Libya, Egypt, Dictators and Democracy: Reigning in the balloons

A small number of people are like helium balloons. They rise because it is just in them to rise. They don’t rise because some good and powerful reason is pulling them up; they would just rise until something physically stopped them. They do have alot to stop them, but they just roll around and push upwards always finding some crack in the ceiling. The only thing that stops a Gaddafi from taking over the world by killing any opposition and stealing everyone’s money is that he isn’t powerful enough to do it. It requires a toxic mentality to have that kind of lift. And these helium balloons are an unfortunate creation, because their toxicity gets amplified as they rise. I think that I met one of them briefly the other day and, I swear, if this person lived without any resistance to her will, she would become president of the world, turn Hawaii into her own tertiary institution and give herself a doctorate in godliness.  Luckily people dont like helium balloons that much, and that’s why democracy is such a tough ceiling for them. I wouldn’t vote for the balloon that I met, no way.

Lets hope that Libya and Egypt can build some solid ceilings

A poem: "I am a poet and I didn't even know...that"

When it is dark

I hold my hand to my chest and feel the beating of my...ventricle

For I am a poet and I didn't even know that

WOW!! China 2016

The Great Hall of The People (The Communist Party Legislature in Beijing) was filled with people. Ordinary people... I suppose. It was a disorganised and mumbling mass. The popping and whining of the lecturn-microphone provoked the people to stumble and stand on their seats, but nothing was happening on stage. Death_Slayer77 took every excuse he could to stand up because his green-leather pants were so tight around his crutch. He turned to Fire_Elve_13, who was rubbing against his shoulder. Fire_Elve, who was a squat, tubby little guy, looked a bit self-conscious wearing a metal plated-bra and a chain-mail skirt. Fire_Elve said to Death_Slayer

“So... how is your clan going?”

Death_Slayer was blushing. He had never seen Fire_Elve in real life, and he had always fantasised about Fire_Elve (who is a spectacularly beautiful female warrior elf, on the internet).

“good, my clan is good.” Death_Slayer said.

The Crowd began to warble, louder and louder. Fire_Elve adjusted his skirt and Death_Slayer picked up his sword. Death_Slayer knocked away the wizard’s hat in front of him, and he saw that the new King of China was about to speak. The King was dressed in green tights and a green skivy with gold embroidery snaking all over his body. His words flattened the squables and whiny jeers of the crowd. This is what the King said:

“This is Historic. So let me explain where we are in the terms and vocabulary of History. The Chinese Communist Party, when they were in power, knew that the internet was their largest threat.”

The crowd made that high pitched “woooo!” noise that males can make.

“So they censored the search engines, they censored the social networks. But never did they suspect that World Of Warcraft (WOW) was digging tunnels under the CPC and eating away at the pillars of their strangle hold. The Elves brought in the information from the free media. The Orcs distributed it. And together, the mighty Clans of WOW overthrew the CPC on the first day of 2016.”

The crowd burst into a frenzy of chest beating (which was the sound of 6000 fat bellies being slapped), high-pitched “Wooo’s!”, coughs and then anaemic splutters.

“In attendance today is the inaugural congress of clan leaders, all of which are level 99 characters, Orcs and Elves. We have some laws to create and pass today. The first is to do with the "new" China’s  currency. The Orcish cabinet has suggested that we use gold. All in favour?... thats a yes, pass the bill. Ok, next is the the health-care system. Now, are health-potions real? Does anyone know, because I think that the government should subsidise health potions. I know that most of you in the room have level 99 vitality anyway”

The floor chuckled

“Ok we are subsidising health potions. The third thing we need to cover is Intellect. As we all know, intellect stat-points increase your mana and increase your chance to score a critical strike when casting spells. So the elves have been pushing for a uniform national education curriculum from prep to high-school. I know that not many of us have kids, or remember whether we have kids, but mana and critical strikes are important, so we should make our education system strong... pass it? Yep, ok that is passed. Guys! Calm down over there!”

A bored Orc in the front row called an elve and “elf”; the elve charged his bow with an arrow and released, flopping  the arrow onto the ground in front the orc. The orc then waddled angrily towards the elve, but tripped over the arrow and slapped onto the ground.

“Come on guys! We are almost done. Just quickly, our Strength stats are very worrying. I think we need to promote more outdoor activity and excercise for the sake of our gold economy.”

The whole congress jiggled in exhausted protest.

“Ok, we’ll come back to that... The last thing on the agenda for today is to find a way to better include female elves and orcs. I dont think that I can see one female in this entire room, and that’s a probem. So guys, females?”

The room went silent

“Females? Anybody? Females?... ok we’ll leave that for next time too. Congress dismissed. Well done my fellow warriors, we did it”.

  

Bed Shopping

I went bed shopping with my parents the other day. The man who served us should have been called Mr. Mattress. Did you know that a couple will sweat 0.5 litres into their mattress per night, creating a good environment for dustmites? Mr Mattress did. Did you know that the coils of a bed become denser towards the middle of the mattress , and that a softer mattress with an internal layer of latex is better for side-sleepers? Mr. Mattress did. And thankgod he did, because there were atleast 100 mattresses on the floor, and only Mr. Mattress could distinguish them.

I was rolling around on the Sealy Posturepedic Queen Crown Jewel (http://sealy.com.au/crownjewel/index.html), trying to decide whether it was better than the Sealy Correct Comfort Body Sense which, unlike the Sealy Posturepedic Queen Crown Jewel, had new “cradling motion technology”... I was wearing a “Make Poverty History” bracelet... gah. I felt so shallow.

I dont know what to make of material-privelage. I guess that there are two kinds: The first is having the basics to be who you are (like food and shelter). The second is being able to massage who you are. Chocolate, beds, TV’s and anything else that you can buy from Chadstone Shopping Center are all massages. And there is something very superficial about all this massaging. A massage just works with what you’ve got, leaving you slightly relaxed but essentially unchanged; An old fat king, bathing his senses in the best silks and the best food, is still fat and disgusting.

The question is how should I feel about massaging myself? (Woah, this article might yet slip into a Catholic shaming of masturbation) Because, the opportunity cost of me massaging myself is ofcourse somebody, usually in another country, not even being able to be who they are (i.e. instead of buying a $1000 Calibre suit, I could keep a family healthy for a year). I can easily justify to myself that I am treating people like they would treat me. That is, if I swapped souls with the homeless guy in Melbourne Central, and he was the guy lying down on the mattresses and writing this post, he wouldn’t be particularly conscious of my state, sleeping on the concrete.

So why do I still feel bad bouncing around a mattress farm like an unsatisfied goldilocks? Why does one feel bad when you dont buy “The Big Issue” from that fluorescent-green guy who screams and jiggles at you? Because if you aren’t treating people in the same way that you would WANT to be treated if you were in their situation, you feel bad. The difficult thing is that we have our own “wants” too.

How should one feel then at the bed shop? I don't think that anyone can say for certain. I for one don't have a "perception of what life is" strong enough to tell others what is right and wrong in such a tangle of self-interest and empathy. Some people assert that they know, but I dont always trust them. I'm working on a puzzle (called life) which I am destined never to finish. Charity might be meaningless, or it might be the only meaning. I'll just see how it fits into my own puzzle for now.


(A disclaimer: although this post ended with "uncertainty is the only certainty", I think that uncertainty creates its own boundaries. One shouldn't go actively harming people, because that would insinuate that you understand the meaning of the "life-puzzle", and other people's "life-puzzles", enough to put a value on them. Actively harming somebody is just as presumptious as telling them what is the right or wrong attitude in relation to charity. I dont think that dickheadedness is demeaned or excused by uncertainty.)

I am Alex

I was on the train yesterday morning and I had the idea for this story. When I arrived home, I watched Black Swan on DVD, which left me slightly edgy and disturbed. When I then went to write up the story, I found myself in a more scared and darker frame-of-mind then usual, and it actually became very hard to keep writing. So I tried to put on music to un-spook me, but every kind of music sounded spooky- even Owl City. I was actually having a "writer's trip", and the story just tapped itself out in a timeless blur of typing, shivering and remembering that those noises were just the possums outside. I did finish it, then I read back over it and shed a tear at 3am, for the first time in ATLEAST 5 years. (i'm glad that I've reset my cry-o-meter, because I was beginning to think that I had forgotten how to do it). Anyway, the great thing about writing is that its recorded, so you can be truely reading something in the light, that was very much written in the dark:
______________________________________________________________________________________

I am Alex. It was the last train home, and my head was rattling against the window. It had been my first day working as a Lawyer, and Dad was so happy on the phone. The night was dark, and inside my carriage it was bright, so only the streetlamps outside broke through the reflection in the windows. I looked myself up and down in the glass on the opposite side of the carriage. There I was, that was Alex, reclined in a way that a ticket inspector would hate, with streetlamps pulsing past him. I had put 24 years of work into that guy, alot of it for today. Tall, healthy, principled, pinstriped and he didn’t look like he’d budge if a ticket inspector did walk in.

Alex stood up, and I stayed splayed across the seats, but I watched him. Alex started walking across the carriage; for a second he disappeared in between the windows, but he came out the other side, smiling and bright-eyed. A street light shot through his chest, and he turned to watch it fall away. The carriage was a fuzzy dark for Alex, and it was full of passengers that he knew.

On his left was Ms. Tait. He almost fell on her when the train cornered, and when she looked up she recognised him and they smiled at eachother. Her face was particularly fuzzy for Alex, because he hadn’t seen her since he graduated primary school. But she was his favourite teacher at primary school, and she hadn’t aged at all.

“Alex? Is that you? My goodness you are so grown up. Do you still run? Remember you used to win all the races, from prep to year 6. The other teachers wanted the other students to have a turn at winning sometimes, but I never wanted you to stop winning”. Her smile softened, and her head dropped to face the pitch-black floor. “I wanted to help you so much Alex. I wish that... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Alex. Come by my office after lunch tomorrow, you dont have to go to class, and I’ll have chocolates for you ok?”. Alex tilted his head and his smile started to fail from the middle. Ms Tait was going to say something else, but her head shook until it shifted and crumbled in Alex’s memory.

The train had stopped, and the streetlights hung through the carriage like frozen fire-flies. He reached out to one, but his hand slipped right through it.

A greying voice boomed from the back of the carriage “Alex!! Over here”. It was too dark to see who it was back there, but he recognised the voice; The train was moving again and he began to stumble towards it. He walked past a lady who was watching the ground and shaking, just like Ms Tait was. She was wearing a red dress. Alex burst into tears as he walked past her, and he didn’t want her to look up. He felt like he would die if she did.

“Hey Alex, Alex, come on” said the warm man’s voice. A streetlight lit up the man’s face for a moment. He was greying; one of those men who would have made a perfect supermarket Santa-Claus. Another light went past, and Alex recognised him. It was Mr. Adams, the High School Counsellor

“Alex, don’t be upset. If she saw you now..." Mr Adams flicked his eyes over Alex's shoulder to the young women in the red dress. "I mean look at you Alex. I knew that you would be great some day. How have the boys been treating you? I talked to Callum about the incident on Monday, and it wont happen again. Is study ok? If you need to we can push back the exam again? Cheer up. You are so young, and you have so much ahead of you. You’ll be great someday, I know it.”

Alex mustered an adoring smile. He never got to thank Mr. Adams, so he smiled so sweetly, and gave him that box of chocolates.

“Back to the oval Alex. Try to join in with the football, and be assertive. Thats my boy.”

The train went past a football oval. There was a night match on, and the flood-lights broke the reflection and pushed the outside world through the carriage. To Alex, it was as though he was hurtling across the ground on an invisible platform. A flurry of trees snapped and cut through him and he fell to the ground, but he was picked back up by a strong pair of hands

“Alex! Captain! Mate get up. Are you ok? I think you just got knocked out by Fraser. Guys get back to your positions, the Captain’s ok, haha, he’s ok. Look Alex, go to the bench. Coach wont mind, you’ve played some good footy.”

Alex’s team-mates ran outside just before it became dark again and the carriage walls returned. Alex didn’t know where abouts he was in the carriage but he wanted to get back to Mr. Adams or Ms Tait. As he shuffled against the direction of the train, row after row of his university friends emerged from the darkness, to his left and his right.

“Hey Alex, how are you?!”

“Alex my man! Did you finish torts?”

“Alex do you want to see a movie tonight? I was thinking independence day?”

Alex walked faster

“Hey tell me if you want to talk Alex, we all love you. You are the nicest person I know, that anybody knows.”

“Alex, your speech was amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

And he was smiling now

“You won! OH MY GOD YOU WON!! You beat Harvard? Who does that!?”

 And then he saw the lady in the red dress, maybe 10 meters away, like a dot of blood in the darkness.

“Alex, lunch?”

But he ran towards it. He ran towards her.

“I know that you are a genius, but you are going to be such a bad lawyer. You are way too friendly. I’m glad you’re my friend Alex. I feel like I’ve won knowing you.”

And when he reached the red lady, she was looking right at Alex, crying and shaking like before, but smiling too. Alex said

“Mum, its me! Its me!”

She said “I know. I’m so proud.” She was loosing her hair, and her flesh, and she sat, so frail, next to a table of chemo-pills and empty tablet-cartons.

“Alex, you’ll be amazing one day, I know it. I know it. Now go to school. Ms Tait will be worried.”

And when I got off the train, Alex left with me.

Valentines Day, Schmalentines Day

I wouldn’t have known that tomorrow was valentines day, but when I opened my facebook newsfeed Mr. Hollywood Cliche began knocking on my head. He said:

“Hey... hey are you in there? Its Valentine’s day tomorrow, and you’re a single teenager. It seems appropriate that you consider adopting some negative emotions. Even if you just fake it?... hey, I know that you’re in there... hello?... ok, I’m just going to put on some music. I think it will help. *http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVyggTKDcOE*. Now, I know that you are content being single. But look at how upset James Blunt is. I mean he’s sitting in an empty hotel room without any bags or possessions. Presumably he was so upset that he booked the room just so he could be upset in it. Cant you atleast try to be a bitter single for James?”

I said “Wait... I’m 19 and I haven’t recently broken off a long term relationship. That song was barely relevant to me.”

Mr. Cliche Hollywood replied “I know sorry, I could have picked a better one. But we’re promoting it at the moment- even on amateur blogs. Um, well look at the couple frolicking on the bed throughout the video clip? Could that make you bitter? ”

And this was my answer:

“When I watch that, I don’t feel as though that is what i’m missing out on at the moment. Just look at that couple: They are visually perfect, making out in lighting that would make an optometrist cry and being serenaded by James Blunt... and that’s their relationship! Romance exists on the shoulders of a good match and some effort. That was romance without the shoulders, and in isolation of everything else, which is beautiful to watch, but its not a real-world occurence. Valentines day celebrates romance in isolation and, mr. Holly Wood Cliche, thats why i’m not bitter on Valentine’s Day, as a single person. I dont have the shoulders to know whats up there yet... all i know is that its going to be a bit complicated, but right. I’m only 19 and shoulders are things that I will find in time, and its sort of exciting while I dont have them, because you never know where you might find them, and the process of trying to find them is the best way to spend your youth.”

Scientology Tent Franchise

(Funny-Jamie writes)

Sarah was at the Sunday market when she noticed a tent in the carpark that had never been there before. It was strangely long and narrow with a doorway either side, like a hallway draped in cloth. And it had this strange, horizontal black stripe that went right around the outside. The banner on the front of the tent said “The Future”. Curious, Sarah walked into the tent. As the door closed behind her, she realised that there was barely any light at all in “The Future”, just one candle and the faceless silhouette of a small person at a desk.

When the small person spoke, it was the voice of an unfortunate little man:

Little Man: are you happy?

Sarah: am I happy?

Little Man: There is no need to answer that queston yourself. This Vavaculator will assess the Yenom of your Thetan for you.

*The little man swivelled on his chair and tipped the candle towards the vavaculator*

Sarah: that’s a vacuum cleaner... who are you?

Little Man: A “level 8 Castant Director of the Church of Scientology Tent Franchise”... but the real question is... who are you?

Sarah: I have to go back

Little Man: You cant. We could only afford one way doors. Sorry

Sarah: But I can go forwards

Little Man: Well the Vavaculator will only let you go forwards if you are deeply unhappy

Sarah: But i’m not deeply unhappy!

*The little man jumped up, and pulled the light switch on the way down. A bright light filled the tent*

Sarah: HOLY FUCK!! ... are they Children? Lining the tent??

Little Man: Yes!

Sarah: God!! This place is lined with children wearing suits!! Why aren’t they moving?!

Little Man: They fill ... the gap

Sarah: GET ME OUT!!!

Little Man: The... gap...

*Sarah stumbles backwards onto a child*

Sarah: AAGGHGGGHGH!!!!

Little Man: The... gap...

Sarah: Why do you keep saying that!?

Little Man: Because they fill in the gap, in the tent. From the outside it just looks like a horizontal black stripe, because you just see their suits. I keep the tent dark during the day to mess with their sleeping patterns... so they dont wonder off.

Sarah: ...

Little Man: I wanted to show you. I thought that it was a pretty clever use of The Church’s resources, and I haven’t had any other customers to show it to today. The Church delivers them standard: disturbed, suited, blue eyed and 5.2”. You can have some if you want.

*The Little Man turned off the light and turned on the vavaculator. The vavaculator whirred loudly and Sarah held her chest. She was scared and breathing heavily.*

Little Man: Now, vavaculator is this person happy?

Sarah: hey, HEY! OW! Get that vacuum cleaner off my face!

Little Man: mm, thats it. Yes.

Sarah: hey that’s my bag, get out of my...!!

Little Man: I CANT HEAR YOU!!

Sarah: THATS MY PURSE!!

Little Man (singing loudly): PUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON LIVED BY THE S...

Sarah: WHAT THE HELL!!

*The man turns off the vacuum cleaner. It is silent again. Sarah turns on the light*

Sarah: Ok give me back my money, or i’m calling the police

Little Man: The vavaculator is sensing that you are deeply unhappy. You may leave.

 

Office Worker is Reincarnation of Ghandi

(On being passive in the modern world)

An AAMI Customer Service Officer, Jack Chao, has come forward as the third reincarnation of Ghandi’s soul. Before going public at the age of 36, Jack had never told anybody about his past life, other than his parents, with whom he still lives. Chao’s closest friend and senior-colleague, Callum Hanley, was not entirely surprised about the revelation:

“Well, mate, I guess its news because, mate its Ghandi. And Ghandi was a really good bloke. It does make sense though, because Jack’s soft. Jack’s a pretty nice guy too, but you can practically do anything to him. Yesterday, I borrowed his supervisor's pen and, when i lost it, I told the supervisor that Jack stole it. But he's a nice guy.”

Jack’s supervisor, Mary, is an ex-spokeswoman for the One Nation Party. When asked whether Jack’s news came as a shock, she said

“Chao-Chao is no Ghandi. He stole my pen yesterday. And he’s always stealing my pens, and whenever something wrong happens around here, its bloody Ching-Chao Jack. You know, Chao-Chao may aswell be Ghandi, what's the difference? And i’m not the one levelling the generalisations about Asians. They’re the ones serving them up.”

When we went to meet Jack at his house, we asked whether he was upset when Callum lied about the lost pen. Jack said

“Oh you met Callum? He’s a really good person. Yeah, the pen was a worry, because I have to keep my job really. But it’s just his sense of fun... I think it is harder being Ghandi in the 21st century though. I mean, in a war, passivism worked, or atleast it was appreciated, because you were on a stage, and people could see what was happening. Its weird, but its actually harder for me to stop the modern bully than to stop an oppressive regime.”

When asked whether he thought that passivism could change people like Callum or Mary, Jack answered

“Well, maybe. In theory yes, for sure, because nasty behaviour cant show-up any better than it does on a submissive abusee. But sometimes you can record someone cheating you from 30 different angles, show it to them, and they’d do it again. Usually they know exactly what they are doing, and I think that its just in their nature to treat people badly. And that’s one thing that does make it better for me actually, as a passivist.”

When asked what he meant by that, Jack said

“Well a few years ago I went to Queensland with my parents, for a holiday. And when I went swimming, I was attacked by a crocodile. My dad jumped in and hit the thing with a stick until it let me go, and then I was flown to Brisbane Hospital. I didn’t think twice about where the Crocodile was then, or even about which crocodile it was. I mean I didn’t think of it as an individual. In my mind, I had been attacked by a species. So, when the officers caught the croc and asked me whether I wanted it to be exterminated or put in a farm... I don’t know, I didn't want either. It was a crocodile, and it couldn’t help itself.”  

Ghandi believed in karma. Since our interview with Jack, Callum should have been mistakenly deported to Tunisia by immigration authorities, and Mary should have hesitantly offered Jack a promotion into Callum’s position, expecting Jack to be overwhelmed. But Jack would have declined having received a multi-million dollar biography contract.

The Great Debate

I, Jamie, have started a blog called Raisin Toast, and I’m employing two regular contributors: Funny-Jamie and Serious-Jamie. To open the blog, Funny-Jamie and Serious-Jamie will have a debate over whether or not the blog should exist. Serious-Jamie, you have the first word:

SJ: Well, Jamies, i’m not sure whether this blog is a good idea. You’ve already used the word “Jamie” seven times, and you’ve barely begun your first post. This blog could just be a shameful attention grab.

FJ:  Na mon, dont be so serious,  Serious-Jamie

SJ: hey, hang-on, that wasn’t even funny. If that was “Funny-Jamie”, then this blog wont be funny. That was just a mock Jamaican accent, and a dig at my double-barrelled name. I was expecting this blog to have some intelligent humour

FJ: Screw you!

SJ: God, you are just an agro prick.

FJ: Did you just call god an “agro prick”??

SJ: NO!! I called y...

FJ: *prays to god*

SJ: What?! Funny-Jamie cant pray to god: that insinuates that god is a joke. Thats outrageous

FJ: When you cut down my Jamaican accent, you said you were looking for intelligent humour!

SJ: But...

FJ: ... But that was just an excuse wasn't it? Clearly you wouldn't know intelligent humour if it danced right over your dry expressionless face. If this blog is to go on, you must declare your unfounded and bitter disdain for Jamaicans.

SJ: Screw you!

FJ...

SJ: What?

FJ...

SJ: What? I dont hate Jamaicans. Fine I hate Jamaicans.  

FJ: See, how weird is that.

SJ: Keep the blog?

FJ: Yeah ok