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A new post.

See, I’m not lazy.

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Quote for Ntennis

It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth here is quite impractical, and goes against human nature. This is perfectly true. It is impractical, and it goes against human nature. This is why it is worth carrying out, and that is why one proposes it. For what is a practical scheme? A practical scheme is either a scheme that is already in existence, or a scheme that could be carried out under existing conditions. But it is exactly the existing conditions that one objects to; and any scheme that could accept these conditions is wrong and foolish. The conditions will be done away with, and human nature will change. The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes. Change is the one quality we can predicate of it. The systems that fail are those that rely on the permanency of human nature, and not on its growth and development.

Posted in Anarchism, Poetry | 4 Comments

Rabbit!

Unfuckingbelievable. My midnight stroll. In the middle of the road. A rabbit. Cute as fuck and completely untouchable. A half-hour stand-off punctuated by much preening and anxious (?) circling; even a few quick sniffs of my smelly old Converse sneakers… then home.

I hope the non-existent Goddess looks after you tonight little rabbit.

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Working Girls Dance

From the Dept of Back-from-Cloud-9-or-possibly-5, two films by Irwin Allen. No! Dorothy Arzner: Working Girls and Dance, Girl, Dance. As an aside, I don’t care what Eleven says, I still reckon Lucille looks like Meg. Which reminds me(?)… two weeks ago I saw Last Year At Marienbad.

(Just for the record like.)

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Global insights 5

Yeah OK so like I went to the launch of Global Insights. Number 5. It was really, really… good. I drank four beers and when I got home I smoked a joint and now I’m really, really… good.

Nuff said.

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Slackness abounds

Huh. Over three months.

That’s truly slack.

The Game of War by Andrew Hussey

According to Ken Knabb:

“Andrew Hussey’s The Game of War: The Life and Death of Guy Debord (Jonathan Cape, 2001) is riddled with factual errors. The author’s crude interpretations of Debord’s supposed personal motives are derived primarily from hostile sources and reflect a very superficial understanding of Debord’s project and perspectives.”

Interesting but.

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Standard issue

OK, apparently blogs should include shit like…

What (books) I’m reading:

Freud: A Life for Our Time by Peter Gay
The Fatal Shore by Robert Hughes

What I’m listening (listened?) to:

Pacifism and Pathology in the American Left by Ward Churchill

So… like… yeah.

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One down, 1,011 to go!

From the Department of Freeing-Refugees-Makes-First-Ruddock-And-Now-Vanstone-Cry:

Honey the cat has been re-united with Aladdin, the human being with rights!

The Age reports that, following “an extraordinary fund-raising campaign and a 4300-kilometre journey, Honey was reunited with Mr Sisalem at the Australian Quarantine and Inspection Service’s Spotswood animal shelter… For 10 months, Aladdin Sisalem’s only friend on Manus Island was Honey the cat. As the island’s sole detainee spent his days at the computer, appealing to the world to support his quest for asylum, Honey would sit beside him on the table. As he typed, she would put her paw on the computer keyboard. She was, he says, a companion he could talk to freely, and a reminder that “there was still something very good in life” — hence, presumably, constituting a real thorn in the side of the authorities, and reason enough for them to attempt to “force… [Aladdin] to leave Honey behind when he was granted a protection visa last month…”

Which he was. But now they’re re-united. So all’s well that ends well… well, almost.

According to the Department of We-Will-Decide-Who-Comes-To-This-Country-And-The-Manner-In-Which-They-Come, as of 23 June 2004, that leaves 1,011 prisoners in Australia’s concentration camps for refugees.

Posted in Cats, State / Politics | Leave a comment

Do They Owe Us An Appearance On Status Anxiety?

Huh. ABC Television. Status Anxiety. 10:13pm (or thereabouts). Sunday, 4 July, 2004. There I am, watching Alain de Botton waxing lyrical — or, alternatively, clarifying our values in an ultimate way — thinking ‘But Alain, don’t you think I could be doing something more useful with my time?’ when fuck me, who should the Advanced Hair Studio‘s resident philosopher be quizzing on The Good Life than Gee Vaucher & Penny Rimbaud, looking for all the world like aging hippies, tending their goats and organic tomatoes. Weirder still, moments before the camera revealed an English country idyll (scene of our threesome’s philosophical musings) I was thinking to myself ‘Huh, wouldn’t it be funny if de Botton were to interview some, like, real bohemians; and if that house were actually home to what-once-was-Crass-but now-knows-better…

Crass are remembered (according to their distributor anyway) as the most notorious agit−propsters of the 70s and 80s, for being founders of the Stonehenge festival, to having questions raised in Parliament regarding their various pranks, including a spoof tape of a telephone conversation between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, to their instigation of the ‘Stop The City’ marches, and many many more activities. They are also remembered for being the leading protagonists of the genre know known as anarcho−punk, for being the first band to make their records available at little more than cost price, and to print a “Pay No More Than…” price on their record sleeves to stop fans being ripped off… and er, for many years ago making me turn down my stereo rather quickly lest my Good Catholic mother hear the sheer unadulterated blasphemy that is Asylum.

Now, add to that list, two former members’ new-found status as TV Personalities.

Ah well.

Anyway, I doubt that savage reviews will in any way deter de Botton from continuing to philosophise, either in print or on screen, but if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, perhaps Alain might consider taking advantage of both his brains and his baldness — all at the same time! — on even later late-night television.

Alain:

“Like me, you’ve probably been worrying about status anxiety for quite some time – now it’s time to do something positive about it.

Of all the options I checked out, Reduced Status Anxiety Studio was by far the most professional and successful anxiety replacement organization in the world. Their specialised and patented procedures can give you a totally natural-looking full life – just look at mine!”

Greg:

“Yeah yeah”.

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Long Live Mrs Chippy!

“To a bagpiper’s lament, a cat that was part of Ernest Shackleton’s ill-fated 1914 Antarctic expedition has finally been reunited with its owner in a New Zealand graveyard.”

So ends the sad and sorry tale of Mrs Chippy.

Murdered by Sir Ernest.

According to an anonymous hack writing for the BBC, Sir Ernest Henry Shackleton “has become an example of brilliant leadership ability”. According to a report in the Telegraph by Paul Chapman, however, Shackleton’s ‘brilliance’ rested on the unacknowledged expertise of a humble carpenter by the name of Harry “Chippy” McNeish. While the BBC hack may attribute the safe return of Shackleton’s expedition to the South Pole in 1915 to “his skill as a leader of men”, according to the Telegraph report “[i]t was McNeish’s carpentry skills that ensured Shackleton’s boat, the James Caid, withstood the battering of some of the world’s roughest seas during its 800-mile journey to South Georgia. Unlike many other crew members he was not awarded the Polar Medal – the result, historians believe, of a bitter rift with Shackleton.”

Why the rift?

“Antarctic historians say McNeish never forgave Shackleton for having Mrs Chippy shot along with the sledge dogs when the crew became marooned on pack ice 350 miles from the nearest land.”

The moral of this story?

Sir Ernest was a rotten, incompetent, murdering bastard; Mrs Chippy was an innocent victim; and Harry McNeish is the latest to join a long list of neglected working class heroes with a heart.

The last word goes to McNeish’s grandson, Tom McNeish:

“I think he would be over the moon about the statue. The cat was more important to him than the Polar Medal.”

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