Letter to Bill Shorten...

Dear Bill,

Words cannot express the depth of derision and disillusionment I feel for the current government and its policies.  I don’t need to go into detail here - there are more than enough examples of their ignorance, cruelty, hypocrisy and injustice published daily.

But I do have a request for you.  Please do not wander down the same road.  Don’t take the easy route of automatically deriding anything the government does.  Quite frankly, that is like shooting fish in a barrel.  We can do that ourselves. 

Instead, provide us with a real, actual alternative. 

Communicate to us a vision for this country. 

A vision that recognises the Free Market’s Equal Opportunity For All depends upon everyone having access to quality education and health care, no matter how poor their beginnings, so they can make the most of those opportunities.

A vision that sees Australia as a world leader in the innovation and adoption of clean, renewable energies.

A vision that sees our employment coming from smart thinking, cutting edge technologies, intelligent infrastructure projects and promotion of (and care for) our stunning natural resources.

A vision that recognises equality of rights no matter what religion, ancestry, gender or gender preference.

A vision that says to those who sacrifice everything and risk their very lives trying to escape horrific persecution by travelling however they can to our shores “We will welcome you, incorporate you into our society and allow you to contribute your skills and talents to our ever-growing, smart economy."

We don’t need another politician Bill.  We have far too many of them already.

What we need is a Leader.

Lead Bill.  Grow some big ones and challenge us to be better people in a better, smarter, more humane country. 

Appeal to our better sides rather than our self-absorbed greed and xenophobia. 

Demand our sacrifices be for greater good rather than to line the pockets of those already wealthy.

Demand our society give helping hands to those needing a lift rather than ruthless smack-downs.

Lead Bill.  Lead this way and I for one will be right behind you.  I honestly believe many, many other Australians will be too.

All the best,

An Aussie.

Changing Creeds...

For the past few years I have labelled myself an Atheist.  I still am, since I do not believe in a god - but the problem with identifying as an Atheist is that it defines me by what I DON'T believe.

Not much good, that.

So I thought I would try talking more about what I DO believe...

I believe we are here for a very short time - and regardless of what does or does not happen after we die, we are here once. That's it.

I believe the worst thing you can do to a person is rob them of their life - either all at once by killing them or in smaller chunks - via repression, abuse, gossip, exclusion, judgement.

I believe we could build a much better society than we have.  We have made up all these rules and patterns of behaviour and are living with them as if they are universal, immovable axioms.  They are not.  If they are not working for us, we can change them because we created them in the first place.

We have the knowledge, skills, resources and tools to make our lives so much easier than they are. 

We can live more simply, with less "things" but all of higher, lasting quality - without sacrificing anything of any importance.

We can live more socially, with less fences between neighbours and more sharing of time, resources, tools and buildings.

But we don't.

We don't because we listen to greed before we listen to generosity.  We listen to fear before we listen to courage and compassion.  We prefer to stuff ourselves absolutely full - until we in the West are dying from habitual over-consumption - then throw the rest into huge, stinking piles of polluting rubbish - rather than share any of it with the majority of the planet's population - who starve while watching us die of gluttonous obesity.  Just in case we have to go without the tiniest, tiniest portion of What We Want.

We don't run this world very well.

But we could.

We can already feed everyone on this Earth.  We can have the power, the tools, the past-times, the fun, the freedom and the food we have now but without sucking the planet dry and then burning it.

We can - but we need to look at things very differently.  The world and our place in it.  The things that can make us truly happy vs what simply satisfies us temporarily.  We need different disciplines.  A different attitude.  A different outlook.  A different framework.  A different base to work from (and all them other "paradigm shifting" sorta statements...).

These are the things I would like to talk about now - not simply what I don't believe but what I do believe we CAN do.  Outlooks on life that DO work.  Attitudes and habits and behaviours that DO help.  Ways to live a life that is still joyful, adventurous and full but may not have in it every silly little trinket ever to find its way out of a sweatshop.

I have lots of ideas and would love to hear from others.  Let's start Something.  Something happy and fun and sustainable that works.

If you would all please bow your heads, close your eyes and join me in some quiet contemplation.

Now, Let Us Play...

The Tale of Clive Pepperfield...

“So, what happened here Miss?” Officer Boucher eyed a broken window, an overturned desk, scattered computer parts and a nervous receptionist who had introduced herself only as Amy.

“Um, it was Mr. Pepperfield. He kind of… went… nuts.”

“Mr….?”

“Oh. Clive. Clive Pepperfield. He’s our Auditor.”

“Okay. What exactly did he do…?”

“Um…”

“He kissed me.” An older lady declared, approaching the policeman from the tea room.

“And you are?”

“Jessica Powell. Accountant.”

“Right. You say he kissed you.” Boucher made notes. “Erm, so you want to file some kind of complaint or charge?”

“What? No! No, of course not. We just want you to find him.”
Jessica smiled slightly. “No. He just flipped you see. One minute he was here, typing up his report. Then all of a sudden he jumped up, yelled ‘Fuck all this for a joke!’, grabbed me, threw me backward and planted a big kiss on my lips!”

The austerely dressed accountant seemed more amused than alarmed at her ordeal.

“I see.” The officer scribbled madly.

“Then he stood me up, grabbed a fork from his desk – he always ate at his desk you see – handed it to me and said ‘Here Jess. I’ve always wanted to give you a nice long fork…’”.

“A nice, long, fork?”

“I do believe it was a euphemism, officer…”

“Ah.” He made a note. “Anything else?”

“Well yes. He ripped off his shirt, threw his chair through the window and followed it out!”

“What? From up here?”

“Indeed officer. From up here. He leapt straight out to that light pole, slid down and was off. Who’d have thought he’d be that agile at his age…?”

“How old is Mr. Pepperfield?”

“Fifty-nine.” Jessica answered promptly. “Some of us ran downstairs to find him, but he was gone by the time we got outside. We called you.”

Great. Another nutter. Thought career policeman Steve Boucher. “Well, don’t worry.” He said aloud “We’ll find him just as quickly as we can. He can’t be too far away. C’mon Ollie.”

“Yessir.” Junior Constable Oliver Bridges replied, and followed him down the stairwell.

“Just when you think you’ve seen every fuckin’ nutter in the world.” Steve muttered as soon as they were out of eashot.

“Yeah Sarge. How do we find ‘im?”

“Hah! Just follow the chaos, son. You’ll see.”

The two officers emerged onto the busy street and almost immediately spied a mobile auto-repair truck next to a car parked at a crazy angle a hundred yards up the road.

“So what happened here?” asked Steve as the two policemen approached.

“Mate! Some half-naked freakin’ idiot jumped on the bonnet of my car! He broke the friggin’ windscreen!”.

Sergeant Boucher glanced knowingly at J.C. Bridges. “Which way did he go?” he called.

“That way! About 30 minutes ago.”

The policemen headed in the direction of the pointed finger.

“Some bloke stole a bunch of flowers from my stand!”

“Yes, he gave them to me. He was sweet. Bloody crazy but.”

“He waltzed my girlfriend!”

“This nutjob challenged me to a duel, then ran off yelling ‘Woohoo! Woohoo! Woohoo!’”

“Yes, he said to me ‘You look ravishing, my dear!’ And gave me a rose…”

They followed the chaos, until eventually a man ran out of a nearby park. “Hey! There’s a half naked old man sitting on top of the swings in there yelling ‘Ahoy!’ at everyone. He’s scaring my kids!”

“Bingo…” Steve observed cynically, and followed the man into the gardens.

“Ahoy there my good fellows!” Clive Pepperfield greeted the approaching policemen with enthusiasm and an affected English accent.

“Mr. Pepperfield!” Steve called. “Can you please come down from there?”

“Oh no! I’m afraid that is quite impossible!” came the cheerful reply.

Steve weighed him up. Wayward, graying hair topped a face that, while madly cheerful, looked older than fifty nine. Much older. Somewhere along the line his trousers had gone missing as well. All he was wearing was an old pair of underpants. He was slight of build, with a paunch and scatterings of hair around shoulders, chest and belly. He was crouching on the swings’ crossbar like a balding chimp.

His eyes though. Mad as a bloody Hatter.

“Please Mr. Pepperfield. We need to get you down…. Yes? What?” Steve answered a tug at his sleeve. It was the receptionist.

“Sorry. I followed you. Jessie didn’t tell you, sir. Mr. Pepperfield has been under a lot of stress…”

She stole a glance at her former boss, amused, shocked and worried all at the same time. Clive saw her and called “Hello my dear Amy! You are looking beautiful I must say!”

“What sort of stress?” the sergeant pulled her attention back to him.

“His wife died two weeks ago. She had been very sick…”

“Okay, I see… Mr. Pepperfield!” he called again.

“Alright! Alright!” Clive called. “Coming!”

He leapt…

Straight up, grabbing a branch of the overhanging tree and scrambling nimbly into the leaves.

“Yarooo, suckers!!” he called, and began to sing…

“I’m alive! And the world shines for meeee today!”

“ELO.” Constable Bridges answered Sergeant Boucher’s unspoken question.

Clive was on the move. He scampered through the branches of his new refuge before leaping again…

“Oh, fucking shit…” Steve observed.

Clive seemed to soar in the air for an instant before reaching…

And grabbing a branch on the next tree before changing songs. “I don’t feel safe in this world no more! I don’t want to die in a nuclear war! I wanna sail away to a distant shore, and make like an Apeman…”

“The Kinks.” It was Steve’s turn to educate Oliver. They both moved to the next tree. There was, by now, quite a crowd – all with heads upturned in bemused wonder.

The two policemen took a little time to summon firemen and an ambulance.  Above, the singing continued…

“I’ll be your Tarzan, you’ll be my Jane.
“I’ll keep you warm and you’ll keep me sane.
“We’ll sit in the trees and eat bananas all day,
“Just like an Apeman…”

A few braver souls in the crowd joined in the chorus “Nana nana nanananaaaa! La la laaaa…”

“Clive!” Steve shouted again.

“I say, what!?”

“I’m sorry about your wife, Clive. I’m sorry. Please. Come down and we can talk, okay? We need to get you safe.”

“Meredith? My Meredith? Yes. Do you know what happened to my Meredith?” Clive had dropped the English accent. Even from this distance, Steve could tell his eyes were suddenly lucid. Shit. He thought. If I’m not careful, this will end badly…

“She was very ill. She got the very best of medical care. Oh yes, the best money could buy. They were very good. But do you know what happened? Do you know officer?”

“Come down and tell me Clive. Just come down.”

“She DIED officer! She.  Fucking.  DIED!! Oh but she was SAFE! My Meredith died in hermetically sealed, temperature controlled, air conditioned, isolated FUCKING SAFETY! Thank CHRIST she was SAFE, eh officer!?”

The tree shook with the madman’s rage, then he slumped wearily and stared into the distance.

“The sun still shone. The wind blew the trees outside. People were walking past. Cars drove by. Nothing stopped. Nothing even noticed. Only me…”

The comforting madness returned, and Clive grinned crazily. “In man’s evolution he has invented the city and the motor traffic rumble. But given half a chance I’ll be taking off my clothes and living in the jungle…”

“He really likes that song, doesn’t he sir?” Oliver commented. The crowd was silent.

Clive had cheered up. Then he heard sirens. The Fireys were coming. Thank fucking Christ! Thought Steve.

“Woooooooooooooowoooooooo!” Clive began mimicking the sirens, and moved again. Climbing rapidly through the branches he suddenly leapt. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd. 

Their Apeman clasped the limb of another tree and the crowd let out their combined breath in relief.

There was a snap.

Clive Pepperfield dropped thirty feet to the ground with astonishing speed.

...and there was another, muffled snap.

Clive lay on the grass, head tilted at a horrible angle, and stared through the trees to the sky above. Steve and Oliver rushed to him and while Oliver kept back the crowd, the crusty old sergeant bent to assess the damage.

Bugger me! He thought The old bastard is still alive!

“Don’t worry sir.” He said out loud. “Help will be here soon. You’ll be okay.” He lied, seeing the struggle for breath and the futility of it already.

Clive’s lips moved. Steve leaned in, barely able to hear.

“Sorry for all the trouble…"

“Just hang in there for me Clive…”, but Clive's eyes were already focused on another world entirely.

“I’ll keep you warm and you’ll keep me sane…”

...and Clive left to go find his wife...

From somewhere in the sudden, shocked silence Amy began to cry.

Beyond the ring of onlookers, a breeze blew the grass and rustled through leaves in the trees.
 
Cars drove by.

Across the road people sat in offices and typed up reports.

The sun shone.

Let's Go Play...

Ever have a day where all you wanted to do was go play outside? 

I’m sitting here at work, looking at everyone around me and feeling like a little boy among the grown-ups.  I’m thinking “Don’t yell at me.  Don’t ask me when this next piece of boring shit will be done.  Don’t ask me things I don’t know.  Stop being so bloody self-important.  Let’s just go outside and run around climbing trees.  It’s a beautiful day and I just want to go and play…”

Sigh…

There is a song on one of Madeline’s CD’s that is called “Let’s go play”.  It is one of my favourites.  It is bright, exuberant , joyful and carefree.

I don’t remember my childhood ever being truly carefree.  I sorta missed that bit.

It is not like I had a bad childhood.  I climbed trees, had friends, played chasey, rode a bmx everywhere, only came in at sunset…

…but none of it, for me, was ever really care free.  There was always an edge.  A darkness inside.  Like there was an invisible ledge I must not go over.  A vague, indefinable fear hampered my play and meant everything was constrained and felt… incomplete.  It is very hard to describe but remains with me even today, despite my best efforts to indulge in reckless abandon.  It seems to affect everything.

I have always wondered why, and have been thinking about it again recently…

I was playing when I was burned.

I was a year and a half old.  Mum was in the kitchen and I was busily rolling a log of wood up to the bench so I could climb on it and peer over the bench to see what she was doing.  She didn’t know I was there.  I stood on the log, it rolled away and I knocked a saucepan containing freshly boiled water down on me.

Mum heard a scream and turned to see me with my skin stripped from my face and hanging in shreds from my chin and jaw.

Her world changed that day. 

I guess mine did too.  I almost died.  For many weeks my head, shoulders, chest and back were one big scab – eyes and ears sealed over and only my mouth reliably open.  My parents had to pour liquid food into it.  Every morning Mum or Dad had to lift me from my bed, tearing the healing skin from my back and making me scream in agony (45 years ago the burns technology we have now didn’t exist).  After that Dad refused to put me down again for the whole day.  Once a day hurt them enough.

I had to learn to talk again afterward.  Apparently that did not take too long J, but the nightmares went on  and on for years.

Even today, at times when life feels a bit overwhelming, I catch myself holding my scarred arm across my chest the way I did for a long time after recovering from the accident.

I suppose physical scars aren’t the only ones that will last a lifetime in some form or another.

Madeline is about the age I was when I mangled myself.  I simply cannot imagine the horror of hearing her scream and running to find her in the same state Mum and Dad found me.

I watch her barrelling around the house, yelling with abandon, laughing and playing, dancing and exploring.

Being truly care free. 

It always makes me smile and I feel a fierce desire to protect her and nurture that recklessness - so that there may always be an element of it in her for as long as she lives. 

 She runs through my life like the most gorgeous little ball of sunshine, warming everything she touches…

…and I think “It’s a beautiful day and I just want to go and play.”

Show me how, little Princess.  Show me how…