I’ve seen the future and I don’t like it.

There’s a scene in 1984, where Winston takes his girlfriend to the room above the antiques shop and deludes himself that in this space, Big Brother will not be watching. Big Brother is everywhere. And the worst of it is Big Brother is no fun. It’s eerily prescient.

Our very own Big Brother, the reality television behemoth was just the same, except, the threat of death, destruction, and total alienation was replaced by a commercialised banality, a sludge of product endorsement and nihilism amidst the garbage heap of ordinary peoples lives. It was not the mind numbing drudgery, the meanness of a subsistence, of black bread ersatz coffee and fear, that was the dystopia promised by Orwell. From the book itself  there were no pictures, not much laughter and no happy ending.  The book established itself as the template for lives lived in the here and now. North Korea, Zimbabwe, Russia, and here in ol Canberra town.

Flatscreen

Except our 1984 is a materially nuanced dystopia. I sat just before midnight in Parliament Station, and noticed three big screens, really big screens . They’re flat screen, just like the ones prophesized in 1984. But in 1984, most of the time, the screens were used to watch the public, and occasionally Winston would watch the news. Of course he was involved in its production and pioneered the term ‘news-speak’.

Davros. Not Davos. The editors apologise for this inadvertent mistake. Similarities between the evil inventor of the Dalek and world domination have no bearing to his likeness “Rupert, Lord of darkness, and everyfink”!

Well in the modern dystopia, the people who must endure public transport. As distinct from those that drive, hire taxis, or teleport themselves between board rooms and Davros, (what’s the spelling?) must sit with the public, and the public are diminished these days. They just don’t have the clout.

Station Flatscreen

But it’s a special time at that time of night, its quiet. Eerily quiet and the beauty of it, whilst you wait to catch last train you’ve got time to reflect, and say to yourself, ‘I’m at peace, bed awaits me, and the train, a perfect conveyor to that special place of rest’. But it’s not to be. Spaced strategically on the other side of the tube, are three enormous flat screens. From the flat screen, loud enough so that I could hear everything, (I’m deaf) a constant barrage of Sky news, Commercials, Banks, expensive cars, and the surety that If you tune into fox news, (you have no choice) you could listen to Andrew, Peta, and others proclaim their Facts and Truth. Terrifying! Poor bastard Public.

Is this what happens to public transport when the infrastructure is privatised? I loathe dentists, not for the torture one anticipates, but the television. Similarly I hate and detest the medical profession, and eschew any waiting room that insults its clientele with a television. I adore Aldi. Not only do they not have televisions blaring, but there’s an absence of piped music. Aldi may be the most insidious form of global domination since Amway, but I’m all for it. But why the public transport users should be subjected to such mind bending, filth from Murdoch and his minions is beyond me. Or, more prosaically, ‘back to the future’, in a 1984 kinda way. Spare us the future. I want to get off.

Big Brother

Saturday’s MDFF referred to Paul Daley’s scathing response to the unreconstructed Tony Abbott’s  job application in relation to the already filled position of Minister of Indigenous Affairs.  Among myriad factors making Abbott totally unsuitable for the job was Abbotts claim that basically nothing of interest or importance happened before 1788.  

Our Dispatcher has some thoughts on the matter:

Paul Daley’s article . . .  has 515 comments, so I decided to not bother adding a comment of my own as it would drown in the sea of comments  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOkBbGn0Mpk  (Neil Murray’s ‘Ocean of Regret’). I then proceeded to write a comment on pcbycp ( a smaller more discerning audience)  only to have it disappear at the stroke of the keyboard.

Tony, the Minister for First Australians. Fact 1# No paternalism here.

It included the following from a 2013 Musical Dispatch:

To wrap up his Closing the Gap Statement reply, Tony Abbott said that should he become the next Australian PM, he would spend a whole week on an Aboriginal Community each year of his leadership. I have been unable to work out if this was a promise or a threat.

Almost three years ago he visited Alice Springs. This is what I wrote in a Dispatch back then:

Fact 2#. No paternalism here.

“As reported by Dan Moss in the Centralian Advocate, Mr. Abbott paid a visitation upon an Alice Springs ‘town camp’ with an entourage of politicians and journalists (17 people in all). I have been told that this visit was unannounced and uninvited. They descended on and filmed an unfortunate amputee sitting in ‘third world conditions’ (I saw it on the ABC TV News). TA gave him a spiel and asked him: “I’m here to help- what can I do?”

The fellow said he’d like some firewood! He didn’t mention a ‘Closing of the Gap’ or a decent house, or a ‘real job’, none of that, just firewood!  Dan Moss wrote: “Did Abbott go fetch firewood? No. He and the stage hands moved on to the next poor bugger to run the same spiel”

Fact 3#. No paternalism here.

…….When our 9 year old grand-daughter overheard us talking about this she chimed in “He’ll have to get his own firewood….. by hopping”….

I was flummoxed by the suggestion (surely they jest) of elevating Mr. Rabbit to the Ministry, and found Paul Daley’s article to neatly mirror my reaction, and balm to the soul.

Fact 4# No paternalism here. Perhaps an ‘awkward’ interlude

I can’t say the same for some of the comments.

Frank

Today we reprint our offering of 24 November 2013, with comments by Ira Maine Esq, Poetry Editor.

A Description of the Morning
BY JONATHAN SWIFT

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Appearing, show’d the ruddy morn’s approach.
Now Betty from her master’s bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own.
The slip-shod ‘prentice from his master’s door
Had par’d the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl’d her mop with dext’rous airs,
Prepar’d to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel-edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep;
Till drown’d in shriller notes of “chimney-sweep.”
Duns at his lordship’s gate began to meet;
And brickdust Moll had scream’d through half a street.
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees.
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands;
And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.

Our  Poetry Editor, Ira Maine, comments thus:
Jonathon Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, famous pisser-offer of Lords and Ladies, Kings and Queens to the point where preferment was regularly denied him.  One of the shining lights, the bright jewels of English Literature.  Swift was born in Dublin, went to school with Congreve, was the lifelong friend of John Gay and and Alexander Pope, and who famously proposed , considering how many children were found either abandoned or dead every day in 18th century streets, that they be gathered up and butchered for food.  This satire was an attempt by Swift to bring this disgraceful state of affairs to public attention.

The title of this piece?.  ‘A Modest Proposal’.

If it’s not on your shelves already, seek it out and settle down, a good glass of claret by your side, but remember; this is a slower paced, 18th century English, a prose intended to be relished  by people with enough time to savour it.  Do not expect to read this quickly.  This is  an 18th century jewel.  It will not reward haste. 

Now, to the matter in hand; How was the early morning in 18th century London or Dublin?

First, the rattle on cobbled streets of a ‘Hackney-Coach’ heralds the ‘..Ruddy Morn’s Approach…’

Then, as we’ve all experienced, the half asleep and headlong dash from one bed to another before some Nosey-Parker notices, (or, God help us, a spouse!)

Whilst this flurry proceeds another ‘…slipshod ‘prentice…’ has cleared the accumulated rubbish from ‘…his Master’s Dore…’ and then lazily goes about his tidying duties, sprinkling the floor (with water, sawdust, rushes, or herbs?)

Moll prepares to scrub her entry (I regularly have my entry scrubbed and always feel the benefit afterwards)

The ‘…Kennel Edge..’ is the drain at the side (or edge) of the road.

Kennel comes from the Old French or Middle English  canel  meaning  channel and is where we get our modern  ‘canal’ from.. TV channels in French are described as  “Canal A B or C’ etc.

Kennel on the other hand, as in dog kennel, has more in common with the Latin word ‘canis’  meaning dog, but I digress.

The morning is becoming brighter, the streets noisier

‘…The Smallcoal-Man…’ and the ‘Chimney-sweep, add their cries to the general din.  The Sweep’s cry was’…shriller..’ because only children could get into the narrow chimney spaces. 

 ‘Smallcoal’ is literally small bits of coal, like coarse gravel.

‘…Duns at his Lordship’s Gate began to meet.  This is ominous.  ‘Duns’ are debt collectors. All is not well at the Great House.

‘Brickdust Moll’*. The lady was ‘screaming…’ her wares.  Not sure on this one, perhaps selling brickdust as an abrasive cleaner?  PUBLISHER”S NOTE more of Brickdust Moll has come to light.  All that we have will be revealed this week – look for it.

And now for something absolutely unfamiliar.  Can this possibly be true?

‘…The Turn-key [jailer] now his Flock returning sees…’ who apparently have been let out  ‘…to steal for Fees…’

In Swift’s time, the incarcerated were required to pay for their food and lodgings.  Failure to meet these obligations could mean you might remain indefinitely locked up.  It seems almost incomprehensible to us that prisoners would be released like this and encouraged to steal to pay off their ‘Fees’.  The very idea that they would come back at all seems unimaginable.

‘…the watchful Bayliffs take their silent stand;..’

To all intents and purposes,this refers to cops, either in private or public employment, whose job it is to guard particular premises, or particular persons against thieves and robbers.  A type of security guard rather than a police officer.  There was no national police force then, not in the modern sense of the term..

And the morning has now advanced sufficiently for school children to be abroad, and dragging their feet on the way to class..

Here’s history in a nutshell, a detailed description of London waking up and going about it’s early morning business, in the first years of the 18th century.  Worth a guinea a box!

I hope my  rambling additions did not make the journey too tedious.

Wonderful that Tony Abbott thinks he is qualified to take the role as Minister of Indigenous Affairs.  We all applaud  . . .the audacity of his claim.  Paul Daley of the Guardian fires both barrels with direct hits here

Today’s dispatch is  A Greek Tragedy. Originally dispatched on 12 July  2015

Καλημέρα φίλοι μου,

When, in the early 1970’s, I was first asked to manage the locally owned Yuendumu Mining Company (YMC), I “inherited” the ‘Flatstone Quarry’.

A few kilometres south of Yuendumu there is a ridge that consists of thinly bedded (“flaggy”) sandstone and siltstone. The rocks belong to the Cambrian Yuendumu Sandstone Formation (half a billion years old).

The stone has its origins in a shallow lacustrine environment i.e. a shallow slowly sinking lake bed to which thin layers of sediment were added. Occasional fossil worm tracks and tubes and other features attest to this origin. Mica contained in the sediment washed into the lake and settled as flat lying flakes; because of this the rock easily splits into thin slabs resulting in beautiful paving stones. YMC used air powered rock-drills and dynamite to mine the flatstone. Dynamite sometimes is referred to as “fracture”. Back then Wikipedia didn’t exist otherwise the following might have been found:

“Higher velocity explosives are used for relatively hard rock in order to shatter and break the rock, while low velocity explosives are used in soft rocks to generate more gas pressure and a greater heaving effect. For instance, an early 20th-century blasting manual compared the effects of black powder to that of a wedge, and dynamite to that of a hammer.”

I didn’t need the internet to work out what had happened. Often I’d mentioned that “if only they’d used gunpowder”.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajoI8X8Ys94

Back then charcoal, sulphur and saltpeter (potassium nitrate) would have been readily available; these days subsequent to the various politically motivated fear campaigns, a visit from those police disguised as Ninjas is a likely consequence of harbouring  supplies of the three ingredients.

At the quarry, slabs of sandstone had been recovered from huge piles of debris. The deposit had been ruined and not much useable material remained. I later found out that a gaggle or murder (here I’m only guessing at what the collective noun for public servants might be) of public servants had served themselves (as servants are wont to) to almost all of the production. Delving into the previous half a decade of administrative data, I could not find a single dollar of flatstone revenue.

YMC proceeded to salvage what flatstone we could. Not long before, the Papunya Tula Art Movement had begun, and the “bush telegraph” had done its job. A Warlpiri man did a “dot painting” on one of the flatstone slabs, and quick as a flash around two dozen or so flatstone paintings had been produced by a group of men.

This we perceived as a wonderful opportunity to vertically integrate our quarry. To add value.

I duly filled a suitcase with paintings and like a vacuum cleaner salesman dragged the heavy suitcase around Sydney and Melbourne to various galleries.

The consensus from the commercial art world was that the paintings were very beautiful but that overseas tourists couldn’t take the paintings back in their handbags, blah, blah….

No one pulled out their cheque book. In desperation I’d leave a painted rock at each gallery visited- “sell it for whatever price you can get, take off what you consider a fair commission, send us a cheque in the mail and let us know how many more you think you could sell” (some younger readers may have difficulty conceiving of a time when we had no telephones nor electronic bank transfers). Not a single response.

Years later Warlukurlangu Artists (WA) received a phone call from someone in Darwin. They’d found a painted rock in a shed. Did WA know anything about it, and was it valuable?

When Cecilia rang me to ask did I know anything about this, I told her the story of the heavy suitcase. As for the value, I told her that stolen goods had no value.

Subsequently one of the painted slabs turned up on eBay. I was glad to find out that the South Australian Museum acquired it (at the bargain price of $600).

Recently a friend found another of the long lost paintings stored at the National Museum in Canberra. It was labelled “Aboriginal Ceremonial Object”. I guess my lugging of the heavy suitcase could be regarded as a ceremony of sorts.

Since those heady optimistic days we’ve had a sorry history of disempowerment and marginalization of Aboriginal owned enterprises. The “Closing the Gap” ideologues have been of no practical assistance whatsoever. The boom in Aboriginal Art is a notable exception to this sorry state of affairs.

All the same, that is no excuse for some serious financial mistakes I have made, which my geological training did not prevent me from making. YMC is only marginally surviving.

But there is hope! Somewhere out there, there are people in possession of valuable beautiful dot paintings on slabs of sandstone that they will at any moment decide to pay for.

(Bank details provided on request- Nigerians excepted)

As for the Greek economic crisis? Payment for the Elgin Marbles is also imminent.

Ζούμε με την ελπίδα

Frank

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-MucVWo-Pw

The full-strength ‘Power of One’ personified

Dear reader, recently, (in case you hadn’t noticed) we’ve been talking about the ‘Power of One’ quite a bit. Now, if you hadn’t noticed also, politics these days all seems to be about the “Power’ exerted by singular individuals. They say all sorts of outrageous things and the press LOVE EM!

We’re entering an entirely new era of individualism. An individualism in which the value of the public social conscience is bit by bit, further impoverished. And we’re not just talking about the Bryce Courtenay novel here.

We at pcbycp have an editorial policy in which we don’t like to mention the purveyors of such purpose built public impoverishment of scandal, prejudice and ignorance. We must rise above the hatred and ill informed bigotry they espouse. Or, we become no better than Andrew Bxxlt, and Alan Joxxes. Such are the lofty standards of our editorial department. But we wonder are we swimming against the tide?

Our own little “Power of One”

A lightweight “Power of One”

Recently, you must have noticed there is been quite a lot of the “Power of One” directed against science. For example, we have the hyper intelligent, Malcolm Roberts repudiating the entire scientific process. You could explain the entire notion of evolution and climate science to him until you’d be blue in the face. And he’d still counter with: ‘I need to see the facts”. Then there’s George Christiansen. He’d rather an entire mega ecosystem is destroyed for a few jobs. To top it off we’ve got a P.M, who has promised so much, yet capitulates with the ‘Poor Refugee Punishment Act’. And of course Corey Bernardii, Eric Abetz,George Brandis and Kevin Andrews who’d like to take the entire nation back to a sort of first century christian fundamentalism, although none of us ever go to church these days. Their “ Power of One” individual prejudice has corrupted the entire body politic. And the electorate, supine, brow beaten, complacent, just goes along with it.

Finally, we’re at ground zero, the objective, principles and standing of National Science reduced to nought. Replaced by a quasi hyperbolic pseudo Christian fundamentalism. The denouement of science, (along with education,the environment, manufacturing, health care, and equity) is so profound that it’s principal cheerleader Sir Rupert the magnificent, has pronounced “mission accomplished”. With a Trump presidency. It’ll be clinically dead.

Helen DeMasi phd ‘Power of One” with “clever glasses”, not included in “Power of One Mr Potato-head” Doll.

Well, we at pcbycp can understand this switch to feudalist-laissez faire fundamentalism as a victory of the neo cons and vested interests. The big end lobbyists who’ve hijacked democracy for their own self serving ends. Just another index of the devolution of representative democracy post Thatcher. But what we can’t understand is how good science has also been destroyed by those within.

‘Power of One’ stands in front of what’s left of Science Unit at ABC. “Mission Accomplished” (Sir Rupert Lord of Dark and Evil)

The recent decision to cut the ABC Science program ‘Catalyst’ is a bloody tragedy. Probably to be replaced by an “independent producer” which will give us the sort of packaged reportage that’ ll be blander than bland. In the tradition of the CSIRO, it seems that the debacle has been self inflicted. Just in the same way that Larry Marshall got the gig to be CEO of the CSIRO. He exaggerated his role in developing ground breaking research in the US, (where no one had heard of him), and then set about deconstructing the national science body. It told us much about the absence of rigor and gullibility of the Board. Similarly, the willful stupidity of one individual led to the deconstruction of Catalyst. One lone fuckwit, Dr Helen DeMasi, PHD did it. She alone was capable of turning science reportage into a Sixty Minutes derived journalistic sludge. Because of her confected pseudo exposes, on Statins and then the ridiculously named, ‘Wi-fried’, we aint gonna have a Catalyst no more. We wonder which ill informed fuckwit gave this knob head the license to peddle such crap. Mr Squiggle could have done a better job, and it all to points to the devaluation of thought within the national broadcaster, the supine acquiescence of management, a loss of direction and capitulation to cheap thinking as espoused by the likes of Andrew, Bxxlt and Alan Joxxs.

Demasi’s denouement another instance of the ‘Power of One’. Remove the one, and we’ve got a complete nought. Or absolute Zero!! Or as the Yanks would say. Go figure and Do the Math!!

The Power of One. Malcolm contemplating his legacy and life after politics.

The best thing EVER about the Turnbull government is that it doesn’t need to be coercive about establishing laws that make development easy. They’re lucky.

In Queensland, they’ve put in special legislation to ensure that ADANI is fast tracked. They’ve invoked special powers to ensure the essential infrastructure of coal terminals, rail and processing are given top priority. Essential services paid for by the tax payers to give Mr Adani a break. This is great news for Adani. At last he has certainty.

Ideas boom at work.

At it’s peak this mine will be truly impressive. Not least the fact that as the world is weaned off coal, Australia will have the words BGGEST COAL MINE. Do you get that dear reader? This aint a big watermelon, a pineapple, a banana. It’s the worlds biggest. So big it’ll be seen from the moon. And because it’ll be there for ever it’ll make the depleted barrier reef (if it’s still there at all) look totally shit-house. Best thing is that it trumps, (excuse the expression) the Great Barrier Reef which employed tens of thousands in “green industry” jobs, and bought in tourists by the plane load. This mine will employ, at its peak, up to a thousand, really big blokes. These blokes, none of whom will be poofters, will drive around in big trucks, have big mo’s and hate fucken greenies.

It was worth killing off the Great Barrier Reef just to see it. Best still Mr Adani gets filthy rich. We owe it to him. The Queenslanders get a dirty great big hole in the ground. And the future gets a deadline. The species, (both homo sapiens and Queenslanders) in spite of all the warnings, are well and truly doomed to extinction. But wait, there’s more. Turnbull wants to repeal all the state environment law. You bloody beauty! This is happening at the same time that Scomo wants to repeal all state planning law.

Turnbull was right, this really is a truly exciting time to be an Australian. Bloody good thing. So, electorate if you hadn’t worked it out, its a country run by the Property Council and big mining. And you know they make a real contribution to society. One group pays no tax, and gets a bonus from the taxpayer, whilst the other allows ten percent to screw the other ninety percent, paid for by the taxpayer. It’s a clear win win. And the best part is, the electorate thinks it’s a bloody good idea. Good onya electorate. At last you’re switched on to hating poofta lefty tree hugging wankers, as much as we are. And some of em ride bicycles. Makes us puke.

Exciting Times

Yep Malcolm, ‘is seeking changes to Australia’s national environment act to stop conservation groups from challenging ministerial decisions on major resource developments and other matters of environmental importance. Turnbull is reviving a bid made by former Prime Minister Tony Abbott to abolish Section 487 of the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act (EPBC Act) – a bid rejected in the Senate in 2015. If it goes ahead, the change will significantly diminish the functionality of the act. The EPBC Act is triggered and developments require Federal approval when they affect: World heritage sites

National heritage sites

Wetlands

Threatened species and ecological communities

Migratory species Nuclear actions, and Commonwealth marine areas’.

(This bit from Samantha, thingo from Deakin Uni)

Onya Malcolm. You’ve turned out to be a better P.M than we could ever have dreamed of. Good thing that tax reform, education, health, science, and manufacturing are consigned to the dust bin. Your innovation and ideas boom is truly remarkable. And with the ‘Poor Refugee Punishment Act’, you’ve made us all proud to be Australian. And speaking of acts. That’s a hard act to follow.

Bob Day. Well read, and standing on principle.

Dear reader, just when we thought the, ‘never been a more exciting time to be Prime Minister”, was going to pass some really innovative, Ideas-boomish progressive legislation, “The Poor Refugee Punishment Act”, there’s a spanner in the works.

George Brandis. Principle personified, and well read.

Who would’ve thought that the post election composition of the senate would be so fraught? And most recently the Family First senator Bob Day who stood on the principles of free enterprise, cutting governmental red-tape, family values, and first century christian fundamentalism has resigned. Turns out that he was elected to the senate whilst broke. Not just ordinarily broke, but owing mums and dads, perhaps the same who stand for principles of free enterprise, cutting governmental red-tape, family values, and first century christian fundamentalism lots of money.

You see, though we’re no experts on corporate law, it’s not ethical to trade or borrow money from banks and investors whilst you’re insolvent. Apparently that’s not right. And though we don’t know ever, how much pollies receive from private donors till months and months, sometimes years after an election, we do know that it’s just not on, going off to Canberra, when you’re up shit creek financially and you’re in deep poo with lots and lots of debts.

Last time that happened, was as far back as 2015, when the head of the Palmer United Party, Clive Palmer, ploughed a whole lot of money into his campaign when he was technically broke, with smelters going bust owing millions. But Clive explained it had nothing to do with him. It was all the fault of his brother in law who wrote ledgers in pencil and is overseas, and unlikely to ever come back. Poor Clive, what a rotten brother in law. You see, this is all about ethics. There’s a thin red line. You see it’s ethical for an ex minister like Andrew Robb, to pass the sale of Darwin Ports and then get a job as a consultant to the winning tender as soon as he leaves parliament. Can’t tell you how many pollies, (we’ll name a few, Peter Reith, Alexander Downer, Michael Woolridge, Larry Anthony, Phil Baressi, and the maestro himself, Graeme Richardson) are now working for firms with a direct financial interest in getting the right kind of legislation passed in parliament.

Alexander Downer. our man in London, and East Timor.

But the core issue is that these firms stand for principles. The sort of kind of principles that ensure our prosperity as a nation and enshrine the principles of free enterprise, cutting governmental red-tape, family values, and first century christian fundamentalism. And these companies need special treatment, because voters can’t really be trusted to make the right informed decisions. That’s why they need ex politicians with huge parliamentary salaries and pensions and direct financial interest, to work for vast sums of money to preserve those interests. And that is entirely ethical.

Clive Palmer. Let down by his brother in law. A man of principle, and though not so well read, an expert in handwriting.

But this Bob Day bloke has got us beat. He was going to weather the storm and stay in the Senate, such was his burning desire to serve Australia. But there’s been an outcry from builders, suppliers and families that have gone broke. Same thing happened to Clive, but it was his brother in laws fault. Poor Bob. And ultimately poor Malcolm. The ‘Poor Refugee Punishment Act’ will have to wait, till after the High Court deliberates. That could take ages, cos the High Court is the highest court in the land and delivers JUSTICE. And their determination may set a precedent.

It’s bad news for Malcolm. Malcolm is a free thinking, liberal, socially progressive, reformist. Because of Bob Day, we may never see his reformist zeal in action. He just can’t get a break. And we’re sure that Bob, who stands by the principles of free enterprise, cutting governmental red-tape, family values, and first century christian fundamentalism would be glad to know that though he may have left the building, Malcolm will count the cost. That’s poetic JUSTICE.

Dear reader, not much going on in the news these days. There’s an election in the U.S which just gets sillier and sillier, and dead as usual in the frenetic world of Australian politics.

P.M for ‘Ideas and thought bubbles and Innovation and everyfink’. Pushing the envelope with progressive reformist legislation.

Importantly though, the P.M for “Innovation and thought bubbles’ has come up with some really progressive legislation. After cutting funding to science, research, education, healthcare and everything the ‘thought and ideas P.M’ has come to something we can all agree on. It’s the sort of legislation that goes to the founding principles of what we are as a nation. In keeping with the spirit of the first ever act passed in the federal parliament in 1901, (the Immigration restriction act).

He’s proposing the ‘Poor Refugee Punishment Act’. This is the sort of legislation that puts us at the forefront of progressive thinking. The act is simple. If you come to this country in any other means than first class, (favoured by upper echelon members of the communist party) or Business Class (favoured by lesser tier communist party members) and you have no intention of purchasing a portfolio of expensive investment properties in Australia, (under approval form the Property Council) you will be sent back to where you came from. You will also forfeit your right to ever come back, and you will not get two hundred.

At last evidence of a truly great mind. A truly noble piece of legislation, from arguably Australia’s greatest, thinking Prime Minister EVER.

And now just to nurture that sense of nostalgia, we bring you the very last fragment from our series , ‘Toys of Yesteryear’, or ‘Toys and Games that never quite made it’. Or, just stuff.

Original Cover Art.

Clue- Less  Twaddintons Toys

Clueless is a popular game first released in 1964. Released at the end of the parliamentary year by the press council who declared their bafflement to the Government’s purchase of the untried, untested, F 1 11 bombers. It was offered as a satire on the parliamentary decision making process. As a satirical game, it should have gone extremely well. But increasingly as is evident in this current prototype, no game can adequately try to satirize the true idiocy of contemporary politics. The object of the game is to find who is responsible for murdering democracy. Game counters are simple plastic cones, and names attributed to suspects on black faced cards. Murder weapons, (of which there are an infinite variety) are spread around the board, and clues, amassed on pieces of paper. After a process of deduction the murdered would be found, and the winner proclaimed, Once a simple game, recent events in parliament have revealed it all too complex, All politicians, (excepting One Nation’s Malcolm Roberts for reasons of insanity) being responsible for murdering democracy. After considerable expense, the game has undergone several major overhauls, but has failed to find a buyer and may be re-badged in the U.S as ‘Trump Empire’.

Glorious George  Knobhead Toys

Glorious George is another attempt to market the personality of another ambitious Queensland politician to the public at large. The toy is modeled on a spinning top. The only significant departure from a spinning top itself is the propensity for the top to spin wildly across the game board. The game board consists of a stylised map of Australia and slogans to which the top, when spinning, can lodge itself into a groove. The grooves are labeled “ progressive” and ‘fundamentalist”. If the top spins into the ‘progressive’ groove every effort must be made to extricate it, or the process of parliament, legislation and ‘everything’ stops dead. Losing the game. If the other groove, reactionary fundamentalist looney right conservative’ is entered, parliament stops just the same, but the country is left to the Property Council who will sell off other chunks of Australia. When all the chunks are sold off and the other players are absolutely sure that innovation, the environment, manufacturing, education, health and imagination within the body politic are completely destroyed, the game is won.

Glorious George. Unfortunately, no copies of the original Toy spinning top cover art exist.

At last something positive to talk about on the climate science front. The globe, (that’s the planet in case you didn’t know) has just uniformly passed the 400 ppm carbon dioxide level. That means that even far flung little outposts like the northern tip of Tassie are giving us a uniform reading. And better news still, is that just about every where else on the globe the carbon dioxide levels are all comfortably above the 400 ppm mark. And that’s what we at PCbyCP like to see. All the indices are UP! That’s GROWTH! And, thankfully on this, the boldest experiment ever in human civilisation, (the term is qualified) we can hold our breath and stand together with all other species as we plummet into uncharted territory.

intelligent design

The scientists tell us, and they’ve been banging on for years, that we’ve got something really really serious to worry about. But scientists are notorious at worrying, and it never does any good. If we listened to scientists we’d be still in the stone age. Most recently a scientist remarked upon the likelihood of life on other planets. He said wryly, that “this is the only world we’ve got”. Any child could’ve told him that. And then to top it off, another scientist, an Astrophysicist, no less, told us on the ‘Science Show’ that our closest celestial neighbour Alpha Centaurii, had an earth like planet circling it. He the told us that the earth like planet was in the ‘Goldilocks zone’. Can you believe it? We pay these people good money which could be spent on sport, french submarines and the NBN and they indulge in fairy tales. And then, when asked; “Would that planet have intelligent life, capable of being similar to us?, he wryly remarked, “ Well….. if it did, and they were on a similar trajectory to us, they’d probably be extinct”. And why? ‘Because they probably would have depleted all their resources, and died out, as we are destined to do’.

What a cheek!! To think that we humans as species could wipe ourselves out. I agree with Mr Bernardii, Abetz, Christiansen, Roberts and Mr Murdoch. Science is rubbish!! Further evidence that the ABC should be privatised, stripped of assets, and silly programs like the ‘Science Show’ closed down.

Cleverer than any scientist. And way richer.

Then, dear reader, it gets worse. I heard that SCIENTISTS reckon we’ve depleted over fifty percent of wildlife since 1970. How’s that?. They also reckon we’ve depleted over forty percent of our forests and biosphere generally in the same period. They say it’s a further instance of our diminishing foothold on the planet. They reckon, that this is the beginning of the end. And we shouldn’t go on, clearing, killing, and populating. What bullshit. At the supermarket, they had five 150 gram tins of tuna on special for the incredibly low price of $ 4.99. And at the Factory outlet superstore they were boasting a ten kilo bag of Rice for the ridiculously low price of $ 7.99. At that rate you could virtually give the stuff away. And, this’ll top the lot, wheat, flour and Nutri-Grain were all on special. Buy two, get one FREE! If that’s evidence of depleted resources I’ll be buggerred. We’ve got resources coming out our arses. The sooner we get rid of this ‘green tape’, we’ll slide into a whole new era of prosperity.

And besides the word aint four billion years old, it’s just on seven thousand. The bible tells us so. And if you can’t read the bible, talk to Barnaby, Corey, Eric and George, and (you might have guessed it, ) Rupert. They’ve been telling us for years, and Donald knows it to be true. The world is in great shape, and climate science is a commie plot, to take over the world and turn us into SLAVES! Lucky then, we have the aforementioned to give the world strong leadership. It’s what it needs. The Prime Minister is doing a great job. Giving us certainty, certainty that will provide long term security for working mums and dads. And Jobs and growth. And, that’s a FACT!

Our poem today pays homage to contributors Frank Baarda, our Dispatcher from the Front, and to Lionel G. Fogarty, the extraordinary Australian First Nation poet, as people who know that language matters.  The poem, written by Michèle Lalonde, is ‘Speak White!’.  It is posted here first in its original form, mainly French, and secondly as an English translation.  We urge you to read it in it’s French form first, to take time, to let the words play and perhaps stimulate the memory of that first and second form french we all ‘endured’.  (Note that I got 17/100 for Intermediate French in 1962, and still manage to find meaning in this poem.)

Canadian Robert Lepage presented his autobiographical play ‘887’ at this year’s Melbourne festival.  I have not seen a more flawless performance in theatre.  The fulcrum of this piece was the poem ‘Speak White!’.  Wikipedia (that site deserving the support of all democrats – note the lower case ‘d’) has this to say:

Speak White is a racist insult used by English-speaking Canadians against those who speak other languages in public.^[1] The slur inspired a French language poem composed by Québécois writer Michèle Lalonde in 1968. It was first recited in 1970 and was published in 1974 by Editions de l’Hexagone, Montreal. It denounced the poor situation of French-speakers in Quebec and takes the tone of a collective complaint against English-speaking Quebecers.^[2][3] Her poem is directed primarily at English Canada, although often citing British and American references such as Shakespeare, Keats, the Thames, the Potomac and Wall Street as its symbols of linguistic oppression.

In 1980, Speak White was made into a short motion picture by filmmakers Pierre Falardeau and Julien Poulin, the six-minute film featured actress Marie Eykel reading Lalonde’s poem. It was released by the National Film Board of Canada.

Italian-Quebecer journalist playwright Marco Micone also wrote a poem in response called Speak What?, depicting allophone immigrants as the same oppressed class as the Québécois in Quebec, and calling for a more inclusive society.^[4] The poem Speak White was spoken in full by Robert Lepage in his one-man play “887” which premiered in Vancouver in 2015, and was also performed in August 2015 at the Edinburgh International Arts Festival in Scotland.

Speak white!
Il est si beau de vous entendre
Parler de Paradise Lost
Ou du profil gracieux et anonyme qui tremble dans les sonnets de Shakespeare

Nous sommes un peuple inculte et bègue
Mais ne sommes pas sourds au génie d’une langue
Parlez avec l’accent de Milton et Byron et Shelley et Keats
Speak white!
Et pardonnez-nous de n’avoir pour réponse
Que les chants rauques de nos ancêtres
Et le chagrin de Nelligan

Speak white!
Parlez de choses et d’autres
Parlez-nous de la Grande Charte
Ou du monument à Lincoln
Du charme gris de la Tamise
De l’eau rose du Potomac
Parlez-nous de vos traditions
Nous sommes un peuple peu brillant
Mais fort capable d’apprécier
Toute l’importance des crumpets
Ou du Boston Tea Party

Mais quand vous really speak white
Quand vous get down to brass tacks

Pour parler du gracious living
Et parler du standard de vie
Et de la Grande Société
Un peu plus fort alors speak white
Haussez vos voix de contremaîtres
Nous sommes un peu durs d’oreille
Nous vivons trop près des machines
Et n’entendons que notre souffle au-dessus des outils

Speak white and loud!
Qu’on vous entende
De Saint-Henri à Saint-Domingue
Oui quelle admirable langue
Pour embaucher
Donner des ordres
Fixer l’heure de la mort à l’ouvrage
Et de la pause qui rafraîchit
Et ravigote le dollar

Speak white!
Tell us that God is a great big shot
And that we’re paid to trust him
Speak white!
Parlez-nous production, profits et pourcentages
Speak white!
C’est une langue riche
Pour acheter
Mais pour se vendre
Mais pour se vendre à perte d’âme
Mais pour se vendre

Ah! Speak white!
Big deal
Mais pour vous dire
L’éternité d’un jour de grève
Pour raconter
Une vie de peuple-concierge
Mais pour rentrer chez nous le soir
A l’heure où le soleil s’en vient crever au-dessus des ruelles
Mais pour vous dire oui que le soleil se couche oui
Chaque jour de nos vies à l’est de vos empires
Rien ne vaut une langue à jurons
Notre parlure pas très propre
Tachée de cambouis et d’huile

Speak white!
Soyez à l’aise dans vos mots
Nous sommes un peuple rancunier

Mais ne reprochons à personne
D’avoir le monopole
De la correction de langage

Dans la langue douce de Shakespeare
Avec l’accent de Longfellow
Parlez un français pur et atrocement blanc
Comme au Viêt-Nam au Congo
Parlez un allemand impeccable
Une étoile jaune entre les dents
Parlez russe, parlez rappel à l’ordre, parlez répression
Speak white!
C’est une langue universelle
Nous sommes nés pour la comprendre
Avec ses mots lacrymogènes
Avec ses mots matraques

Speak white!
Tell us again about Freedom and Democracy
Nous savons que liberté est un mot noir
Comme la misère est nègre
Et comme le sang se mêle à la poussière des rues d’Alger ou de Little Rock

Speak white!
De Westminster à Washington, relayez-vous!
Speak white comme à Wall Street
White comme à Watts
Be civilized
Et comprenez notre parler de circonstance
Quand vous nous demandez poliment
How do you do?
Et nous entendez vous répondre
We’re doing all right
We’re doing fine
We are not alone

Nous savons que nous ne sommes pas seuls

Speak White

Michèle Lalonde, 1970, 

and now the translation:

Speak white
It sounds so good when you
Speak of Paradise Lost
And of the gracious and anonymous profile that trembles
In Shakespeare’s sonnets

We’re an uncultured stammering race
But we are not deaf to the genius of a language
Speak with the accent of Milton and Byron and Shelley and Keats
Speak white
And forgive us our only answer
Being the raucous songs of our ancestors
And the sorrows of Nelligan

Speak white

Talk about this and that
Tell us about Magna Carta
Or the Lincoln Memorial
The grey charm of the Thames
The pink waters of the Potomac
Tell us about your traditions
As a people we don’t really shine
But we’re quite capable of appreciating
All the significance of crumpets
Or the Boston Tea Party

But when you really speak white
When you get down to brass tacks

To talk about gracious living
And speak of standing in life
And the Great Society
A bit stronger then, speak white
Raise your foremen’s voices
We’re a bit hard of hearing
We live too close to the machines
And we only hear the sound of our breathing over the tools.
What an admirable tongue
For hiring

Giving orders
Setting the time for working yourself to death
And for the pause that refreshes
And invigorates the dollar

Speak white
Tell us that God is a great big shot
And that we’re paid to trust him
Speak white
Talk to us about production profits and percentages
Speak white
It’s a rich langauge
For buying
But for selling
But for selling your soul
But for selling out

Ah!
Speak white
Big deal
But to tell you about
The eternity of a day on strike
To tell the story of
How a race of servants live
But for us to come home at night
At the time that the sun snuffs itself out over the backstreets
But to tell you yes that the sun is setting yes
Every day of our lives to the east of your empires
There’s nothing to match a language of swearwords
Our none-too-clean parlure
Greasy and oil-stained.

Speak white
Be easy in your words
We’re a race that holds grudges
But let’s not criticize anyone
For having a monopoly
On correcting language

In Shakespeare’s soft tongue
With the accent of Longfellow
Speak a pure and atrociously white French
Like in Vietnam, like in the Congo
Speak impeccable German
A yellow star between your teeth
Speak Russian speak call to order speak repression
Speak white
It is a universal language
We were born to understand it
With its teargas words
With its nightstick words

Speak white
Tell us again about Freedom and Democracy
We know that liberty is a black word
Just as poverty is black
And just as blood mixes with dust in the steets of Algiers
And Little Rock

Speak white
From Westminster to Washington take it in turn
Speak white like they do on Wall Street
White like they do in Watts
Be civilized
And understand us when we speak of circumstances
When you ask us politely
How do you do
And we hear you say
We’re doing all right
We’re doing fine
We
Are not alone

We know
That we are not alone

Michèle Lalonde, 1970, translated Albert Herring, 2001