Time's Arrow: has it hit you?

Time, in Martin Amis's Time's Arrow, is reversed. Individuals live backwards: giving is stealing, and killing is bringing to life. However, his concept of time as linearly progressive and yet somehow backwards is neither convincing nor possible. What Amis's intention is, is unclear: he seems to be questioning the grounds of morality and causality, but removes humanity from such possibilities. What he presents instead is inevitability- the idea that the Final Solution was emotionally straining, but ultimately a product of its time. Human motivation and action is negligible and any behaviour to 'right' those 'wrongs' is doomed. However, it can be argued that the whole reversal of time through the Holocaust was a ironic statement relevant to the idea of 'ethnic cleansing' (i.e. killing through healing).

Even so, Amis's descriptions lack a humane response. I am utterly unconvinced by his characterisation, his 'gritty realism' and his fatalistic discourse. Time cannot work forwards in a backwards world- motivation fails to exist and fatalism overrules any possible political or ethical point.

As such, I believe, that the whole book wins on its concept, but fails in its practise.

Paternalism Continues

I know there would come a point when I would want to take back a vote of confidence in the power of the Senate to block legislation. This is it.


I'm actually rather impressed that Rudd would allow for the permits to be reinstated. It;s ridiculous that the government previous even forced these open-door policies upon them. It's almost as if Aboriginal People are still being treated as inferior, childlike and non-human. Without any autonomy, how can anyone expect that Aboriginal peoples to regain their livelihoods after being restricted, humiliated, dehumanised and massacred? It is a sense of powerlessness in a society that does not even attempt to comprehend them, and in return, they cannot be accepted as a part of. When you've got a bunch of (childish) white men (you've never seen) discussing your life, it's not that shocking that you're on a path of self-destruction.

Unrest, Protests and Terrorism: all where I'm heading

Mumbai unstable and not related to Indian Mujahideen as the Guardian claims but the Deccan Mujahedeen. I am concerned for family and people who generally reside there as well as the future tourism potential for the nation.

And what is wrong with all the news interviewing only the 'foreigners' who were attacked and not the locals. No wonder that terrorists attack international tourism locations: the media doesn't care about the locals and nor does the bloody government.

Also: Eric Jacobson is a twat. It's Thai politics, and their country and nothing he understands anyway. If he needed to go home to celebrate the massacre of American Indians Thanksgiving, then he should have booked his flights earlier. No sympathy, spoilt brat.

Awake now.

I feel like I'm taking part in a marathon which I was just suddenly made aware of. I'm lagging behind, miles behind. Everyone seems more accomplished, more content, more self-assured. They all just carry on running, heading in a particular direction, whereas I am still behind.

Why didn't I know of this world before? Everyone travels, has independence to do anything, knows so much about books, authors, comedians, films, film directors, etc. I didn't even know that directors were praised and important until recently. Where have I been? Why can't I catch up? What's wrong with me?

It's cold and alone and I don't like it here anymore. No-one seems to understand or even notice what's going on. I can't carry on like this anymore. I want to give up but I can't. I'm so tired of feeling empty. I'm so tired of hating myself. I'm tired of talking about myself. I want to be me, but it seems nothing will help.

And no-one knows what to tell me. Everything I try doesn't help. I feel so alienated and hated. What have I always done wrong to end up like this? I'm so tired of being tired.

Hope can fall

A sigh of relief covers the world, but political hope always ends in tears. The key point is Obama is not McCain, and Biden can actually think. Another matter is that he is 'black'. But what does Obama stand for? Change. I'm still not sure, what does change mean?

Obama is in all words a clever orator and a brilliant populist. His beliefs on other matters remain vague. What we know of him is relative to the extremes of McCain and Palin, not actual matter. While we know that Obama is generall going to place more regulations on the banking industry, we remain uncertain as to what that actually means. He has not set out a plan, or clearly stated his plans. As such, we are uncertain. Yet, all this remains insignificant in America. Obama is hope, his youth, inspiration (and the fact that he is black) are drawing factors. He shows care, consideration and love, mitigating any possible necessity to establish political grounds.

Obama is Charisma; the way he has managed to bring Republican supporters to his side is interesting and even frightening. With so many people trusting him to bring them out of the grey shadow of recession and dodgy foreign policy, what will happen should he fail?

Could this be Blair and 1997 all over again? Or Whitlam? I hope the latter, but that's the problem with being a leftie.

Aid is not for some

What the fuck is going on in my head? It all seems so confused. I don't know what is all is any more. Nobody seems to tell me why I can't deal with any pressure anymore. Noone seems to understand why I feel like this. Is it only self-esteem? Am I seeking out attention? The why all the anger? Why can't I email people/keep in contact/etc?

Nothing seems to make any sense anymore. Doctors don't understand and are more obsessed with preaching than actually saying anything useful. "Low self-esteem is a form of arrogance"- thanks I know; I'm all self-obsessed with my loathing (in case I forget). They're more interested in the books I read than what I actually feel.

And what is with the okay days versus the awful days? Why are some days alright whereas others are so horrible that getting up, moving or doing anything at all becomes incredibly difficult.

There's nobody who understands and I feel so lost. I don't want this to continue. I need help and I don't know where to find it.

Eugh

The NHS is hopeless organisation which has little understanding of anything. I am supposed to "read self-help books" and wait 2 months to speak to a counsellor. What a great system.

On another note, Obama and McCain are pointless in tackling climate change. Biden should have stuck to his previous statement in which he said that there was no such thing as clean coal.

It never ends...

There is nothing more to say. Whoever helps ultimately ends up destroying. What more can we do?

Shades of Grey

There is a sense of grey in this hollow world. Things spin around in incessant spirals, leading to nowhere, trashing and crashing. There is nothing more. The rivers are now drying and all is empty.

Eyes stare into the grey paint etched onto the edge of this world. They say these eyes will help. That seeing more of them will make everything a little clearer. I tried and the grey would not leave. It's hard to say you see clearly, when there is only grey.

Sometimes I wish someone would just come and scrape all the grey away. One of them has tried, and he didn't have the right chemicals to peel the paint away. He says I must find the right chemicals. But how can I find them if I can't see?

It's lonely here, in this world. There's nobody else. It's doesn't get very warm either. I don't like the cold, not when it is ubiquitous. I need company or help, but no-one will help me. I can't do this alone.

It's all grey in here. I miss the colours.

Knowledge is Strife

The belief that 'The Truth shall set you free' is obviously nothing more than bollocks; that is, even without referring to postmodern ambiguity. The concept that 'Ignorance is bliss' is also invalid for similar reasons. As such: the accumulation and the absence of knowledge are indeed, Strife.

Why so? Surely knowing something brings liberties, and a greater understanding? I disagree; knowledge is endless, we are not. A search for pure knowledge leads nowhere but back to where you started from. The liberties ascertained from the minute amount of information you gather only lead to a greater sense of not-knowing.

All of which is why ignorance does not bring bliss. A significant lack of knowledge is limiting with respect to your tolerance and flexibility. The more ignorant you are, the more close-minded and miserable you would be. Ultimately, everything has to be the way you are (and want it to be) because otherwise it would be inexplicable, and just plain confusing. Obviously, not much works out the way you want it to.

Ah! But knowledge is control and dangerous. Knowledge can give power to those who know how to manipulate it and destroy those who don't. But where does this power originate from? I suppose we're all thinking there is something more to everything than meets the eye. That knowledge brings about something 'greater', something infinitely terrifying and wondrous.

These are the downfalls of Gnosticism, Jainism, and any other 'mystic' religion(s): that there is nothing more to our existence than the barbaric truths we encounter everyday. That our knowledge is merely a way of copying with our interaction with reality. We constantly think we are being original, innovative, clever and heading to this miraculous thing mentioned as 'progress' or 'development', but these are merely excuses to cope with our aimlessness, our utter pointlessness. Knowledge is knowledge of knowledge; it's actuality is a strife - a constant battle between the wanting-to-know and not-knowing, bringing bliss and misery all in one tidy (infinite?) package.

It is not an Island.

I am stranded.

No desert island. No ship. No Open Water. Yet there are sea gulls. How very, very peculiar.

Do stories form to narratives? Do ending occur? Are changes always hopeful? If life a loop we continue to populate with linearity?

This stranded space is a little cold. And empty. Am I on white (Matrix-style), or on black (brooding, atmospheric, ghost-stories)?

There are ideas that shift across, manifesting themselves in IMAX format. Wordplay: letters that dance across your face and eyes; meaningless drivel. Where are we going/twirling/slipping/mindlessly sauntering (towards)? The direction is "Lost", the driver's a bit dense/heavy(and over populated). Where does this roller coaster ride end?

But there we go again: beginnings and endings; birth and death; repetitive linearity or cyclical rotation? No, we're not falling for the Levi-Straussian trap. Time is more complex in our minds, narratives are not linear or unidirectional. We are fleeing to unknown domains, known only to all of us.

But I'm stranded. Who are 'we'?

I'm not a product; don't box me.

You need a HDTV, the latest iPod, a couple of sports cars, and a suburban house to be even considered human. Oh, and work for a really big corporate company.

We are entangled in the roots of capitalism. Coca Cola banners spread across our altars, yet we remain unaware. We try to be happy through commercial produce; keeping up with 'progress' consumes our time and lives. What is this great aim that we are all heading towards? Who's directing this big embargo? And at what cost?

Responses are vague:
"That's the way the world works, deal with it."
"Does it matter? You need to survive."
"It's cultural. It's society, and it's bound to happen."
"Well if you don't like it, why do you stay in it?"

The latter, of course, is the most curious. Where else can I go? So-called 'development' or 'missionary' programs are giving people 'a better chance'- in other words, introducing people to the world of desire (not necessity). Indigenous groups around the world are given machetes, clothes and other sorts of foreign 'treats' to 'civilise' them. Development projects tell people that in order to be 'human', urban development and commercialism is essential. So-called human rights plummet for consumerist gain, whilst the poverty-stricken grow in numbers.

Yet, wherever we are, in our comfortable homes with a TV, newspapers and billboards, we are constantly told that everything is okay. That the lives we live are good, and that we should be grateful. Does gratitude mean not caring about the rest of the world? Does it mean that we impose our ideas on other individuals?

We see people shot down in Iraq, we hear of crises in Darfur, we read of famine in East Africa, and yet we do nothing. We sit, comfortable in our own homes, regurgitating the frivolous details of our shopping and disregarding the boxed and imagined reality. How can we be so apathetic, so lethargic, so narrow-minded? how can we continue to work for an ideal which has caused more problems than it has solved?

"Money makes the world go round." What is money? A medium of exchange, created by whom and for whom? Why are goods and services priced so differently and people paid so differently for the same work if the medium for exchange is supposedly objective? Why does a piece of paper have more value than any initiative? Why do we have to 'look' for work and 'apply' for jobs, when there is a necessity for them to be completed?

Money is not happiness. Money and Objects aren't God. People are not property. We have become slaves to a hyperreal capitalist goal.

The Abysm is Waiting

There's an edge I'm standing on. Gravity's going to pull me off that cliff, isn't it. Just need one more shove, and 'Oh! Goodbye! Good riddance.'

The penniless seek pounds and pennys

There are no Jobs...





I want a Job.

How shall I begin...

Tell me.

Tell me, as I lie here with my head resting against the soft hollow between your collarbone and your arm, of adventures of tales and tales of adventure.

No, tell me not of films and books; of the origins of flashing Coca Cola signs; of the importance of Khipu in South America.

I long to hear your tale: a story of adventure, a narrative of event (not abstraction. I want to hear of absurdity; of people dressed in oddly frilled coats; of endless days in dull occupations; of monkeys and spiders (and spider-monkeys?); of sailing across on the wide ocean; of butterflies and moths; of wind-swept shores and islands you've seen disappear into the ocean; of Amazons running against you (while I secretly grin in approval); of mountains unreachable for fear of Yetis, skeletons and fluorescent moss; of endless forest where the Hoopoe sing cheerfully and hummingbirds hum; of...

No, I cannot say. I should not demand.

Mouth sealed, eyes shut; I wait as you stay silent and sleep.

Place your hand on your head and collapse, woman

Having watched The Godfather and questioning whether I actually liked it or not, I found myself asking certain questions. It's not that the film was particularly bad, but something about it was just rather irksome. Acting was amazing and its influences can be tasted everywhere. Whether I'd place it on my 'best films' list is a completely different story.

However: what is with the glorification of murder/crime in so-called 'masculine' films? And of the misogynistic themes that recur into films like Se7en, being somewhat of the same genre. I know I would be criticised for being too serious about a film, but when you are told that your place is passive and with children in media these kind of films being to be rather tedious. I am not saying that all films should be politically correct nor am I arguing that film should be overly moralistic. I guess what I find annoying is that films which are considered 'must-see' often depict women in a stereotypical role and play out masculinity as dominant. Anything remotely feminine is considered a 'chick flick' which has no possible capability of ever being any good.

Which brings me back to Neha's tale of ties and women: in film and in life, do we have to be of a 'masculine' gender in order to be important and respected? Even film directors: how many have been women and been successful? The wikipedia article lists a few films but the few I recognise and have seen have never been considered classics. Plus the issues they seem to address have never been as popular as the themes discussed in more prominent films. Having a brief look at the AFI's 100 films thing (including the 10th Anniversary changes) I don't even think I noticed a single female director.

I know that what it means to be female is socially constructed, and as such those ideas are fluid; I dislike chick flicks because they depict frivolous ideas which I find tedious. But then I also find Godzilla (the remake) tedious because it was just dull. Somehow I just feel that it is such a shame that in order for a film to be successful, it has to conform to particular female stereotypes and emphasise the dominance of masculinity.

I am liminal

I stand at the edge of erosion, watching as its darkened waves slap fast against my ankles. From here I cannot see the ruins of the wall which hid this ocean. Under my feet, the sand crumbles, lunging towards the ocean it once forsook.

I remember back then, back where the recesses of my memories are scraping towards past made from ashes and glue into large archaic sculptures; reflections of the self sit on windowsills where people peer and question at their obscure form. I remember when, as children - innocent and cruel - we would pick on the scabs of the wall and try to push it over. Then, as years washed away with the tide, I came back; watching the stones crumble and fall, the black ocean dark and blank, I came to know of their true meaning.

But now the wall has fallen. Children no longer mark their height and age against the stones that once held it up. I no longer run and skip and question what lies behind: magical mysteries, waters of multicoloured and luminescent properties, sandcastles as high as mountains, shells-a-million... the tales of the past are too hard to remember. Etching a name against the sand is almost impossible.

The sand crumbles and reforms, the blackness does not fade. Perhaps soon the sting of its oil-slick waters will dissolve into its incomprehensible tide.

Give a little Green Glow

The subject of carbon emissions should not be too far away on World Environment Day. To stand up against Climate Change is essential, but how?


Cutting carbon emissions individually is not actually that hard: reduction of heating/air-conditioning, buying produce grown in England (or growing your own food), changing your lightbulbs to energy efficient ones, placing solar panels for heating up your water (in Australia), etc. However, the difficulty lies in breaking a habit, and mine happens to be flying.

Flying to Australia once a year is an awful, awful thing to do and must be stopped. A habit, however, that has always existed in my multinational extended family; the issue of not flying becomes a slight problem when your parents live on the other side of the world. The issue then is only what can be done. The problem being that if I don't fly to visit family, they will fly and visit me: 3 versus 1?

I think the best step now, for me, is to reduce my flying plans to one set of flights a year. That way there is a severe reduction in flying time and a way of keeping my extended family happy.

So: Fly if you have not seen the world. Fly less if you have.

The distress signal

The problem with thinking too much about postmodernism is that you fall into the trap of uncertainty. You're in a loop which you can't escape because suddenly nothing has meaning without everything else, and thus, in some ways, you can only exist in relation to others. And some would argue that postmodernism questions capitalist ideology! But I suppose comparisons do not equal competition.

I'm not surprised, that towards the end of this university course I too have fallen into the trap of uncertainty. It is hard being with someone who seems to know everything, I once told a friend of mine, and it's no lie. You find yourself in situations where you feel like the extra wheel even though you shouldn't be the third person at all. But I suppose it's not all like that. Sometimes it is just that you don't think you should be with someone who is so much 'higher' than you.

But maybe it's not at all: which is all the more likely. Perhaps this uncertainty is based on the fact that you have never truly been addicted to something. I suppose the closest thing to addiction I came to was Harry Potter and even that was superfluous. Then you realise that you no longer 'like' things. Everything is a mild 'nice' or a blatant 'hate'. Everything (mostly myself) feels hollow. But maybe it is true. Maybe it is all in the mind and I should just let go of all my postmodern restrictions and pretend that something is in its absolute.

Ultimately, the absolute of uncertainty is paradoxical. I wish I could just escape out of this loop.

How do you kick the habit?

Somewhere along the Moebius strip

It was like walking into chaos: a hidden world of absolute certainty, precision and ritual. For the casual chaotic, these perfectly structured world was somewhat of an oddity- an element which seemed incomprehensible and yet strangely attractive. I was seduced by its certainty, its possibility for repetitiveness, and therefore his perfect sense of self-identity. For someone whose life had filled with transient activity, the grounded nature of his personality and identity was both deeply unsettling and strangely seductive. Peering into his life like a little child staring into a sweet shop whilst being dragged away by a frustrated parent, I felt frustrated with my own insecurity, instability and fluid self-identity.

I suppose, when you finally can understand the frustrations that surround you, you can start to tackle and solve the problem. In assessment of these concerns, it would be obvious to somewhat construct likes & dislikes, and fight towards some sort of direction that I would like to head in. But how do you begin to find out what is interesting and what is not without referring to 'the others' in your mind? Which steps need to be taken as to not compare yourself with him? How can you start afresh without knowing what it is you like and what you've told yourself to like in order to enact out the lives of others in a vain attempt to discover a self-identity?

I feel like there is no border, for myself, around the I. Within the I there is a million different people, each whose thoughts filter through and construct what I should/do know. How fragments fit together and make a puzzle is not seen through the ideas in themselves, but how different people interact with them. It is not the idea by itself then, for me, but how different individuals interact with that idea. Can you truly separate the two? I had never thought so before.

Where to begin?

It's a fool's paradise

You know there's something wrong when you're happy that you're crying.

the falsity that is philosophy

The subject of this update is, sadly, a rant. The more I dive into philosophy, the more I realise who utterly obscure and almost pointless it is. You read a little about Heidegger and Dasein; plunge into a little of Hegelian dialectics (and then realise that Marx has somehow 'inverted' that into materialist dialectics); be told about Bergson's durée and temps. All of this is frivolous, and only scraping the surface of things. It's almost as if the only thing they have ever actually done is read each other's works and then expanded or negated those theories. Original thought and philosophy other than critique or response does not exist. You cannot be a philosopher without referencing Hume somewhere in your studies.

The closed system that is philosophy seems even smaller if you escape from the west and try to look at it from a global perspective. Any opposition to the 'West' is the 'East': typified in Buddhism (pronounced, with a slur, 'Boodhism'); differentiation of different forms of Buddhism or any understanding of the origins of that Buddhist thought are completely ignored because, of course, everything in the East is homogeneous. Any thoughts on discussing Khoisan concepts of existence are negligible because they're neither East nor West.

How can philosophy ever actually say it represents any sense of 'wisdom' or shared ideas when it continues to exist in a little sphere of its own? Until there is some unified ideas of thought (not just left to anthropologists or sociologists) the ontology, epistemology, and so on, of anything (and nothing) cannot even begin to be tackled, let alone presumably 'comprehended'.

The Olympics are Political

What is it about worshipping Money that has lead us to this position? Since when have we been those who stand by and let crimes occur in fear of losing financial gain? In France, Ségolène Royal told the press that there was still time to reconsider a boycott, yet in Britain, the government was happier pleasing their pockets by making sure that innocent peaceful protesters were forced to remove t-shirts which said 'No torch in Tibet, China Stop the Killing and Talk to the Dalai Lama'. Peaceful protesters were forced behind metal barriers: pushed and shoved by police for no apparent reason. Brown has praised the police, stating that "This a democratic country, people in this country are free to express their opinions within the law". Is asking for China to agree to conform to international human rights now somehow against the law?

These protests should not be seen as violent actions to crush the Olympic spirit but the opposite. The Olympics were (re)founded on principles of global unity, sporting ethics and human rights. The fact that the International Olympic Committee has allowed for the Olympics in China to continue after the repressive actions taken by the Chinese government which have continued to defy the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is a sign of the fallacy that is the Olympics and supposed ethical sport.

I fail to understand why Chinese individuals living in England and watching/reading about the atrocities in Tibet refuse to recognised the importance of Tibetan human rights (not even Tibetan independence). I understand the importance of celebrating nationalism, and I do not deny the Chinese the pride they felt as the torch filtered through the streets of London. What I condemn however, is that when Tibetans protested by China's betrayal of human rights, the Chinese flag wavers made it very clear that 'frankly Tibet, we don't give a damn'.

In a post-imperial world, how can we stand there and let minority groups continue to be oppressed in inhumane ways?

The Mouse Ran Up the Clock

A wander into previous blog entries has lead to a reconsideration of blog utility on my part. I wonder if I should use this in an almost diary-like format, and connecting and pulling together random ideas and thoughts into a believable manner. Believable perhaps because I'm only applying my pointless subjective ideology onto the page in an illegible format; you might believe you know what I'm talking about, but I'll bet you don't.

London is hailing today. Yesterday was almost summer, today is almost winter. So it goes.

Time

More thoughts about time, as everyone seems to have some understanding of time but no-one seems quite able to define it. I keep thinking of ideas and concepts, my favourite being that time is made of little monsters (time-beings) which are infinitely small. You look closely at one being, and you realise it's actually two, infinitely. The time-beings get larger in accordance to the relative amount of time passed. They are also the cause of the phrase 'for the time being'.

Instantaneous/Continuous
Have also been comparing Zeno of Elea to Heraclitus. (Zeno's paradoxes seem to suggest the problem of the Uncertainty Principle in quantum physics.) What I find interesting is the idea he suggests about the arrow. In essence, Zeno's Arrow paradox is simple, and in terms of time the idea is that motion is mere illusionary, and in actually nothing really changes or moves; we only see time passing. Heraclitus argues the opposite (Panta rhei): that stationary time is merely illusionary as things are constantly in a state of flux between two binary opposites.

What I am beginning to notice is that time is interlinked entirely with change. The only physical apparition of time that we have is through change. We have clocks and other methods of time measurement, but our subjective understanding of time (such as efficiency) seems to be seen through time:
Time is measured through the movement of a clock, through the movement of daylight, through our own actions.

To transcend time is to know all.

Where does the circle stop?

There is an idea of a world that flows into itself. An idea that there is a machine which makes a machine which makes a machine which makes a machine... and somewhere along the line, we come back to the first machine. Or the machine that makes another copy of itself.

But somehow we try and rationalise this replication. We place linear constraints, labels to define and differentiate along lines we scarcely understand. Our perception is limited by our attempts to rationalise and thus our attempts to rationalise are limited by a narrowed perception. How then does change occur? How do we leap out of this hermeneutic circle?

Models of evolution have always been based by linearity. Marxist revolutionary thought filters through the seams of change, and thus our understanding of it is also limited. Is change relative to the individual circumstance? Is individual agency the only possible response to this hermeneutic understanding? If a society remains unaffected by external factors, will it change?

Perhaps it is that which remains the problem, the idea that the future does not construct the present: the idea of linearity pervading through our discourse, our understanding. If the future constructs the present and the present constructs the future and the past constructs the future, then we could understand how agency can work. This does not mean that society is based on fate; the terms of past, present and future mean nothing then, and thus the linearity model fractures and crumbles upon the ground. Everything is intertwined.

Call it the collective unconscious, the Jain concept of Kevalgnan, the idea of Derrida's 'Other'. There is much more than more. Reality has no face other than hyperreality. The hyperreal is hyperreal. Where does the circle stop? Is it even a circle? Am I limiting it to a circle?

Endless streams slip through cracks in the dry drought-covered land, and thought once again is categorised and forgotten.

The Ridiculous Adventures of Uccle and Onion I

En garde, you minions of Uccle Onion!

It has come to my attention, due to a ridiculous amount of letters, emails, phone calls, text messages, little bird songs, dreams, reflections, unwanted thoughts, propaganda, facebook groups, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, that members of UCL union (onion), upset with the fact that they can no longer wear camouflage at Fresher's Fayre and that UCL (Uccle) may suddenly have to be buddy-buddy with Palestine (slightly, maybe), have decided that the AGM at which these barbaric proposals were passed was certainly undemocratic. Of course, they were the prime example of civilised behaviour and treated the Chair and those who held those motions in utter respect. Of course- they're the civilising group at our respectful organisation.

In fact, they are so civilised that they would never let these barbaric propagators of such foolishly considerate proposals live amongst their good breed- so they used the opportunity to ethnically cleanse themselves of Sam Godwin- why need a reason when the majority of the student population supports a false idea anyway?

Thus, in this fantastic episode of Uccle and Onion we have learnt:
(i)you can never mess with the Onion- it is the Right(-winged) civilising pure authority.
(ii)that nobody ever gets a fair share of onion (but then, do you really want to?).
(iii)Uccle will always be run by an onion whose individuals care more about if they're following the right fashion (and other self-obsessive concrens) than for the welfare and concern of other people (they're barbaric- do they even count? Pfft!)

----
Edit [17/03/2008]- I know you're reading this because someone found it on Google blog search. If you so suddenly curious about a rather rubbish piece of writing why not dare to leave a comment? It's not like this is anything new or exciting.

Book Input.

I am deprived of fiction. That does not mean that I have not spent the last week or so rereading Harry Potter in light of 'racialisation, ethnicisation and national consciousness' but that somehow any academic reading of fiction does not allow it to be fiction.

On my shelf sits a few books kindly lent a certain Sorceror, but somehow the length of American Gods, Perdido Street Station and Jonathon Norrell and Mr Strange is off-putting; not that length has ever been a problem, just that it's not easy to lug a book of those proportions around London. There is also the matter of 8000 words (now 6800!) which need to be written. Hmph.

Suggestions of decent fiction are welcome. In fact they are appreciated. Please.

Even when you're black, you're still a sheep.

Hollow wood disintegrates on the touch of a fingertip
Dishevelled twigs splinter,
cascading in quiescent chaos.

in the crepuscule: you and I wait.

Perhaps it is the endless benches,
the corridors that clang in death's silence.

in the crepuscule: I wait.

We are nothing.
I am nothing; they are something.
There is grey.

in the crepuscule: I am.

I am Sorry.

Today, Australia Apologised:



The tale of Australian colonisation and oppression is long and harsh. Terra Nulius, the principle which refused to recognise the humanity of Aboriginal People, was the starting point of massacre, eviction from land, abuse, and loss of identity. Followed by Protectionism and Paternalism, Indigenous Australians were subject to forced removal from their homes, a Christian indoctrination, and a loss of identity. Along with these ideas, children were taught to believe that their cultural heritage was wrong, their language was barbaric and their black skins made them scum. With a blatant attempt of cultural genocide, does anyone wonder why they remain at loss? It was only in 1967 that they were recognised as 'people' and placed on the census.

John Howard refused to apologise on behalf of Australia while he was in government, as he felt that it was not his responsibility. This is not a matter of personal responsibility, but an official recognition of the wrong that was caused. An empathetic gesture that recognises that these oppressive actions should not have occurred, and should not occur again. Thank you, Kevin Rudd.

I am sorry.

There are some answers that need to be answered still. Will Australians continue to celebrate the arrival of the first White Australians ('Australia Day')? Will the government act in trying to improve Aboriginal Housing, Health and social conditions? Will the Aboriginal Community have more of a role to play in Australian culture, rather than being a form of cheap tourist entertainment*?
Or are these just empty words?

In commemoration of this day, I attach a poem by Oodgeroo Noonuccal:

Song of Hope
Look up, my people,
The dawn is breaking,
The world is waking,
To a new bright day,
When none defame us,
Nor colour shame us,
Nor sneer dismay.

Now brood no more
On the years behind you,
The hope assigned you
Shall the past replace,
When juster justice
Grown wise and stronger
Points the bone no longer
At a darker race.

So long we waited
Bound and frustrated,
Till hate be hated
And caste deposed;
Now light shall guide us,
And all doors open
That long were closed

See plain the promise,
Dark freedom-lover!
Night’s nearly over,
And though long the climb,
New rights will greet us,
New mateship meet us,
And joy complete us
In our new Dream Time.

To our father’s fathers
The pain, the sorrow;
To our children’s children
The glad tomorrow.

*I refer here to the 'So Where the Bloody Hell Are You?' Tourist campaign, which had the lines "And we’ve been rehearsing for over 40,000 years" attached to a group of Aboriginal People leaping.

time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana

Time stood there in a Blue Long Hat, not a cape, I assure you.
And in his long outstretched hand, the fingers curling ever so slightly, nails stretching into the oblivion, and coming back, in perfect infinity, he held a Staff! But this was not Any staff. It was not any staff at all! (Most staff are rather dull personages who dress in stripy shirts and drool over time, time and time again...) No, this was the Staff of Time. And from the depths of darkness, Time would echo time, and all would be understood (except why Time had a Blue Long Hat...).

He actually doesn't do much. He does actually just stand there. Nobody really interrupts him, except maybe Augustine, but then Time just used his pink fluffy bunny rabbit shoes (the one called 'left') and tickled 'ickle Augustie's ear and sent him spiralling down through a timely abysm.

I like Abysms.

The Caterpillars

What are they? They who linger in the bright sunshine and do not speak? Sometimes I wonder if they will creep up to the surface and smile. You have seen their smiles, have you not? They call it happiness. They cannot be seen unless you have the willingness to have the Sight. They are not visible- but hallucinations. Hallucinations that are delusional.

Sometimes you think they look like caterpillars, crawling and etching their way through everything and then, in their magnificent colours, you see them as an emotion. An emotion that shapes how you see everything; an emotion that makes everything worth seeing; an emotion which is just a smile hiding in your blind spot.

They wriggle and twist, feeding on the dances of another dancer. They do not make the steps. They are only those who carry the actions of yourself. They slip across the sunny days, spreading their energy to those who dare to observe. They hide in the corners of mouths and eyes in those who want to carry them.

Right now, they are only here because I want them to be. In shape of hot cinnamon tea, they smile at me; I am content.