Conversation with a conservative about conservation

The earth is huge and resilient and nothing that we do will break it. It is like pissing in the ocean. And if one believes the heretics, then the earth is like a few billion years old and will be around for a few million if not billion years. True.

So why bother with Environmental Conservation, you say.

It is not about the earth, stupid. You probably think thunder is Thor farting in the heavens.

The earth was here long before us humans arrived and will still be spinning around the sun after we are extinct (unless the Hadron collider sucks it to a blackhole). It is not about saving the earth; it is about saving our own puny asses. It is not about the cute panda bear that was in that Kung fu movie. It is all about you. Us. It is about our lunch and dinner; food production being tied to the climate. It is about the roof on top of our heads. It is the air we need, the water we thirst for. It is about our money, our children and our life. It is not about not ruining the earth, it is about not ruining our chances of existing in it.

Don't do it for the polar bear. You know what, I don't think they are cuddly either. Conservation is selfish self-interest, pure and simple

On a grey and miserable day in the ant-hill called Sydney, people cantering in and out of shops at Pitt Street, I wonder maybe, just maybe, who cares if we survive?

Spin that

Watched a hatchet job on Assange on the Tele. They had ex-associates talk about how Assange was egoistic and how he had yelled at them. Replace the name Assange with the name of any political figure, media editor, school teacher, father, mother, brother, sister, pet dog, random people on the street and it would still sound about right. I mean who hasn't yelled at people. I was called a curry muncher not one hour ago by a drunken bogan with a southern cross tattoo. I don't think the bogan was devil-incarnate. If Assange raped someone in Sweden that is wrong and he is a rapist. If Assange yelled at someone for no fault of theirs, then he is a dick-head. That doesn't change the fact that the US government turned blind eye to civilian brutalities in Iraq. It doesn't change the fact that the government of Yemen has been actively hiding the American covert operations in their country .

The US government and by extension all its allies, including the Australian government and most media outlets are waging a propaganda war. Wikileaks discloses some misdeed of the government that it wished to keep a secret and the Government (it's an Orwellian concoction of all nation states that look up to their true master-state). And the government retaliates by calling Assange names. I haven't seen one instance where they have offered a valid rebuttal of anything that was leaked. So, the only card they can play is 'Demonize' and how they play it!!! Charles Prentiss would approve.

How to have your cake and eat it too? Saying "Wikileaks endangered lives by their indiscriminate dumping of classified information" and "The information they leaked is not important because they are not even new" in the same breath. Cognitive Dissonance... what is that?

We are screwed

I have moments of optimism but they are a consequence of my almost naive romanticism. For the most part, I know that we are all royally screwed and that there is no hope. Hope... the drug that political junkies survive on... that maybe, just maybe, this time things will be different and this or that leader will usher in a new era and lead us to a better, more just world.

Bollocks.

The world is full of snake-oil salesmen. Every day I am reminded that the lunatics run the ward. Obama, for all his transformative rhetoric is no better than your run-of-the-mill politician. OK, he got some health care legislation through and he can talk in complete sentences. But his Human Rights record is more appalling than Bush. He has not closed Guantanamo as promised. He has not prosecuted the perpetrators of the torture regime. (There is still debate about whether waterboarding is torture or enhanced interrogation technique). He has not even set up an investigation commission let alone hold anyone accountable. At least Blair gets eggs thrown at him and called a war criminal even if he will never see the inside of The Hague. Cheney goes on Face the Nation and builds the case to bomb Iran. The Obama administration continues the Bush-era abuse of civil liberties in the name of war against terrorism (targeted assassination, anyone). The Nobel peace laureate has escalated the drone attacks in Pakistan. For those of you keeping count, that is 2 actual wars (Iraq and Afghanistan), two wars that won't be called wars (Pakistan and Yemen) and another war in Iran in the pipeline. Civilian deaths are transformed to faceless and uninteresting statistics; dots on a mountainous line. And America continues to undermine UN authority by refusing to acknowledge the findings of the UN High commissioner of Human Rights that Israel used inappropriate force against the Gaza flotilla (they were the only dissent vote). The report indicates that an American citizen was executed at point blank range and the US government doesn't blink an eyelid. Apparently, Israel can do no wrong even when they are demonstrably wrong.

The frustration is heightened by the double standards. Example, statements like "America has to stay in Iraq to prevent foreign influence" - said without any irony. Iranian officials are blacklisted and sanctions imposed on them for alleged involvement in arbitrary beatings, arrests and tortures but America must move forward not look backwards. Why, we are freedom loving people. This is what the founding fathers would have wanted.

My rant is not that things have turned to the worse (it has) but that there is no change. America has made a habit of not living up to the standards it expects of other countries and there hasn't been the slightest dent in this American exceptionalism since Obama took charge.

This bleak hopelessness is nowhere more prominent than in the lack of proverbial balls of the mainstream media. Rick Sanchez, a sort of bumbling idiot of a CNN anchor, got canned last week. Because of remarks he made about Jon Stewart on a radio interview. Sanchez is one of Jon's favourite Pinata, to pick on and make fun of. Especially as a counter-point to Glenn Beck and other clowns of Fox news. Kinda, the "Fox people are crazy; so are the CNN folks" schtik that Jon does for "objectivity". The piqued Sanchez calls Jon prejudiced and uninformed, with a limited worldview. The host suggests Stewart because he is from an oppressed minority, has at least some sense of what "the sting of prejudice" is like. Sanchez replies

Very powerless people… [snickers] He’s such a minority, I mean, you know [sarcastically]… Please, what are you kidding? … I’m telling you that everybody who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart, and a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart, and to imply that somehow they — the people in this country who are Jewish — are an oppressed minority? Yeah. [sarcastically]

Sanchez is fired for being anti-Semite. And I wonder what is anti-Semitic (or factually incorrect) in that observation. He is not denying the holocaust or wishing the death of jews. He does not support some cuckoo theory that Hamas is a Mossad operation or that 9-11 was orchestrated by Jews. He merely points to the fact that just because someone is Jewish doesn't automatically entail that they are being (or have been) oppressed. He does not say Jews run the media (which is stereotyping but in itself only marginally racist) but that Jews who work in the media cannot claim to be an oppressed minority owing to their religion and what happened to the Jews in the past. Neither did Helen Thomas support anti-semitism by indicating that Israel is occupying Palestine. Asking Jews to return to Germany does not mean returning to the gas chambers. It means that Jews are no longer under siege in Old Europe. Nor did Octavia Nasr, another CNN employee fired for frivolous reasons, support terrorist organisations. The list goes on.

I get political sensitivity. I really do but this is plain stupid. Is there any hope? Nope.

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock - remix

THE .DOC FILE OF J ALFRED PRUFROCK

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a laptop, put in sleep mode on a table
Let us go through certain half-deserted streets
The blinking-light retreats
Of restless nights in free-wifi cafes
And public libraries with internet
Streets that follow like messageboard argument
of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming blog post
Oh, do not ask, "What, yaoi?"
Let us go and post an entry.

In the room the players come and go
Talking of their scores on Halo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the Windows PC
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the Macintosh
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the trackpads in their case
Let fall upon its back the crumbs that fall to keyboards,
Slipped by the flashdrive, made a sudden leap
and seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the mouse, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the desk,
Rubbing its back upon the Windows PC;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the icons that you meet;
There will be time to murder and respawn
And time for all the Chrome and Firefox
That drag and drop a website on your plate;
Time for .doc and time for .ppt
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred fanfics and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the players come and go
Talking of their scores on Halo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Is this wanky?" "Is this fair?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair
With a comment on the level of your player
[They will say: "How his server's lagging slow!"]
My morning cosplay, collar mounting firmly to the chin
My website rich and modest, but accessed by a simple login
[They will say: "But how his content's growing thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the interwebs?
In a minute there is time
For fanfictions and revisions which Google Docs may reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the RPs, archives, messageboards
I have measured out my life with usernames.
I know the voices dying with a 404
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the mods already, known them all --
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase
And when I am banhammered, sprawling on a pin,
When I am banned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the fragments of my browser cache?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the sites already, known them all —-
Sites that are Web two-oh, white and bare
[But on my cellphone, still given to fail!]
It is the javascript impress
That makes them so digress?
Sites that stretch out like a table, or word-wrap like a shawl
And should I then presume?
And how should I log in?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through archived files
And watched the dialup sequences that blink
No more from AOL in lonely Windows?

I should have been a line of ragged code,
Scuttling through the compiler, breaking apps.

And the messageboard, the website, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep...tired...or it malingers
Returning 404, here in front of me.
Should I, after iPhone apps and prices,
Have the strength to force AT&T to crisis?
But though I have wept and emailed, wept and played,
Though I have seen my avatar brought in upon a platter,
I am no hacker -- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the screen of my laptop flicker,
And I have seen the eternal bluescreen hold my eye, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the games, social media, the blogs,
Among the twitters, among some talk of IRC logs,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the fandom with a smile,
To have squeezed the internet into a ball
To roll it toward some ass on Yahoo Questions
To say, "I am Babbage, come from the dead,
Come back to ban you all, I shall ban you all" --
If one, sending a textmessage, autocorrected
Should say: "That is not what I typed at all.
That is not it. LOL."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would have been worth while
After the LOLcats and the macros and the youtube clips,
After the spambots, after the blog space, after LiveJournal trailing on the floor --
And Digg, and so much more? --
It is impossible to type just what I mean!
But as if a new .avi threw the nerves in patterns on the screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, texting or throwing back Red Bull,
And turning towards the PC, should say,
"That is not what I typed at all.
That is not it. OH LOL."

No! I am not Lovelace,
nor was meant to be,
Am on some messageboard, one that will do
To send things viral, start a meme or two,
Edit the wiki, no doubt an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Pwning, sometimes, but anonymous,
Filled with citations, all a bit obtuse;
These edits, indeed, almost ridiculous --
Can you not work Google?

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall add some links to my blog roll.

Shall I change my default pic? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall play some World of Warcraft, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the servers singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen cats talking in capslock on the web,
All up in ur fridge, eatin' ur food
When my laptop lights the darkness white and black.

We have lingered in the tubes of internet,
By URLS wreathed with info, loaded-down
Till cellphones ringing wake us, and we drown.

Politics - Comedy

They are strange bedfellows; politics and comedy. Comedy and comedians can embody the true manifestation of our freedom of speech. Take George Carlin and the seven words for instance. When media outlets like New York Times and MSNBC have begun to act as propaganda tools of the powerful, who do we have but the comedians. To me, nowhere has this fact been demonstrated better than Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Jon was voted the most trusted newsman recently and if anything, it is a telling repudiation of 'real' journalists. His Daily Show has won the Emmy eight years in row. They have not taken this role willingly. The white noise of demagoguery, fear-mongering and name-calling that has taken over our TV sets have forced these comedians to take up serious issues. (I am reminded of the tongue-whipping that Jon gave Tucker Carlson on what used to be Crossfire. He said that he was perfectly happy to go back and make fart jokes all day if the 'real' journalists would just do their jobs.)

There were two interviews in the last week that highlighted the seriousness with which Jon carries his role as 'not just a comedian'. First the interview with former British Primeminister (and Bush lapdog) Tony Blair. I don't watch a lot of TV but I doubt if someone asked Blair, "Are we confronting something with a sledgehammer when we need a scalpel?" or "Didn't we create the problem which we want to solve now?" (namely the presence of Al Qaeda in Iraq). And I don't know what others heard but Blair was totally unconvincing in his justification for the war in Iraq or the drum-beating that has already begun to bomb Iran. Jon asks about the disingenuous "...conflating Sept. 11 and the religious extremism and the war to overthrow a secular dictator" and it was like a Frost-Nixon moment for me.

And as if to prove that this was no flash in a pan, Jon follows it up with another brilliant interview, this time of former President, Bill Clinton. To be fair, Clinton stole the show and one wonders how Americans could vote for the bumbling, 'most of our imports come from other countries' Bush. His grasp of Economic minutiae and his ability to communicate are unsurpassed. Policy Wonk Clinton details his ideas and Jon sits back and lets him. At one point he asks, "Why don't I ever hear that from anybody but you?". Seriously, Hall-of-fame stuff.

Last week, Jon and the satirist Colbert (pronounced koʊlˈbɛər) announced that they were going to organise a rally (2 competing rallies, actually) in Washington D.C. This could well be a turning point. It appears that they will move from being passive commentators to political activists. Notwithstanding the success or failure of this endeavour, it is clearly a sad state of affairs when the world needs a Stew Beef to step up. May the Force be with them.

Update: There are no Gods among men. Clinton for all his brilliance is still responsible for much of the present economic mess. The de-regulation regime started during his tenure. Geithner and Bernanke and Greenspan were part of his legacy. DADT and DoMA were his too (though it was supposed to be an improvement on existing law).

Similarly, Jon Stewart has his own failings. In his efforts to appear non-ideological, an objective centrist, he often employs false equivalencies. "The right is calling Obama 'Hitler'. The left is calling Bush 'A war criminal'. Stop bickering, you crazy people on both left and right," is not exactly objective. Glenn Greenwald has more to say and he says it better than I could. Over to you, Glenn.

It ain't easy being brown

I was listening to Mozart. Symphony No. 40 in G-Minor. An old lady walks in to the shop and goes I didn't expect you to be listening to this. I have to admit that I was a little surprised at this remark. I mean, what did it mean when she said that?

a) Is it because I am young (compared to her) and youngsters don't listen to classical music anymore?
b) Is it because that a service station is an unlikely place to hear Mozart?
Or
c) Is it because I am brown and darkies should be listening to more appropriate ethnic music?

I thought I was capable of picking up nuances in speech but this one plain threw me. I sure didn't take offense and I am not all that thin-skinned (even if I am dark-skinned) . One way or the other I don't care but I did want to ask.

Fingernails; Nostrils; Shoelaces by Charles Bukowski

The gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the
cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;
...
I walked miles through the city and recognized
nothing as a giant claw ate at my
stomach while the inside of my head felt
airy as if I was about to go
mad.
it's not so much that nothing means
anything but more that it keeps meaning
nothing,
there's no release, just gurus and self-
appointed gods and hucksters.
the more people say, the less there is
to say.
even the best books are dry sawdust.

Overheard

Whoever said "Democracy is the worst form of government except for all other forms of government" must have had to spend half an hour with the common man. Elections are here and friends would have me convinced that, ofcourse, the will of the people is always right. Vox populi vox dei. Here's a question for you to ponder about: Are people genuinely stupid or do they get treated stupid? Put another way, is the electorate at all capable of making an informed choice? I remain unconvinced as there is always some awe-inducing "stupid" on display. Case in point, a fellow at my school believes that since Julia is unmarried and doesn't have kids, she must be anti-family. I am not making this shit up. "She doesn't have a family, how can she be good for people with families" was his logic (er... if you can call it that). Add the fact that she doesn't believe in God... you can't trust her. She is not primeminister material. She is E-V-I-L. Tony on the other hand campaigns with his wife and daughter. Tony- good. Julia- bad. Head-Desk-Bang-Bang

Things hidden

From all I did and all I said
let no one try to find out who I was.
An obstacle was there that changed the pattern
of my actions and the manner of my life.
An obstacle was often there
to stop me when I’d begin to speak.
From my most unnoticed actions,
my most veiled writing—
from these alone will I be understood.
But maybe it isn’t worth so much concern,
so much effort to discover who I really am.
Later, in a more perfect society,
someone else made just like me
is certain to appear and act freely.

- Cavafy

Sirote chaque jour ta tasse de neant

This is a beautiful cafe/patisserie that I stumbled upon in the most unexpected of places. The door opened invitingly to cough out a woman with a child in her arms, a sublimely satisfied expression on her face, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a scent that was hard to place but was of something delicious, perhaps with almonds in it (and surreptitiously sweet) wafted, like a hooked finger, alluring like a woman's hidden bosom. Perhaps it was the name, but I heard a melody, played on a bansuri flute. It was a simple melody, with three notes recurring endlessly. Sa-ni-saa. Sa-ni-saa. Sa-ni-saa. Jasmine climbers shielded the cruel world, of sportscars and discounted brand apparel, from barging into this tranquil universe. My universe, where there was me and my cup and none. And I sipped from my cup of nothingness.

Raavan - a review

The title of the new Indian film, 'Raavan' that hit the cinemas this week, refers to the ten-headed demon king of India's epic tale Ramayan.The film by director Mani Ratnam, who gave us such classics as Roja (1992), Bombay (1995) and Kannathil Muthamittal- A peck on the cheek (2002) boasts of a stellar cast with Aishwarya Rai Bachchan as Ragini, a classical dancer, Vikram as her ruthless policeman husband 'Dev' and her real-life hubby Abhishek Bachchan as dreaded tribal outlaw 'Beera'. Former Miss World Aishwarya is a household name in the west as brand ambassador of Bollywood, mainly for her roles in blockbuster films 'Devdas' and 'Bride and prejudice' and partly as a regular at the red carpet in Cannes. She has been on Oprah and David Letterman and she and Abhishek are also the de-facto Brangelina of Bollywood and that adds to the hype and expectation surrounding the film.

The movie is purportedly a modern re-telling of the Ramayan. A 'righteous' cop's wife is abducted by a 'monstrous' tribal and the hostage is forced to confront her worldview of the dichotomy of good and evil. Kind of like a Harry Potter film from the perspective of Lord Voldemort, where he-who-must-not-be-named is not so bad after all and infact has great abiding interest in the french impressionists and loves puppies. Fascinating premise with great adaptive potential. And there are moments where it almost lives up to it but on the whole the movie fails in exploring the nuances of a moral struggle of the protagonists. The result: a warm if mentally unstable villain who mercilessly murders scores for a 'good cause', a self-appointed Robin Hood of sorts, and a cold severe hero hellbent on revenge, who gets none of our sympathy. And caught in this struggle is the kidnapped heroine, who is torn between her love, nay, devotion to her husband and belief in his moral rectitude and her grudging admiration, even love for her abductor. A Stockholm Syndrome on Ecstasy.

That is not to say that the film is bad to look at. The mountains, the waterfalls and the forests are captured brilliantly and the dizzying camera work of cinematographers, Santosh Sivan and Manikandan is perhaps the highlight of the movie. The stunts are skillfully choreographed and the final battle in the bridge is breathtaking. The music by Academy award winner AR Rahman is lively and the musical interludes entertaining. Performances by Govinda, as drunkard forest guard 'Sanjeevani' and Priyamani as the outlaw's sister Jamuna are impressive. The much touted on-screen chemistry of Ash-Abhi is impalpable and national award winner Vikram is squandered. It is the predictable screenplay and lacklustre direction, Mani Ratnam's strongsuits in the past, that fails this venture. It is hard to not wonder if the movie falls into the trap of being too beautiful; it's picture postcard setting not indicative of a savage forest and a beauty pageant female lead whose screeches and facial contortions cause more pain and suffering in the audience than what she allegedly endures. It is a thoroughly unengaging tale with hammy acting and oversimplified storyline. Surely we can do better. Epic. Fail.

An old tale

A wise businessman and his son embarked on a long journey of commercial intent. It wasn't a particularly prosperous time but whatever it is that they were selling, perfumes or precious stones, spices or silk, was quite in demand in this strange foriegnland and they made a fortune. Satisfied that the journey had been fruitful and that money had been made, the duo mounted their horses and set forth to return home. The journey was long and the path perilous. So, as dusk approached, they decided to spend the night in a public inn and continue their plod home the morning after. The inn was rowdy with drunkards and whores and the businessman was afraid for his hard-earned wealth. Father and son took turns to guard their bags of gold coins from scheming thieves and greedy eyes.

Before the sun rose and the men woke from their drink-addled stupor, the businessman and his son saddled up and departed. They had hardly crossed the borders of the town when the businessman realised that there was one bag of gold missing. The son, a lad of fifteen, it appeared had, in his sleepless daze, forgotten it. The businessman was angry but anger much like money should be used judiciously and he was in no mood to splurge it on his naif son. Rushed they back to the inn with the fond hope that there might still be something to salvage. And what did they find but their bag, where they left it, undisturbed. The son was joyous that his bungle had cost no damage but an hours delay in their sojourn home. The businessman, however, was most disturbed. Such fortuity did not bode well. He turned to his son and bid him to go home with half the gold and not to turn back. Puzzled but obedient, the son returned.

Years went by and no news of the businessman was ever heard. The son became a wealthy businessman, amassing great wealth and reputation, married well, bore children and lived a princely life. He was kind and generous to his friends and neighbours and respectful and caring to his mother who was, as women tend to be, adamant that her husband was alive and declined to wear the garb of a widow. Many efforts, all vain, later the son had resigned to the idea that his dear father had vanished without a trace.

You can imagine the shock when one day to their very gilded door returned the lost businessman. The years had not been kind to him and he appeared starved and beggarly. His son embraced him with tears. His resolute wife nursed him. Meat and exotic fruits were served in silver platters and much wine was filled in golden goblets. Servants materialised to attend to his every need. His daughter-in-law drew him a scented bath and his grandchildren prepared a bed for him. When he was sufficiently revived, the son hesitantly broached the topic of the mystery of his absence.

The businessman recounted his tale. When they had found the unmolested bag of gold, a great fear had troubled him. They had had the angel of fortune smiling upon them for too long. Weather had been genial through their difficult journey and they had not encountered bandit nor bureaucrat. Their wares had found welcome buyers. They had forgotten a bounty at a public inn and returned to find it unstolen. It could only mean that misfortune and misery wasn't far away. The businessman decided then to shield his family from it. He would tempt misfortune away. He had sent his son home and journeyed in the opposite direction, praying that he had lured fate his way. And he had been right. Disaster stuck soon. He was robbed. But the robbers had spared his life though they had no reason to. He realised that there was still some good luck left in him and destiny wouldn't be satisfied until it had completely broken him. He proceeded, farther and farther away from his family. He gambled what meagre possessions he had but kept winning just enough to be not completely broke. He was captured and sold as a slave but his slave-owner freed him and gave him some money and a mule. Much later, he was cheated of it and reduced to poverty but kind people fed him and gave him a shelter. Through all the hardships there was still some grace and he persevered in his quest for rock bottom.

And then it came to pass. He was living on the streets of a big city, a homeless beggar. A youngster stole his bag of rags. Surely it was some prank or a dare. Nevertheless, here was a beggar with everything that he could call his own in a a soiled bag and though it be worthless, he had been robbed of it for mere amusement. He had laughed and laughed until he wept with joy. Crowds milled around him to see the insane mendicant. But he was free. He had won the tussle against fate. It was thus that he immediately ventured on his travel home and reached the abode of his family, that had stayed unscathed by adversity.

And they lived happily ever after.

Anguish - Rimbaud

Is it possible that She will have me forgiven for ambitions continually crushed,--

that an affluent end will make up for the ages of indigence,--

that a day of success will lull us to sleep on the shame of our fatal incompetence?

(O palms! diamond!-- Love! strength!-- higher than all joys and all fame!--

in any case, everywhere-- demon, god,-- Youth of this being: myself!)

That the accidents of scientific wonders and the movements of social brotherhood

will be cherished as the progressive restitution of our original freedom?...

But the Vampire who makes us behave, orders us to enjoy ourselves

with what she leaves us, or in other words to be more amusing.

Rolled in our wounds through the wearing air and the sea;

in torments through the silence of the murderous waters and air;

in tortures that laugh in the terrible surge of their silence.

Stupidity?

"You know what my morbid fear is," she asked, quite out of the blue.

Sure, I was taken aback but I kept an inscrutable face as best as I could.

"Waking up one morning and realising that I am not as smart as I was when I went to bed. What if I became stupid? Could I live with it?"

I didn't know how to react to it. What should I say? What could I? I was burthened with a deep dark part of her self and I was honoured to be privy to it. But, why me? I was silent lest my feeble attempt at a response would, in her eyes, make me undeserved of this revelation.

"Is that a paradox?," I said, after a moment that stretched the length of my arm when my arm was the length of the street. "I mean, if you woke up one morning stupid, would you even care to be intelligent? Do you see what I am trying to say? The fear of the stupid is only for the intelligent. When you are stupid, you are content in your stupidity. Or put another way, wouldn't you be so stupid that you don't realise what it is to be intelligent, much less that you went to bed as one?"

"Ok! You win the prize for saying the most number of 'stupids' in one breath," she said. The moment had passed with the suddenness of a blown candle.

That was incredibly stupid of me.

A chance encounter

What fortuity brought us together
under the lighthouse
erect phallus
throwing beacons of light
to straying ships
It is said that stars are potent
that the distant planets have
an influence
It was Mars that brought me to you
True. A little brass tablet on the beach
extolling the many features of the star
A hand rose from the red soil
and steered us
pawns
cattle
ever so slowly
towards our destiny
un-separate
The howling gale coursed
from the frozen shores of the antarctic
fine dust rose like a fragrance
and waves left their footprints on sand
And you sang, my nightingale
through little white earphones
Angels descended
to dance on the rim of my coffee cup
Neruda travelled through the pages
to read his words to us
(and in your voice became you)
And so did Eliot
and Bukowski
Poets milled the room to please you
stealing verses from one another
and failing in their feeble effort
to describe you
to capture in words that which cannot be
Time vanished
Objects disappeared
Everything ceased
There was you
and me
as one.

I am

Did you think I too will
Spend my days in
search of meagre food,
Tell petty and pointless tales,
wallow in heartbroken agony,
cause by my various acts,
distress and woe to my fellows,
Turn senile with grey hair,
And fall as fodder to the
relentless march of time
As yet another faceless man?

A tip of the hat to A spark of fire for the original translation of Bharathi's poem Thedi Choru Nithanthinru which I have slightly modified

Quick tale: Prayer

This may be a totally made up story but I heard this one from a remarkably untrustworthy old man.

A group of Jewish prisoners woke up one wintry morning in a Nazi concentration camp near Auschwitz. One of them, a wizened old man with a silver moustache sang a short prayer much to the mute bewilderment of his cell mates. You see, the gas chambers were built and working and a not unfriendly German guard had whispered to them not many hours earlier that today was going to be their turn. The news was met to the most part with total and complete resignation. A few cried silently. No one slept through the night. Not even the little children. And dawn had arrived in the east. The old man sang his prayer and nobody joined him in it. A man from Kiodzko, who until then was one of the silent-weeping could bear it no more and he fumed at the hymn-singing old man. "Why do you pray now? We have been forsaken by men and God and we stare at the gates of our coming death. Why do you pray now?," he screamed.

"I was thanking God," he was told.

"What could you possibly be thankful for? Do you not get it that we are about to die a pointless death? Are you blind to the cruelty of man to his fellow men? And innocent children? There is nothing to be thankful for"

To this entirely reasonable rant, the old man replied, "I thank God because it could have been worse."

To the quizzical looks and the arching eyebrows, he said "I could be them"

So, how was your weekend?

1. I had to jump hoops (the bureaucratic kind) but it finally happened. I am now the proud possessor of a Motorcycle Riders Licence
2. Poetry is alive and well and lives at The Front in Canberra
3. Rev at Bar32 has music that is (by conservative estimates) gazillion times better than other clubs around the city
4. I love the Beatles. I do. Hey Jude is stuck in my ear
5. It is easier to dance with a girl than it is alone.
6. Ali Baba Kebabs taste better at 3 AM
7. Drinking $10-bottle red wine from a local winery off a plastic glass, sitting on a haystack while eating a wafer thin slice of woodfired pizza made from organic vegetables grown in a little vegie patch in a garden and a gypsy jazz band plays a song about the soup kitchen lady is what a bohemian heaven would (or should) be.
8. Great beauty exists around us. If we blink less, we can catch more of it. Probably.
9. Paul, if the unintended byproduct of your singledom is a weekend like this...

Professions of infinite love

Now that I have consummated my relationship with Infinite Jest, and what a rollercoaster it has been, I figured I could return to my single-dom, bookwise. Little did I realise that there was no going back. There is no life without it. IJ will be mine forever. The last month, you drove me mad, madder than I usually am, but you took me to heights of pleasure that I never thought possible from prose. I say this with no shame: I love you Infinite Jest. And will always.

TunTunThun TunTunThun (rpt)

I don't know why but I have been having this irresistible urge to talk to you. I tried calling you a few times and either got a busy tone or you didn't pick up. Your caller tune is haunting. Nice choice. Nevermind.

It is raining and I am sitting next to the window looking out. Erik Satie is playing on the computer. Gymnopedies. Lent et douloureux. There is a leak in the roof and it painfully drips in to a bucket in the kitchen. Drip.Silence. Anticipation. Desperation. Drip. And repeated over and over and over again. The curtain billows in the steady rhythm of one asleep. And it rains. Like music.

I went to a concert last night. And the trumpeter joked about the time he was dangling 90 feet above the stage playing the trumpet.

John Keats is dead. John Keats is dead.

I have few things to say... I just wanted to talk. I wonder if you did pick up, what I would have said. Perhaps about Philip Glass. You should listen to him. Maybe not Metamorphosis but definitely Passages. I think they will... how should I put it... appeal to your sensibilities.

Did you know there is a Canberra Jung society. But there is no Freud society. Wouldn't it be funny if they were like rival gangs. and they TP the other's office at midnight and call each other names?

Obama, that pussyfoot is coming to Canberra next month. I should attend a public rally or something. I will hold out a poster that says, 'Will make you a honorary citizen if you say Giddy Up'. Or maybe say a 'Dingo took my baby'.

Sisyphus was cursed by the Gods to roll a huge stone up a steep hill and every time he almost reached the peak, the stone would roll down.

Kurt Cobain sings Where did you sleep last night.He scream... In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shines, I shiver the whole night through.

Did you know it is not about a cheating wife? It is an old country song about...

I don't know if you are still painting/ if you still read, but if you do see Piet Mondrian's art. I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to ask you to read a particular book, seeing as I myself haven't been reading much. I am reading a book called INFINITE JEST and...

Bright star.

The other day I cooked a mean Chettinad Chicken. Marinated in spiced yoghurt for like a day.

The secondhand bookshops are a treasure-trove and I am a bounty hunter.

I am going to buy a motorcycle. a Cruiser. a big heavy one. powerful. and thud thud thud around.

there is this tv series called The West Wing. you should watch it. what is it about? it is political.you are not into politics. it has funny moments. like when donna says she has penmanship. yeah right. not hahaha funny.

Masterpieces from Paris is in the national gallery. they are screening lust for life today. i don't know if i should go

i admit to it. at times, when the moon is low on the horizon and looks like a beachball just over the hills, i miss you.

Maslow has written a book called towards psychology of being. he grows in stature.

moon sets sun rises sun sets moon rises

never mind never mind never mind

Betrayal, this is not// Poetry, perhaps

I am no Judas

Nor am I treachorous Brutus

I do not seek you for an enemy

And not because you are my friend

I have my nemesis in me

rusty armoured and pale blue cloaked

and have no need for another

I am involved in a daily deathly struggle

with life and nothingness

I court love and pain and death

And weep for Keats and Eliot

I care not for your delusions,

your amorous aspirations

Really, I care one whit

As much as you'd like to believe

I am not the one between

you and your happiness

I stand between me and mine

Adventures of the Cancer-denier

Joe W. sat in the hospital lobby in a plastic molded chair watching Whoopi Goldberg's animated mute face along with other women of the View. Two year old copies of House and Garden and some celebrity gossip rag that broke the Brangelina news lay uncared in a corner.The doctor called him in eventually. Joe had been to his GP with a recurring bout of abdominal pain and his GP had prescribed this and that and then when the pain hadn't subsided referred him to the hospital and the 'specialists' had gone to work on him and done a battery of tests including blood, urine and something else that was like X-ray but not X-ray and a biopsy with a needle the size of a baby's arm. Today was the day for the results of all those needless needles.

The doctor, an Asian-kind of guy, though with a flawless Bostonian accent, ushered him to his office and with a sombre expression that must have taken years of practice in front of mirrors informed him that the diagnosis wasn't good and he was sorry but the results indicate pancreatic cancer but there was hope and the three-year survival rate wasn't too bad and new treatments are being developed all the time. He looked at the doctor with an expression that was rather unfamiliar in that room. It wasn't denial, puzzlement, disbelief, shock, sorrow, anger, courage, hope, desire, despair or any of the emotions that one would normally associate with a death sentence. It was contempt, and a strange kind of contempt it was. He said, 'Why should I believe you?' and the doctor mistaking it for shock said in an empathising voice of one who has seen too much pain and suffering to not be moved by it, that he was afraid that it was so and the results were very conclusive. That is when he raged, 'How do you know that it is cancer? If you don't know what is causing the stomach pain, do you just call it cancer?'.

'Sir! I am an experienced oncologist and I studied Medicine at John Hopkins and specialised in pancreatic cancer at Harvard. Your liver function tests revealed possible cancer but it was inconclusive. This is your pancreas as seen by our CT-scanners and as you can see this is a textbook case. It shows a clear tumor of 10mm and we have results from the biopsy, that was the procedure with the big needle, that has confirmed that it is not a benign mass and that it is in fact cancerous pancreatic tissue. I am terribly sorry but you are young and otherwise healthy and there are a number of options to fight cancer'.

'I don't want to fight cancer because I don't think this is cancer. Why should I believe that this is cancer or that it is deadly? Just because you are a specialist and you went to Harvard and you say so? I don't think so. And I am not coming back to you quacks'

'Sir! I understand that this comes as a shock to you and that you are in denial but here, you can see this book, this is an authoritative text by Howard Reber and if you see the CT-scan image on the book and your CT-scan image, they are very similar, almost identical. And please you have to keep coming to the hospital for treatment and we should decide on the future course of action that is best for you'

'Who are you to tell me what is best for my future? You are just a scientist. Just because you went to medical school and studied for eight or ten years, doesn't make you king of the world. And so is this Howard guy, a scientist. I trust no one'

'Pancreatic cancer is well researched and well documented. If you'd rather have a second opinion, I urge you to go to another hospital and I am sure that they would confirm for you what I have just said'

'You are all a cabal; the other hospital guys and you. You all want to fleece us by scaring us with tall tales about "cancer", saying You will die if you don't listen to us. Let me tell you what I think - You just want to control people. That is all there is to it. It is about control and money '

'I can assure you that is not the case'

'Then riddle me that - the more people you diagnose with "cancer" the more money you get from government. How is it not in your interest to spread the "cancer lie". Tell me'

'We get more grants from the government because with enough money and support we can cure cancer or at least make it manageable. For the common good'

'Common good, my ass. I have seen scientists. I know all about the politics of science. Do you think I don't know about pharma companies and insurance giants that make billions and billions. And I know about all the doctors who get sued for malpractice. You want money and power. You want people to stop smoking and drinking and having a good time because you nerds couldn't get laid'

'Sir! I beg with you. We can argue from now to eternity if science and scientists are perfect and recount all the mistakes we have done but you have pancreatic cancer and if we don't treat you, you'll die within a year'

'Cancer is just an elaborate conspiracy by scientists to steal money from the taxpayer. That is all there is to it. Kind of like Global warming. The whole climate change myth is a liberal plot by tree-huggers and lesbians to take away our Hummers. I'll have no more of it. Goodbye to you and may you burn in hell'

'Ah! well! He got away, this smart man. So, which other gullible, totally unskeptic tool can I diagnose with cancer. I am down on this month's quota'

Hope/Frustration

The law of large numbers suggest that one of these days I should get something right