Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Tuesday Night Fight Club.

I was at the Chapel Street/Dandenong Road tram stop about 9 pm, when a drunk asshole started to pick a fight with me. I was exceedingly aware of the beer bottle in his hand, ready to deliver a punch to the throat with one hand and a block/takedown with the other.

"How old are you?' I asked.

"EIGHTEEN!" He spat back, his breath smelled terrible. "Why?! How old are YOU?", he challenged.

"Forty", I wearily replied.

"How do you look so good then?", he asked...suddenly quiet and respectful.

His de-escalation tactics were excellent.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

The Coolidge Effect.

Former US president Calvin Coolidge and his wife visited a poultry farm. During the tour, Mrs Coolidge noticed roosters mating frequently and inquired how often that happened. The farmer proudly explained that his roosters performed their duty dozens of times each day.

''Perhaps you could point that out to Mr Coolidge,'' replied the first lady.

On being told, the president asked the farmer, ''Does each rooster service the same hen each time?''

''No'', replied the farmer, ''there are many hens for each rooster.''

''Perhaps you could point that out to Mrs Coolidge,'' replied the president.



I love that story.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.


Thursday, August 04, 2011

A Socioeconomic Fairytale.

There's something so dark in us, that sucks out the light.

It's our nature, it's what we're for.

But if we're for something, of course that implies a designer. What designer would make us so we fear monsters, and hunt them all down, 'til all the mythical creatures of this world are consigned to history, in dusty pages somewhere below the high tide line of what matters now?

To the point where, we're forced to make our own?

This world, these lands, have become a monster factory. The more civilised we become, the farther apart we drift from one another, even though there are honestly at least three people sleeping directly above, below, and to the right side of me as I write...

...I don't know them.

I'm close enough to read their thoughts. To hear their restless sleep. Their lonely sex noises. But I don't know their names.

And so we detach, care less, focus inward; in the false belief it offers security from the uncertain, when all that is certain, is death and taxes. And the only way to detach from the latter, is to attach to the former. The antecedent always dictates the consequent.

And as we detach, we kill little lights inside, until vast areas of dark encompass our interior architecture, filling our brittle frames with nothingness.

Like a satellite picture of the Earth with all the lights out. It's beautiful because it's abnormal.

But darkness has always been a haven for dark thoughts, black is a magnetic colour. And evil is the ferrite- hysteresis not anthropomorphism.

So the dark thoughts come- maggots of fear, loneliness, anger, jealousy, flies of arrogance, pride, worms of greed, hatred, apathy crows, leeches of revenge, and pythons of suicide. They all hang off the ribs, or wedge between dirt coloured organs, and in some cases swim through the carotid artery into the very mind itself.

They congregate, and begin to talk amongst themselves, and your mind hears this and believes the sound as its own thoughts. Like a devil on your shoulder.

Like a devil in your shoulder.

And slowly but surely, we become monsters.

You can see them blinking in the daylight, some covered in rags, some covered in jewels, and every conceivable arrangement of forms in between.

Arrogant and grotesque, or timid and malformed, or furious and mutated, they grow. "Lost in the sound of separation".

And without consciously thinking, they perpetrate the acts upon one another. Because the evil has taken root, and has grown, and now it has them.

The acts that take the light away from another, that attempt to drag that other into the gutter we now inhabit. The gutter between humans and beasts, built by civilisation. Fighting over scraps.

One must always dominate the other, and those most evil possess the requisite qualities to accomplish the work, of turning out the lights in us all.

In this story, the monsters rule.

And the good people meet with one another and strategize, ways to strengthen the walls, to enforce the civilisation, to keep out the monsters. And the towers they build of money keep collapsing, and the fear they'll lose those towers make them fearful, and one by one their lights go out, and so the devils speak to them.

And the monsters wait outside the walls, until those inside succumb to the inevitable infection, and their noises reflect delight. A dirty, foetid, evil delight; not the delight of children or baby animals.

'Til the lights go out...

'Til we all fall down.

And we all.

Fall.

Down.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.