Part 1: Street Lights.
Part 2: Traffic = Being part of the herd.
Part 1: Street Lights.
Part 2: Traffic = Being part of the herd.
The ability to not fit into any particular category and yet freely communicate with all.
I am an incongruous bastard. Skirting the peripheries and hearing all the juicy bits.
Several years ago I was dragged kicking and screaming to the city to live. I grew up in regional/country Victoria (A southern state of Australia, Melbourne being our capital) and was not a big fan of the city. But after a period of adjustment and a handful of concrete pills, I started to enjoy it (city living) for what it was. Now we have moved back to the country, way out of town on 10 acres. Our own little farmlet. It is awesome, space, peace, wildlife and on and on and on.
I find myself missing things from the city I thought I’d never. Little things, big things all kinds of crazy things. Here’s one.
Street lights are cool because they help you to see where you are going. When it rains their light reflects off the road and looks nice. In the gaps between there are shadows in which scary things can lurk. If your going for a run and feel like giving up and stopping you can push yourself on by saying just until the next street light.
Do you carefully consider your options before easing your way into a new venture or making big life decisions?
I used to to live exclusively in the latter camp and abhor the former. My thinking was, and experience taught me, that if Murphy was going to bite you than he would no matter what so why not just get it over and done with. A very wise woman once spoke to me about balance, and it has plagued me the rest of my life. Trying to find it, understand it, hold onto it, achieve it. The illusive bastard, balance. Somewhere between to two.
Gradually, bit by bit. Take small steps. Break off manageable chunks. Make it doable. Specific. Measurable. Achievable. Realistic. Timeline. I used to wake with a coffee and a cigarette. Now I wake with a coffee, a couple pieces of Vegemite toast, a piece of fruit and some exercise. Strangely enough I feel better for it, sort of, sometimes, maybe, kinda.
Anyway it’s raining out, just the tiniest glimmer of the new day in the sky. Looks like ill be getting a wet arse this morning.
Have a great one.
I started to feel like this was just a series of long winded Facebook status updates.
So I stopped reading and writing.
I think I miss it.
weird·o n. pl. weird·oes Slang
1. A person regarded as being very strange or eccentric.2. A deranged, potentially dangerous person.The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language
Are you? How do you react when someone calls you a weirdo?
Until searching for the definition I wasn’t aware the word had such negative connotations. If you hear something often enough it loses its edge becomes normal and accepted, which seems to have happened here. The word just comes through as vanilla. I could at this point break into any one of a thousand stories all about weirdness. My weirdness. Although it has been called eccentricity a few times too. This seems somewhat more dignified and befitting as I get older, kind of like how grey hairs give some men bearing.
You are a fucking weirdo. Thanks for that. Ever so pleased that you had this opportunity to share with me your thoughts on my personality and general humanity. There is a rage, seething just below the surface, it carries sharp edged weapons and other devices for inflicting harm. It is OK though, this rage is contained, kept inside a little pouch. Rage with the safety on. By no means is this rage carried as an implicit threat against any others person. That’s not the reason it is still carried. It is fuel. Picture iron man’s arc reactor.
Anger if left to its own devices will always destroy. Harnessed it can move mountains, part oceans and heal the sick. This seems a far more productive path on which to tread.
So go ahead and call some one a weirdo today, it’s such a nice thing to do.
We all have a wise person in our lives who said, “If you haven’t got anything nice to say then do not say anything at all”. Let us expand on this very sound piece of advice to read, “If you haven’t got any thing of value to say then do not say anything at all”. I will venture that it is nigh on impossible to get any two people to arrive at a consensus and agree what is of value. Of value to whom?
Can we say, for simplicity’s sake, that any random words set forth will eventually settle in a place wherein someone would find value in them. So to follow this logic means that whatever we say has some value, correct? Then let us throw open the shutters and stand before an open window shouting whatever we please. Oh wait, silly me, that’s what Facebook is for. Facebook and the plethora of other platforms the world wide web gives us.
I would like you to come with me, here take my hand. We shall stroll over yonder, it’s not far, and we shall find a stage. Step through these curtains, OK yes you may peek first if it pleases you. But please verify that there is no audience. That’s right you have the entire stage to yourself. Go forth and take your place front and centre, sans spotlight (this thing is already dramatic enough).
What is it that you would like to say? You may say or do whatever you please, go ahead, the acoustics are wonderful. You have the floor, uncontested but no audience.
What would you say if you knew no one was listening?
(Disclaimer this post contains comments on the happenings of Australian Politics please wade through, the point of the post is a few paragraphs in)
I usually wouldn’t make comments about politics as I consider it to be rude and unnecessary, like farting at the dinner table. Also you guys have better things to do than listen to more political crap when you’ve taken the time to visit my wonderful blog. Thanks by the way. But today it suits my purpose and so without further ado:
Those of you who have been following the usual back and fro banter, he said/she said, MUM! Tony pulled the head off my doll! TONY!! go to your room. Julia dear, no one likes a dobber, that passes for political debate you will know all about this. The opposition was giving it to Labor about the Singer case in which the speaker of the house is in the poop about some sexist text messages he sent to a former staffer. Our Julia (I vote that she is to be hence forth known as Our Julia. We’ve had Our Sally the Olympic gold winning runner and Our Jill the tragic murder victim so why not Our Julia the PM?) responded with a sledgehammer of a speech and battered Tony (Opposition Leader). That speech then exploded in the socialmediasphere. Basically Our Julia told Tony in no uncertain terms that she would not be lectured about sexism and then called him a misogynist. A very basic synopsis. You can watch it here if you like. It’s actually pretty good.
I can’t understand what all the fuss is about, yeah what was said by Slipper deserves to be denounced and he will get his just deserts, but the commentators are acting as though these types of comments are out of keeping with Australia society. Um, have they spent any time in a pub lately? Or sat in a brew shed at smoko and listened to the banter? Some of the things I hear on a regular basis is abhorrent, seriously if you spent any amount of time in the world I live in you’d be left in need of a good scrub with bleach and a Brillo pad. Perhaps this is a reflection of the company I keep. Hey I work in a male dominated industry so those types of comments are normal, just part of the conversation. A sad reflection yes. Misogyny is alive and well in our society.
Do I feel any animosity towards these blokes? Fathers, sons and brothers all. No I don’t and I’ll tell you why. Yes I believe what the things they say are, to be frank, seriously fucked up. Do i believe they really mean the things they say? In most case I don’t believe that they do and now (finally) we reach the point of the post.
They just don’t think.
They are four scariest words I’ve ever heard. Words that are beyond terrifying to me, never ceasing to cause shivers to run up my spine and a ball to form in the pit of my stomach. Why is it so? How can one not think about what they are saying or doing? We are all guilty of it, myself included. For the record, I am no saint and guilty of many sins.
How can it be so? I believe this quote explains why.
It is as follows:
Thinking has always required effort and courage. Effort because it declines easy acceptance of dogma and submission to decisions made by others. Courage because the void it reveals is comfortless, the responsibility burdensome.