly(*) towards the memory of hope, rather than get knocked about and continually hurt that the hope isn't being fulfilled.
It has also been somewhat sobering to realise that one of the main skills I have learnt in my working life is how to survive in a Machiavellian environment. Hence the * above - because of course one chooses very carefully those barrows one will push, and where. I don't mean to intimate that I am a Machiavellian player/operator/sympathiser - rather that I learnt early on to *know*thy*enemy* and strangely enough their textbook is widely available. Go on - read The Prince. You can get it in bookstores, you can download it from the internet. I can't believe it's just laying around in libraries. It makes it a lot easier to spot the dilettantes, and stay out of the way of the real players.
Anyway, enough pillow talk.
How have you been?
What have you been up to?
I was going to make June "Good News" month - loads of feel-good updates from the world of grown-ups and corduroy where science and art and music and culture all contribute to making the human race seem like a good idea. It got to the 15th and I hadn't found any, and now I've kinda shelved that idea for the time being. Even just reading the Arts pages can bring me down - on only one day last week David Hockney had a hissy over *ipods* ruining the visual arts, a painting got nicked from the AGNSW!, and Brett Whiteley's drug addled eroticised landscape of the Olgas became the most expensive Australian painting - selling at auction for $3.8m.
Clearly, the world has gone mad and is in no need of my help on this matter.
I did what any self-respecting bogan looser would do, and blew $4 of the grocery money in the op-shop on a VHS copy of Ronin. And it was good. Yes, I escaped into a world where violence and the destruction of beautiful eurpoean cafes is only used to heighten dramatic tension. A world where the deadliest killers (who will shoot a little girl just to prove the point that they're meanies) really are the horrible ex-kgb, and anyone who says they're ex-CIA is really only in deep cover. It all made such good sense for about an hour and a half.
Where did I leave that case of ammo?...
I'm back from the Honeymoon. I really thought it would last longer - maybe even a whole month - but looks like I'm too old now to stay starry-eyed for long. Not that things have taken a bad, downward turn, just that there's hope, and then there's reality. I find it easier to deal with the reality and push it forcibly(*) towards the memory of hope, rather than get knocked about and continually hurt that the hope isn't being fulfilled.
It has also been somewhat sobering to realise that one of the main skills I have learnt in my working life is how to survive in a Machiavellian environment. Hence the * above - because of course one chooses very carefully those barrows one will push, and where. I don't mean to intimate that I am a Machiavellian player/operator/sympathiser - rather that I learnt early on to *know*thy*enemy* and strangely enough their textbook is widely available. Go on - read The Prince. You can get it in bookstores, you can download it from the internet. I can't believe it's just laying around in libraries. It makes it a lot easier to spot the dilettantes, and stay out of the way of the real players.
Anyway, enough pillow talk.
How have you been?
What have you been up to?
I was going to make June "Good News" month - loads of feel-good updates from the world of grown-ups and corduroy where science and art and music and culture all contribute to making the human race seem like a good idea. It got to the 15th and I hadn't found any, and now I've kinda shelved that idea for the time being. Even just reading the Arts pages can bring me down - on only one day last week David Hockney had a hissy over *ipods* ruining the visual arts, a painting got nicked from the AGNSW!, and Brett Whiteley's drug addled eroticised landscape of the Olgas became the most expensive Australian painting - selling at auction for $3.8m.
Clearly, the world has gone mad and is in no need of my help on this matter.
I did what any self-respecting bogan looser would do, and blew $4 of the grocery money in the op-shop on a VHS copy of Ronin. And it was good. Yes, I escaped into a world where violence and the destruction of beautiful eurpoean cafes is only used to heighten dramatic tension. A world where the deadliest killers (who will shoot a little girl just to prove the point that they're meanies) really are the horrible ex-kgb, and anyone who says they're ex-CIA is really only in deep cover. It all made such good sense for about an hour and a half.
Where did I leave that case of ammo?...
Thursday, May 17, 2007
SHAOLIN SHOALHAVEN!
Wow!
I am too excited to type properly!
Exclamation marksss!!!
I've just read in the paper that the Shaolin Temple are pretty seriously looking at building a temple at Jervis Bay. Here, in Australia!! A Shaolin Temple!! HERE!!
OH MY BUDDHA!
Of Course, being the forward thinkers that they are, they plan to update the layout a bit - including a 1500-seat exhibition hall, golf course, hotel and 800 residential lots.
Genius.
That's going to put the Aikido and TaiKwonDo crowds on the unbalanced back foot. Yeah. It seems the NSW govt is keen and supportive (der!) the only complaints so far has been from some local christians (der!).
I think this is an awesome move, and possibly could be a way to get Jackie Chan to spend more time in our country. Beats the panty-waist options like Martha Spewart Homes - where you move into a suburb she has total design control over. I'd rather do kata before breakfast thanks!
I am too excited to type properly!
Exclamation marksss!!!
I've just read in the paper that the Shaolin Temple are pretty seriously looking at building a temple at Jervis Bay. Here, in Australia!! A Shaolin Temple!! HERE!!
OH MY BUDDHA!
Of Course, being the forward thinkers that they are, they plan to update the layout a bit - including a 1500-seat exhibition hall, golf course, hotel and 800 residential lots.
Genius.
That's going to put the Aikido and TaiKwonDo crowds on the unbalanced back foot. Yeah. It seems the NSW govt is keen and supportive (der!) the only complaints so far has been from some local christians (der!).
I think this is an awesome move, and possibly could be a way to get Jackie Chan to spend more time in our country. Beats the panty-waist options like Martha Spewart Homes - where you move into a suburb she has total design control over. I'd rather do kata before breakfast thanks!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
ANZAC Day
Here it is again, dawn services to commemorate the sacrifices of our brave soldiers and fighting forces in wars and military actions of all shapes and sizes but basically the landing at Channackle in the Dardanelles as part of an English offensive to piss Russia off, and put pressure on the Turkish.
Was it the right kind of pressure to put on a degenerate state?
I learnt something about our history this year that shocked me.
It's been a long time since I was shocked by atrocity, usually i feel resigned and numb to what has happened and seems like will always happen. Humans are such shit-bags so much of the time. Somehow, this cut through to me so that yesterday and today have been made fresh again. Perhaps this is old news for you, so patience please for those among us to whom this is new. Ordinarily I wouldn't try and parse something this big, I would refer you to a text or to a web page.
So here's Wiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armenian_massacre
and another Wiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ANZAC_Day
and my story for today falls in the gap between the two.
The massacre and then our landing. Do we hold any responsibility for the actions of the Ottomans against the Armenians? Perhaps not - certainly not directly - but should this atrocity have it's place in our commemoration of this time? Absolutely!
After all, isn't that the point of ANZAC Day? That it's important to remember these things, and wars are bad but it's good people who fight them, and so on. But that doesn't seem to be what we do so much anymore. We seem to be glorifying, mythologising and embroidering a story about war, getting further and further from the messy truth of the matter rather than feeling the immediacy of loss and interrogating our present actions as a nation in light of the pain of the past.
Which is to say that the landing in that small shingle cove was wrapped up in a flow of other events that we deliberately stay blind to.
If we insist that we "came of age as a nation" in that landing, then we must remember the full nature of that phrase. A loss of innocence is important because it is about accepting the full range of costs an adult can understand. We were not just as a fighting force mis-used at the hands of our British masters, but as must accept our complicity in a bungled foreign policy where a whole race of people suffered the consequences. That is what has been lost along the way.
That our heartfelt pilgrimages to the cove (Yes, I went there, as so many people my age have done, and like them, I didn't hear of the Armenian massacre from my charming Turkish hosts) and the hair-raising on our arms and necks during these most solemn services are sincere is not in question, but the point of these services must also to refresh the sense of responsibility that we as citizens have for the actions of our warriors and their leaders.
Australian and New Zealand troops landed on a small cove, north of the main English action. They weren't quite in the right spot, but no real matter - warfare is like that. The ground rose steeply and their objective was to take the high ground. Soldiers since Sun Tzu would recognise the objective. A dawn landing would give them the advantage of surprise - it's all by the book. Our enemy was known to be ruthless, vicious and ready to defend their land, and they did so successfully.
Knowing they could not fight on two fronts, they slaughtered the civilians who were rebelling against mistreatment, and focused their energies on repelling the foreign invaders. We turned the Turks into a part of our fairytale about manhood and nationhood and for all our rhetoric about *remembrance* we seem deeply unwilling to remember the cost the invasion had for the Armenian people. They should be our partners in this story. They should have a place in our services and our myth.
It turns out that even now, the victors still get to write the history.
Today, as I made the traditional biscuits that will go up to Ma & Pa picking in the patch, and I know that Grandad would be coming home from the service, and even now, as I finish writing, my work colleagues are laying wreaths and listening to speeches, I could not think of anything but how horrible, how utterly saddening that slaughter was in thought and in deed. How interwoven it is with our small, blind role in a ill-managed battle, how it is but a thread in what was to become the Second World War, where Hitler remembered what the Turks had gotten away with when he had his own *troublesome* internal populations to deal with.
I honour our warriors and commemorate their personal sacrifices. As a thinking citizen, I also interrogate our role in wars, in battles, in invading other countries. If we do not remember the ugly consequences of some of these actions, we risk diminishing those sacrifices. Sun Tzu also pointed out that the best way to win was to plan to not fight - that negotiation, maneuvering, information, terrain, politics, so many things could be used by a good leader before force should be deployed.
Today I am sorrowful for the deaths of the soldiers on that harsh ground and am shaken that we choose not to remember the full actions of our enemies at that time in preference for glorifying our ability to take a beating. Not much of a myth to live up to when you look at it that way.
Was it the right kind of pressure to put on a degenerate state?
I learnt something about our history this year that shocked me.
It's been a long time since I was shocked by atrocity, usually i feel resigned and numb to what has happened and seems like will always happen. Humans are such shit-bags so much of the time. Somehow, this cut through to me so that yesterday and today have been made fresh again. Perhaps this is old news for you, so patience please for those among us to whom this is new. Ordinarily I wouldn't try and parse something this big, I would refer you to a text or to a web page.
So here's Wiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armenian_massacre
and another Wiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ANZAC_Day
and my story for today falls in the gap between the two.
The massacre and then our landing. Do we hold any responsibility for the actions of the Ottomans against the Armenians? Perhaps not - certainly not directly - but should this atrocity have it's place in our commemoration of this time? Absolutely!
After all, isn't that the point of ANZAC Day? That it's important to remember these things, and wars are bad but it's good people who fight them, and so on. But that doesn't seem to be what we do so much anymore. We seem to be glorifying, mythologising and embroidering a story about war, getting further and further from the messy truth of the matter rather than feeling the immediacy of loss and interrogating our present actions as a nation in light of the pain of the past.
Which is to say that the landing in that small shingle cove was wrapped up in a flow of other events that we deliberately stay blind to.
If we insist that we "came of age as a nation" in that landing, then we must remember the full nature of that phrase. A loss of innocence is important because it is about accepting the full range of costs an adult can understand. We were not just as a fighting force mis-used at the hands of our British masters, but as must accept our complicity in a bungled foreign policy where a whole race of people suffered the consequences. That is what has been lost along the way.
That our heartfelt pilgrimages to the cove (Yes, I went there, as so many people my age have done, and like them, I didn't hear of the Armenian massacre from my charming Turkish hosts) and the hair-raising on our arms and necks during these most solemn services are sincere is not in question, but the point of these services must also to refresh the sense of responsibility that we as citizens have for the actions of our warriors and their leaders.
Australian and New Zealand troops landed on a small cove, north of the main English action. They weren't quite in the right spot, but no real matter - warfare is like that. The ground rose steeply and their objective was to take the high ground. Soldiers since Sun Tzu would recognise the objective. A dawn landing would give them the advantage of surprise - it's all by the book. Our enemy was known to be ruthless, vicious and ready to defend their land, and they did so successfully.
Knowing they could not fight on two fronts, they slaughtered the civilians who were rebelling against mistreatment, and focused their energies on repelling the foreign invaders. We turned the Turks into a part of our fairytale about manhood and nationhood and for all our rhetoric about *remembrance* we seem deeply unwilling to remember the cost the invasion had for the Armenian people. They should be our partners in this story. They should have a place in our services and our myth.
It turns out that even now, the victors still get to write the history.
Today, as I made the traditional biscuits that will go up to Ma & Pa picking in the patch, and I know that Grandad would be coming home from the service, and even now, as I finish writing, my work colleagues are laying wreaths and listening to speeches, I could not think of anything but how horrible, how utterly saddening that slaughter was in thought and in deed. How interwoven it is with our small, blind role in a ill-managed battle, how it is but a thread in what was to become the Second World War, where Hitler remembered what the Turks had gotten away with when he had his own *troublesome* internal populations to deal with.
I honour our warriors and commemorate their personal sacrifices. As a thinking citizen, I also interrogate our role in wars, in battles, in invading other countries. If we do not remember the ugly consequences of some of these actions, we risk diminishing those sacrifices. Sun Tzu also pointed out that the best way to win was to plan to not fight - that negotiation, maneuvering, information, terrain, politics, so many things could be used by a good leader before force should be deployed.
Today I am sorrowful for the deaths of the soldiers on that harsh ground and am shaken that we choose not to remember the full actions of our enemies at that time in preference for glorifying our ability to take a beating. Not much of a myth to live up to when you look at it that way.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
New Phone Parable
My old mobile couldn’t talk for very long anymore. You know how it goes – it would charge all the way and last forever if you only wanted to SMS people and tell the time, but call someone and within 5 minutes or so it’s bleating for some juice.
Poor little chook, and it feels like I’ve had it forever. The numbers are worn off the keypad and I can set the alarm in the dark half asleep.
So I went into the Telstra shop, and said “I’m out of contract and I want a new phone.”
Erin helped me out.
And by that, I mean that Erin confused the fuck out of me with a torrent of technojumbo and shiny things with far far too many features. Reeling and intimidated, I did what I did last time, and said “I want a nokia, and give me a fairly simple one.”
So here I am with the Nokia N80, which has more computing power than my first 3 computers *put*together*.
It’s not even officially a phone, it’s a “multimedia device”.
Actually, it’s kinda hard to use it as a phone – that command is about 5 or 6 actions down the menu structure. It has a little blue light that keeps flashing, it came with more cables than my laptop. It’s clearly a hardcore piece of technology and I’m not sure I should have it.
I’m starting to think I should have just scrounged around and got a new battery and keypad for my old one. At least I didn’t need my glasses on to operate it, and I could make a call with just my thumb. This is exactly how the Cylons end up destroying us isn’t it? This thing can connect to the internet – in fact I don’t know how to *not* make it do that. Maybe I’ll be okay as long as it doesn’t remember my credit card number. Maybe it has a swipe reader I haven’t found in the manual yet.
We may have to institute Turing tests for these posts.
Poor little chook, and it feels like I’ve had it forever. The numbers are worn off the keypad and I can set the alarm in the dark half asleep.
So I went into the Telstra shop, and said “I’m out of contract and I want a new phone.”
Erin helped me out.
And by that, I mean that Erin confused the fuck out of me with a torrent of technojumbo and shiny things with far far too many features. Reeling and intimidated, I did what I did last time, and said “I want a nokia, and give me a fairly simple one.”
So here I am with the Nokia N80, which has more computing power than my first 3 computers *put*together*.
It’s not even officially a phone, it’s a “multimedia device”.
Actually, it’s kinda hard to use it as a phone – that command is about 5 or 6 actions down the menu structure. It has a little blue light that keeps flashing, it came with more cables than my laptop. It’s clearly a hardcore piece of technology and I’m not sure I should have it.
I’m starting to think I should have just scrounged around and got a new battery and keypad for my old one. At least I didn’t need my glasses on to operate it, and I could make a call with just my thumb. This is exactly how the Cylons end up destroying us isn’t it? This thing can connect to the internet – in fact I don’t know how to *not* make it do that. Maybe I’ll be okay as long as it doesn’t remember my credit card number. Maybe it has a swipe reader I haven’t found in the manual yet.
We may have to institute Turing tests for these posts.
Friday, March 23, 2007
OMG "Camo" wool in Big Dub
Having recently finished the Giant Nana Rug (see previous week) I was vulnerable to the idea that I was project-free. (You know this to be a lie - by the nature of craft-nerd, this is *always* a lie. But I digress).
A note in the lunchroom caught my eye - poor tiny AIDS babies in war-torn Africa need our help - they go home wrapped in newspapers for warmth - little teeny blankies are needed for them. Some good soul in the Trash City Sheltered Workshop has started up a knitting circle, and here's a one page sheet of instructions and please make one or donate wool or whatever charity you can spare.
"That sounds pretty feel-good", I thought to myself. "I can use the left-over wool from the rug."
Yeah. Right.
I would have sworn on my first editions that I was going to use left-overs - honestly!! Really & Truly!! But then I started thinking about the other wool I had, and that reminded me of how many things were still stuck on needles, and then how, you know - it's meant to be autumn now - there should be new wool in the stores, and I just *happened* to be walking past the craft store and so on and so on. You know the pitiful addict's mantra of circumstance all too well.
Suffice it to say that I have bought a new ball of wool.
But I HAD to.
No, Really, *had* to.
"Camouflage Wool" it promises on the label - yes you can now knit cams (stay tuned for a photo - this has to be seen to be believed). We've all seen varigated wool in olive and brown tones - but this is something else altogether! Where is this going? Craft while on active duty? "Make it yourself" creative outlet for troops on R&R!? Suddenly I have the irony equivalent of vertigo - I *want* this wool, but the official next project is a little bunny rug for an AIDS baby from war-torn Africa. It is, would be, and always will be just *wrong* to undertake this project using Camo wool. Surely the world does not need this product. Yet it is so post-modern that everyone wants it. All other balls of wool - funky purples and groovy blues were chockas - I snaffled one of the last 5 or 6!!
Looks like I'll be using left over wool anyway for the little babies - I gotta knit me a new beanie!!
A note in the lunchroom caught my eye - poor tiny AIDS babies in war-torn Africa need our help - they go home wrapped in newspapers for warmth - little teeny blankies are needed for them. Some good soul in the Trash City Sheltered Workshop has started up a knitting circle, and here's a one page sheet of instructions and please make one or donate wool or whatever charity you can spare.
"That sounds pretty feel-good", I thought to myself. "I can use the left-over wool from the rug."
Yeah. Right.
I would have sworn on my first editions that I was going to use left-overs - honestly!! Really & Truly!! But then I started thinking about the other wool I had, and that reminded me of how many things were still stuck on needles, and then how, you know - it's meant to be autumn now - there should be new wool in the stores, and I just *happened* to be walking past the craft store and so on and so on. You know the pitiful addict's mantra of circumstance all too well.
Suffice it to say that I have bought a new ball of wool.
But I HAD to.
No, Really, *had* to.
"Camouflage Wool" it promises on the label - yes you can now knit cams (stay tuned for a photo - this has to be seen to be believed). We've all seen varigated wool in olive and brown tones - but this is something else altogether! Where is this going? Craft while on active duty? "Make it yourself" creative outlet for troops on R&R!? Suddenly I have the irony equivalent of vertigo - I *want* this wool, but the official next project is a little bunny rug for an AIDS baby from war-torn Africa. It is, would be, and always will be just *wrong* to undertake this project using Camo wool. Surely the world does not need this product. Yet it is so post-modern that everyone wants it. All other balls of wool - funky purples and groovy blues were chockas - I snaffled one of the last 5 or 6!!
Looks like I'll be using left over wool anyway for the little babies - I gotta knit me a new beanie!!
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