In recent days I have stumbled on a treasure-trove of ideas and thoughts from some of the worlds eminent thinkers and captains of intellectual analysis. www.edge.org is a collaborative conversation based around a yearly topic posed by the editors , notably, John Brockman.
In 2010 the question above was posed and some 160 thinkers, artists, scientists, actors and dignitaries have written essays to probe this question in depth.
I thought I would add my own thoughts to this mix. Not because I consider myself equal amongst these people who have already given comment, but because the internet is MY tool for thinking, learning and doing many things in the everyday ordinariness that is my life.
The question is worthy of pondering by anyone with more than a passing interest in email, let alone virtual reality worlds such as Second Life or social networking platforms such as Facebook or Twitter. And my generation... the end of the Baby Boomers... are prime candidates to ask this question too. You see? It is MY generation who straddle the pre-internet and post-internet worlds who can answer this with any integrity. For those in Gen X and Gen Y - the internet is so pervasive a tool from their infancy that I believe they are already innately adjusted to its size and shape.
How has the internet changed the way *I* think? It's a bit like asking Cro-Magnon man how the spear changed the way he hunted?
Prior to 1995, any mention of the word "Internet" would have had me both intensely intrigued and simultaneously baffled. I vaguely knew of its existence but I did not understand it's implications or use. Our family got our first computer in February of 1996. My children were little and they were the focus of my entire life at that point. I was an exhausted mother and wife, crabby and lacking in the stimulative intellectual environments I have always craved.
I thought in black and white for the most part. I was a Wimmera Girl, a Lutheran, a Mother, a Wife. My husband owned a small business and we produced things and sold them to people who wanted them. Life was mundane. Ideas were only useful if they produced results or created something useful to others. Social interaction was limited to pre-existing friendships - also with similarly aged children of their own - and immediate family. Life for me at that time was conservative, fundamentalist and apart from the joy of watching my kids grow, quite depressing! I felt lonely and detached in many ways. I over-compensated by throwing myself into various voluntary positions in the local arts community and in my church. However, these never really did give me what I was seeking.
What was I really seeking? With hindsight I can see clearly what was missing in those days. Possibilities and Words. Together these two combine in the most magical way.
All my life, from the first memories I have of being able to think about the world around me, I have been seeking the magic kingdom of never-ending possibilities. Ideas are the spring board to possibilities. Words are the medium by which they are given life.
Intellectual critique and investigation into everything I didn't know I didn't know has been my heart's desire for a long, long time. From the time I was little, I used books as my tools to discover these possibilities. All my learning about things had until that point been from books. Family life in 1995 was wonderful on the surface but it was replete and without my books, I knew I would be on the brink of a black and foreboding malaise of the mind.
It was 1997 before my then partner, 'Baz' decided to put our family on the internet. Ostensibly this was to facilitate the running of our business. About the same time, I re-entered the workforce. My place of work was also connected to this vast strange world of emails and information on the World Wide Web (aka the 'Web'). I learned with faltering steps, how to start interacting with this awesome and amazing thing called "The Internet" and it's offspring "The Web".
I quickly discovered there was more to the internet than mere emails. Tentatively, I eyed message boards, seeking to find like minded others with whom to connect and exchange ideas with. At the time it scared the crap out of me... the thought of engaging with strangers whose faces could not be read or bodies seen was frightening and alien. I decided that I would "protect" myself by finding a message board of other females... mothers... with whom I could discuss things, in a general way.
My first real foray into social networking was through a little Australian message board for mums. Downundermums quickly became a second "home". It was here that my proclivities for words, text and the ability to type suddenly took on momentous importance. Here were women from the far reaches of my own nation who understood what it was like to be mothers to young children and yet still feel isolated, despite the strong sense of family. We all became firm friends. I still count many of them as my friends to this day.
My thinking grew outwards. I learned so much about the possibilities of the internet through this forum. I learned how to hunt down websites for factual information. I learned from these wise and strong women how to discern a "troll" and how to sense integrity in the information presented. I learned how to "emote" over electronic media - an important skill given there is no body language per se. More importantly, I learned that it is very very possible to love and deeply admire people you have never met in person and yet can be incredibly close to despite the distances. Never in my youth could I have imagined that having "pen-pals" in this way would become such an immediate and powerful means of connecting to others. Downundermums was my sanity saver.
13 years have past and the internet has become a critical tool in my everyday interactions with people. Even people I see regularly face to face, I "meet" with online as well. It's as if the internet adds a facet to the personality that isn't obvious in person. How a person interacts in text online can be very different from their physical persona. I've learned that how a person presents online is as multidimensional as the person face to face. There is a character and shape to their persona that is embedded within the syntax and semantics they use to express themselves. Facebook, for instance, is - quite frankly - a fascinating portrait of the simultaneous simplicity and complexity of human psychology.
With exploration into virtual worlds like Second Life, the advent of Google to search for what I want to know, the calls I can make across the globe using Skype, the networks I've formed through Facebook, the checking of hoaxes and spam emails using breakthechain.org and so on... the internet is both my pen, my paper, my resources toolkit, my encyclopaedia and my diary.
Thus, my thinking has changed. Dramatically.
I think through these fingers on the keyboard. Typing out my thoughts as they occur is both cathartic and energising. I "see" the world differently now. I see endless possibilities. Ideas ripple at every corner of my peripheral attention span. Everything is mutable, changeable, less solid and it's constantly metamorphosing into difference. Life feels fluid, hyper changeable and exciting viewed through this electronic window. The limits of the collective imagination are being pushed in all directions.
Once there was a time when I believed there were only two genders in the world. Now I understand that Gender is a purely personal perception and can't be pinned onto another person like a name-tag. There are scales of gender with a moving slider that can fall at any point across 4 dimensions! How freaky is that?
Once there was a time when I believed that information by experts was irrefutable. Now I understand that that same information can be queried by the masses en masse. How incredibly democratic (rightly or wrongly depending on the information in question) is that?
Once I never even knew that such a thing as a 10,000 year clock could exist but thanks to the World Wide Web - I know this is a fact!
Only this week, I have been able to seen incredibly detailed overhead photographic maps taken during our recent floods! This technology would have been considered far too fantastic even 10 years ago! Now through the connections I have with others online, I'm immediately able to access this information for myself! Incredible!
The internet is, at its weakest, the vilest of perpetrators for misinformation and depraved thinking. At its very best, it is a collaborative tool for humans to exchange the information which builds up and edifies for the collective good. It can be used to teach, to heal, to inform, to disseminate, to query, question, critique, amuse and yes... change. It isn't so much three dimensional as fractal in its audio-visual and psycho-social appeal.
The internet will change our antecedents in ways we can barely imagine right now. I for one am just glad I saw its birth and am able explore just a few of the infinite possibilities it creates through words, sounds, images and interaction. :)
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 01, 2011
sweeping cobwebs
It's a brand new year.
2011 sees my fifth year in this blog. 2010 bombed a bit for me in the writing game. I had little energy for much else other than work.
There's a few things I'd like to change of course as one usually does as we turn a calendar page to a "clean slate" so to speak.
Thing is I just want to clean up. At least for now. I've tidied house today and it's looking not too bad after the scuz and shambles of the past month or so. Again, I simply lacked the energy and drive to achieve much other than dragging my butt off to work every day. Weekends have been pretty much a casual slog through laundry and internet surfing and not much else.
There was a bright spot on my 2010 horizon for awhile but he has faded, somewhat, into a genteel, soft focus, tender-hearted memory. I shall always be fond of Bear and hope to remain his dear friend through the ensuing years.
2011 ushers in hopes of new horizons both within and without. I may have spent today cleaning up the house - even the cobwebs from the front door - but next and most importantly will be the process of cleaning up internal spaces, both in the physical realm and also in the psychological realm.
I'm tired of lumbering along with heavy thoughts. This will be a year of hard work - mostly on my inner bean. It will be a year of lighting the inner fires of joy and laughter and changing landscapes of the heart and mind (and maybe a few physical landscapes as well here and there :)).
2011 sees my fifth year in this blog. 2010 bombed a bit for me in the writing game. I had little energy for much else other than work.
There's a few things I'd like to change of course as one usually does as we turn a calendar page to a "clean slate" so to speak.
Thing is I just want to clean up. At least for now. I've tidied house today and it's looking not too bad after the scuz and shambles of the past month or so. Again, I simply lacked the energy and drive to achieve much other than dragging my butt off to work every day. Weekends have been pretty much a casual slog through laundry and internet surfing and not much else.
There was a bright spot on my 2010 horizon for awhile but he has faded, somewhat, into a genteel, soft focus, tender-hearted memory. I shall always be fond of Bear and hope to remain his dear friend through the ensuing years.
2011 ushers in hopes of new horizons both within and without. I may have spent today cleaning up the house - even the cobwebs from the front door - but next and most importantly will be the process of cleaning up internal spaces, both in the physical realm and also in the psychological realm.
I'm tired of lumbering along with heavy thoughts. This will be a year of hard work - mostly on my inner bean. It will be a year of lighting the inner fires of joy and laughter and changing landscapes of the heart and mind (and maybe a few physical landscapes as well here and there :)).
Friday, December 10, 2010
Seismic Shifts and Wikileaks
Julian Assange.
His name is everywhere!
Literally, everywhere!
He's on the tele! He's all over the internet. He's taking up headline space in the papers.
Facebook, Twitter, blogs and Youtube is going gang busters as the World scrambles for opinion, history, re-framing, defamation, and everything else in between.
Now, for the purposes of this particular blog post, I make the following disclaimer. The current rape case/s before the courts in Europe alleged to involved Mr Assange are not the focus of this post. Rape is a very serious crime. I do not condone it. However, I also do not necessarily know if Julian is either guilty or innocent. Under the law of most countries, he is currently innocent until he has been PROVEN guilty (forgive my shouting at you - emphasis etc).
Okay enough said on that particular conundrum.
There appears to have been some kind of seismic shift under the tectonic plates that social and political 'normality' have hitherto been built upon. The populaces living under regimes - which we have long accepted with laissez faire despondency - as being despotic and cruel, are fuming and foaming at their proverbial bits; defying the arrogance of those who have held power for far too long at the expense of liberty and the right to opine freely.
Wikileaks for all its possible naivety has given current major governments - both despotic and moderate - The Bird! You know? Middle finger extended upwards while all the others point down? That one!
It's about time! When a government decides that "Free speech" is a luxury only for those who have the currency (financial as well as social), to tweak things to their advantage... then its time for whistleblowers to go to town and blow, blow, blow!
There will probably be a whole slew of whistleblower sites springing up on the net from here on in. I haven't taken too much notice of the whole USA cables leak debacle, but it does seem they're being aired in the media on a pretty regular basis.
It is embarrassing to be caught out with your dirty little secret. But, if that dirty little secret is affecting hundreds of thousands of people around the world...it's not so little anymore. It's a collective - global - problem and one we all have to face and deal with.
Julian Assange has struck a mighty blow to American hubris and of course the government's not happy! More and more, America's empiricist brand of politics is being whittled away fiscally, socially and politically. People, collectively - if not necessarily individually - are not gong to remain tolerant of the kind of government that interferes, lies, abuses trust or lacks integrity anymore.
But the good thing - if there is one - is that the Middle East is changing before our very eyes. Well educated, savvy and intelligent men AND women have been armed with the information they needed to "prove" that what they want is not what their respective powers are offering. The force of change occurring before our very eyes cannot be underestimated.
As I watch the riots and bloody revolutions taking place in countries I've never been to, it seems to me that people are ruthlessly beginning to model the past subversive styles of their governments. Whilst it is true that Facebook, Wikileaks and the Web itself did not create these revolutions, it is certainly true that they have served to fuel them.
The Web is creating Wild Governments of its own. There are Cyber Tribal communities on the web now. They're becoming organised, politically savvy, and even militant and/or as Machiavellian as their geographically placed governments.
These are cyber tribes are made up of many cultures and even languages, but all the individuals within hold certain tenets to be of especially important value - regardless of any actual law for or against these tenets. These cyber communities are forming their own "laws" and "jurisdictions" across the globe and becoming 'as if' they were nations in their own right. To me it seems that the one overriding factor common to many of these communities is the infallible right to free expression of personal thought and idea.
This may prove to be of grave concern in the future if the pendulum swings too far towards nihilistic and/or anarchic individualism. Still, I have noticed that the Web appears to be creating a social imperative which implies that everyone is "entitled" to the right to express him or her self as he or she sees fit.
Governments, particularly despotic ones, don't like this notion at all. Hence, the bloodbaths we are witnessing all too frequently on our televisions and computer screens!
Perhaps national boundaries, long drawn on printed maps and hung on walls are going to be redrawn; this time, in the cloud?
Where will the lines be drawn to confine those of like beliefs and perspectives? Politically, this will be almost impossible to control. Socially it will be as ephemeral and quixotic as the individuals making up the cyber tribes.
I don't yet know - nor can I foresee - how this could play out in practise, but already it seems to me that cyber-social connectivity is creating a sort of Diaspora from geography to ideography.
I sort of feel as if the Julian Assange/Wikileaks story may perhaps mark the beginning of this seismic shift in human social and political history.
As always, time will tell.
His name is everywhere!
Literally, everywhere!
He's on the tele! He's all over the internet. He's taking up headline space in the papers.
Facebook, Twitter, blogs and Youtube is going gang busters as the World scrambles for opinion, history, re-framing, defamation, and everything else in between.
Now, for the purposes of this particular blog post, I make the following disclaimer. The current rape case/s before the courts in Europe alleged to involved Mr Assange are not the focus of this post. Rape is a very serious crime. I do not condone it. However, I also do not necessarily know if Julian is either guilty or innocent. Under the law of most countries, he is currently innocent until he has been PROVEN guilty (forgive my shouting at you - emphasis etc).
Okay enough said on that particular conundrum.
There appears to have been some kind of seismic shift under the tectonic plates that social and political 'normality' have hitherto been built upon. The populaces living under regimes - which we have long accepted with laissez faire despondency - as being despotic and cruel, are fuming and foaming at their proverbial bits; defying the arrogance of those who have held power for far too long at the expense of liberty and the right to opine freely.
Wikileaks for all its possible naivety has given current major governments - both despotic and moderate - The Bird! You know? Middle finger extended upwards while all the others point down? That one!
It's about time! When a government decides that "Free speech" is a luxury only for those who have the currency (financial as well as social), to tweak things to their advantage... then its time for whistleblowers to go to town and blow, blow, blow!
There will probably be a whole slew of whistleblower sites springing up on the net from here on in. I haven't taken too much notice of the whole USA cables leak debacle, but it does seem they're being aired in the media on a pretty regular basis.
It is embarrassing to be caught out with your dirty little secret. But, if that dirty little secret is affecting hundreds of thousands of people around the world...it's not so little anymore. It's a collective - global - problem and one we all have to face and deal with.
Julian Assange has struck a mighty blow to American hubris and of course the government's not happy! More and more, America's empiricist brand of politics is being whittled away fiscally, socially and politically. People, collectively - if not necessarily individually - are not gong to remain tolerant of the kind of government that interferes, lies, abuses trust or lacks integrity anymore.
But the good thing - if there is one - is that the Middle East is changing before our very eyes. Well educated, savvy and intelligent men AND women have been armed with the information they needed to "prove" that what they want is not what their respective powers are offering. The force of change occurring before our very eyes cannot be underestimated.
As I watch the riots and bloody revolutions taking place in countries I've never been to, it seems to me that people are ruthlessly beginning to model the past subversive styles of their governments. Whilst it is true that Facebook, Wikileaks and the Web itself did not create these revolutions, it is certainly true that they have served to fuel them.
The Web is creating Wild Governments of its own. There are Cyber Tribal communities on the web now. They're becoming organised, politically savvy, and even militant and/or as Machiavellian as their geographically placed governments.
These are cyber tribes are made up of many cultures and even languages, but all the individuals within hold certain tenets to be of especially important value - regardless of any actual law for or against these tenets. These cyber communities are forming their own "laws" and "jurisdictions" across the globe and becoming 'as if' they were nations in their own right. To me it seems that the one overriding factor common to many of these communities is the infallible right to free expression of personal thought and idea.
This may prove to be of grave concern in the future if the pendulum swings too far towards nihilistic and/or anarchic individualism. Still, I have noticed that the Web appears to be creating a social imperative which implies that everyone is "entitled" to the right to express him or her self as he or she sees fit.
Governments, particularly despotic ones, don't like this notion at all. Hence, the bloodbaths we are witnessing all too frequently on our televisions and computer screens!
Perhaps national boundaries, long drawn on printed maps and hung on walls are going to be redrawn; this time, in the cloud?
Where will the lines be drawn to confine those of like beliefs and perspectives? Politically, this will be almost impossible to control. Socially it will be as ephemeral and quixotic as the individuals making up the cyber tribes.
I don't yet know - nor can I foresee - how this could play out in practise, but already it seems to me that cyber-social connectivity is creating a sort of Diaspora from geography to ideography.
I sort of feel as if the Julian Assange/Wikileaks story may perhaps mark the beginning of this seismic shift in human social and political history.
As always, time will tell.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Walk a little more
bone ache in my heart
i've lost the candour of my youth
emotional resonance is difficult
I just want
to
walk a little more
thin down mortal flesh
fatten bank accounts
and lose the blackened fog
I just want
to
walk a little more
break down mental barrier
create a finer future ageing
love ignores inspired invisibility
I just want
to
walk a little more
i've lost the candour of my youth
emotional resonance is difficult
I just want
to
walk a little more
thin down mortal flesh
fatten bank accounts
and lose the blackened fog
I just want
to
walk a little more
break down mental barrier
create a finer future ageing
love ignores inspired invisibility
I just want
to
walk a little more
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Why I culled my blogroll and other overloads
Some weeks ago, I decided to check my blogroll over at bloglines.com
Ugh!
I used to read approximately 20 + blogs on a regular basis. All of them entertained, inspired, intrigued, or taught me something.
Then I think I must have got RSS as in "Reading Sucks Syndrome" or something because I started letting my blog roll languish. The more prolific bloggers - generally those who do it to make a buck - were left unread for a few weeks.
When I went back recently to check them out - I found over 200 + posts to chug through. Needless to say - I simply baulked at that and decided then and there to stop the rss feeds on many of these formerly beloved blogs.
The amount of words generated every day on the net must be fast exceeding the word count of all the printed books in libraries around the world. That's every day! Day after day! The sheer volume of ideas, thoughts and musings must be enough to make God cringe and want to have something very strong to drink before getting out of bed! Luckily for Him, all these words don't count for prayers for "something" or he'd be right tetchy - I know I would be! I know what its like to live with demanding children eh?
Even so, publishing is obviously changing at a rate of knots that must have book editors in a flurry. Tapping into good writing is like mining a reef for gold. Much of it out there is mere Fool's Gold. Blogs are the driving force for this massive rate of change in publishing and for the emergence of new writing; new writers.
Thing is - blogging still doesn't quite have the credibility of books yet. At least not in my experience. Blogging is still considered introspective and self-indulgent. Much of the blogging world is just that - this blog a case in point! There are some damned fine writers though out there in bloggers land. Finding them requires the patience of a digger in a gold rush.
I had to cull the brilliant minds of many bloggers from my rss feed simply because I was becoming overwhelmed with the obligation to keep up with their word count. Their ideas still sway me, but there's only so much of my attention to go around and right now - that attention is being pulled in about 50 different directions and quite a lot of them are NOT online with at least two fairly major online ones which are time and focus consuming to the nth degree.
Blogging isn't going to go out of style anytime soon. At least I'm guessing so! The blogs come and they go. Some wax and wane like my own poor sorry excuse for a blog. Other blogs will stand the test of time and become like books in libraries with a long-standing value that exceeds their original purchase price. Other blogs will simply have to go by the way in my feed reader because I just don't have the attention span for them anymore.
Publishing gone transitory and ephemeral I suppose.
Word count overload. I'm as guilty of it as anyone. I don't do writing sparely. I write to please myself and given my aspirational literary snobbery - I'm wordy in the extreme. I shall forthwith not be offended if I discover that no one is reading my blog anymore because of sheer overload elsewhere.
Will the "Good Writers" of the future be as wordy - as prolific? I suspect not. I honestly think that the Good Writers of the future will say what is profound, meaningful and relevant without the word count overload. The rest of us will simply blog - for our own purposes.
Ugh!
I used to read approximately 20 + blogs on a regular basis. All of them entertained, inspired, intrigued, or taught me something.
Then I think I must have got RSS as in "Reading Sucks Syndrome" or something because I started letting my blog roll languish. The more prolific bloggers - generally those who do it to make a buck - were left unread for a few weeks.
When I went back recently to check them out - I found over 200 + posts to chug through. Needless to say - I simply baulked at that and decided then and there to stop the rss feeds on many of these formerly beloved blogs.
The amount of words generated every day on the net must be fast exceeding the word count of all the printed books in libraries around the world. That's every day! Day after day! The sheer volume of ideas, thoughts and musings must be enough to make God cringe and want to have something very strong to drink before getting out of bed! Luckily for Him, all these words don't count for prayers for "something" or he'd be right tetchy - I know I would be! I know what its like to live with demanding children eh?
Even so, publishing is obviously changing at a rate of knots that must have book editors in a flurry. Tapping into good writing is like mining a reef for gold. Much of it out there is mere Fool's Gold. Blogs are the driving force for this massive rate of change in publishing and for the emergence of new writing; new writers.
Thing is - blogging still doesn't quite have the credibility of books yet. At least not in my experience. Blogging is still considered introspective and self-indulgent. Much of the blogging world is just that - this blog a case in point! There are some damned fine writers though out there in bloggers land. Finding them requires the patience of a digger in a gold rush.
I had to cull the brilliant minds of many bloggers from my rss feed simply because I was becoming overwhelmed with the obligation to keep up with their word count. Their ideas still sway me, but there's only so much of my attention to go around and right now - that attention is being pulled in about 50 different directions and quite a lot of them are NOT online with at least two fairly major online ones which are time and focus consuming to the nth degree.
Blogging isn't going to go out of style anytime soon. At least I'm guessing so! The blogs come and they go. Some wax and wane like my own poor sorry excuse for a blog. Other blogs will stand the test of time and become like books in libraries with a long-standing value that exceeds their original purchase price. Other blogs will simply have to go by the way in my feed reader because I just don't have the attention span for them anymore.
Publishing gone transitory and ephemeral I suppose.
Word count overload. I'm as guilty of it as anyone. I don't do writing sparely. I write to please myself and given my aspirational literary snobbery - I'm wordy in the extreme. I shall forthwith not be offended if I discover that no one is reading my blog anymore because of sheer overload elsewhere.
Will the "Good Writers" of the future be as wordy - as prolific? I suspect not. I honestly think that the Good Writers of the future will say what is profound, meaningful and relevant without the word count overload. The rest of us will simply blog - for our own purposes.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The 2010 Australian "I couldn't give a f@#$%" Election
Well here we are.
It's the day after Election Day 2010 in Australia. We still don't know who is going to lead our nation into the next three years.
To all intents and purposes, it's being called a "hung parliament". This means that the few men - who claim to be independent of the major parties - are suddenly the King/Queen Makers rather than ineffectual voices amidst a majority rule government: perhaps the most powerful men in Australia.
The deals these men strike with the minority government by the end of this coming week will determine not only the Government of Australia but also the Prime Minister. It's highly possible, we'll be back at the polls to vote again within 18 months to two years - perhaps even less.
I took such little interest in both of the major options this time around. I barely followed both campaigns and when I did try to drum up some interest, it was almost immediately crushed by the boring platitudes and the quibbling.
The Australian Labor Party actually didn't do that badly this past three years all in all. Australia survived the first onslaught of the Global Financial Crisis and kept unemployment and interest rates manageable. The economy stumbled along with vast amounts of the massive surplus stockpiled by the excessively thrifty Howard Government spent by the Labor Rudd Government on infrastructure. This kept our economy ticking along pretty steadily and it was probably the most effective thing we could have done given the financial and economic debacles happening in Europe and the USA.
Sure! Labor had a few hiccups. Note the following:
The staggeringly stupid Broadband Filtering Plan proposed Stephen Conroy.
The very swift and Machiavellian removal of Kevin Rudd from office.
The painful and ineffectual monitoring of the Home Insulation program.
The backing down from the Emissions Trading Scheme.
The Mining Tax fiasco which could have been successful if Rudd hadn't been so blimmin' obstinate about negotiating with the mining companies on the terms.
There's probably tonnes more.
Even so, Labor still dragged Australia through the first three years of massive, world-wide global financial turbulence relatively unscathed. They really could have played that one up a lot more during the electoral campaign.
I guess Julia Gillard had no choice though, except to keep saying "Let's move forward". Because the previous 2.5 years had been the work of the very man she ousted from the leadership, she probably didn't feel comfortable spruiking about the things the party had accomplished under his leadership.
This is the burgeoning problem with Australian politics. It's more and more becoming about the person at the helm, rather than about the party itself and what it offers as real choice to the Australian people. I think this is what has disenfranchised the people of Australia in this election. The informal vote was the highest in history. People couldn't give a flying fig about either major party. Telling? Yes!
The people of Australia clearly demonstrated that this election campaign was so far removed from what we wanted to know, it seems that a fair majority voted passively. The "problem" with a two party preferred voting system is that we know that the preferences attributed by minor parties will flow to either major party depending on the deals struck during the election lead-up. It means that no matter which party you vote for, your vote is pretty much likely to end up with two - three if you count the Greens - choices, Labor or Liberal/National Party. There's no genuine way to cast a protesting vote so I gather some have opted to not cast a vote at all. The sad thing is that trying to wash our hands of our political parties doesn't really solve the problem effectively.
I, myself, deliberately voted for a minor party as my personal protest at the lack of useful choice available to me between the two major parties. However, I also know its a moot point, given that the preferences will flow to Labor or Liberal as the case may be. I still however, consciously objected to the lack of choice available. My vote wasn't informal, but I, like apparently many others, didn't give a flying F@#$% about either Labor or Liberal in this election. Both parties were unremarkable, practically indistinguishable (on the surface) from the other, and appeared to be more about public smear campaigns rather than telling me what they were genuinely and ethically prepared to do with my taxes.
The crapola dished out to us through the publicity campaigns on either side was a disastrous mish-mash of hyperbole, shit-faced tantrum throwing and outright fear-mongering. It bored me. It desanitised me to listening to real commentary. I could have cared less about the fact our PM was female, atheist, and not married to the man she is shacked up with! I could have cared less for the Opposition Leader's budgie-smuggler bathers, his 'christian values', his old-fashioned views about females, his climate scepticism or his polyphasic sleep experiment in the final hours of the election. It all means nothing to this country's future. Maybe.
There are issues out there in the real Australia that are crying out to be heard and its not all terrorists and immigrants in boats either!
For me personally, broadband infrastructure is begging. If Australians don't want their major cities clogged with even more burbs and ghetto's - then just as rail and road in the previous century opened up the nation - so with efficient and effective high speed broadband in this century. Filtering content within this infrastructure is just plain idiocy of the most asinine kind. The defence of free speech is still just as paramount.
And another thing...
If Julia Gillard had been serious about this election - and don't get me wrong, she's done exceptionally well to keep Labor in the running - she'd have told the Australian electorate about the stuff that the Labor team, together, had been able to achieve regardless of who was leader at the time. I may be naive on this score perhaps.
It sucks to have a hung parliament but it may also be exactly what Australia needs to manoeuvre through the very delicate waters of the rest of the GFC. It's possible that there's a bigger financial crash to come what with the Euro teetering on the edge: so what happens now will determine how well we cope with it, if that crisis eventuates. A hung parliament may be just what we need to shake us up and get proactive. It also may be a total disaster, which we brought upon ourselves with our "Couldn't be f@#$%" attitude.
The four or five independents whose doors are now wide open for "dialogue" with either potential PM will have a massive responsibility to demonstrate courageous wisdom along with a very large dose of ethical consideration for this nation as a whole. Short-term thinking cannot suffice. This has to be long-term stuff: stuff that resonates with positive vigour in 10, 20, 50 years from now.
I mean long after Iraq, Afghanistan, climate change argy-bargy and the internet as we presently know it.
Good luck to these men is all I say! It's going to be a tough gig, even if its also lucrative for their electorates notwithstanding.
It's the day after Election Day 2010 in Australia. We still don't know who is going to lead our nation into the next three years.
To all intents and purposes, it's being called a "hung parliament". This means that the few men - who claim to be independent of the major parties - are suddenly the King/Queen Makers rather than ineffectual voices amidst a majority rule government: perhaps the most powerful men in Australia.
The deals these men strike with the minority government by the end of this coming week will determine not only the Government of Australia but also the Prime Minister. It's highly possible, we'll be back at the polls to vote again within 18 months to two years - perhaps even less.
I took such little interest in both of the major options this time around. I barely followed both campaigns and when I did try to drum up some interest, it was almost immediately crushed by the boring platitudes and the quibbling.
The Australian Labor Party actually didn't do that badly this past three years all in all. Australia survived the first onslaught of the Global Financial Crisis and kept unemployment and interest rates manageable. The economy stumbled along with vast amounts of the massive surplus stockpiled by the excessively thrifty Howard Government spent by the Labor Rudd Government on infrastructure. This kept our economy ticking along pretty steadily and it was probably the most effective thing we could have done given the financial and economic debacles happening in Europe and the USA.
Sure! Labor had a few hiccups. Note the following:
The staggeringly stupid Broadband Filtering Plan proposed Stephen Conroy.
The very swift and Machiavellian removal of Kevin Rudd from office.
The painful and ineffectual monitoring of the Home Insulation program.
The backing down from the Emissions Trading Scheme.
The Mining Tax fiasco which could have been successful if Rudd hadn't been so blimmin' obstinate about negotiating with the mining companies on the terms.
There's probably tonnes more.
Even so, Labor still dragged Australia through the first three years of massive, world-wide global financial turbulence relatively unscathed. They really could have played that one up a lot more during the electoral campaign.
I guess Julia Gillard had no choice though, except to keep saying "Let's move forward". Because the previous 2.5 years had been the work of the very man she ousted from the leadership, she probably didn't feel comfortable spruiking about the things the party had accomplished under his leadership.
This is the burgeoning problem with Australian politics. It's more and more becoming about the person at the helm, rather than about the party itself and what it offers as real choice to the Australian people. I think this is what has disenfranchised the people of Australia in this election. The informal vote was the highest in history. People couldn't give a flying fig about either major party. Telling? Yes!
The people of Australia clearly demonstrated that this election campaign was so far removed from what we wanted to know, it seems that a fair majority voted passively. The "problem" with a two party preferred voting system is that we know that the preferences attributed by minor parties will flow to either major party depending on the deals struck during the election lead-up. It means that no matter which party you vote for, your vote is pretty much likely to end up with two - three if you count the Greens - choices, Labor or Liberal/National Party. There's no genuine way to cast a protesting vote so I gather some have opted to not cast a vote at all. The sad thing is that trying to wash our hands of our political parties doesn't really solve the problem effectively.
I, myself, deliberately voted for a minor party as my personal protest at the lack of useful choice available to me between the two major parties. However, I also know its a moot point, given that the preferences will flow to Labor or Liberal as the case may be. I still however, consciously objected to the lack of choice available. My vote wasn't informal, but I, like apparently many others, didn't give a flying F@#$% about either Labor or Liberal in this election. Both parties were unremarkable, practically indistinguishable (on the surface) from the other, and appeared to be more about public smear campaigns rather than telling me what they were genuinely and ethically prepared to do with my taxes.
The crapola dished out to us through the publicity campaigns on either side was a disastrous mish-mash of hyperbole, shit-faced tantrum throwing and outright fear-mongering. It bored me. It desanitised me to listening to real commentary. I could have cared less about the fact our PM was female, atheist, and not married to the man she is shacked up with! I could have cared less for the Opposition Leader's budgie-smuggler bathers, his 'christian values', his old-fashioned views about females, his climate scepticism or his polyphasic sleep experiment in the final hours of the election. It all means nothing to this country's future. Maybe.
There are issues out there in the real Australia that are crying out to be heard and its not all terrorists and immigrants in boats either!
For me personally, broadband infrastructure is begging. If Australians don't want their major cities clogged with even more burbs and ghetto's - then just as rail and road in the previous century opened up the nation - so with efficient and effective high speed broadband in this century. Filtering content within this infrastructure is just plain idiocy of the most asinine kind. The defence of free speech is still just as paramount.
And another thing...
If Julia Gillard had been serious about this election - and don't get me wrong, she's done exceptionally well to keep Labor in the running - she'd have told the Australian electorate about the stuff that the Labor team, together, had been able to achieve regardless of who was leader at the time. I may be naive on this score perhaps.
It sucks to have a hung parliament but it may also be exactly what Australia needs to manoeuvre through the very delicate waters of the rest of the GFC. It's possible that there's a bigger financial crash to come what with the Euro teetering on the edge: so what happens now will determine how well we cope with it, if that crisis eventuates. A hung parliament may be just what we need to shake us up and get proactive. It also may be a total disaster, which we brought upon ourselves with our "Couldn't be f@#$%" attitude.
The four or five independents whose doors are now wide open for "dialogue" with either potential PM will have a massive responsibility to demonstrate courageous wisdom along with a very large dose of ethical consideration for this nation as a whole. Short-term thinking cannot suffice. This has to be long-term stuff: stuff that resonates with positive vigour in 10, 20, 50 years from now.
I mean long after Iraq, Afghanistan, climate change argy-bargy and the internet as we presently know it.
Good luck to these men is all I say! It's going to be a tough gig, even if its also lucrative for their electorates notwithstanding.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Awareness of Perception
In 1995 Seth Godin, marketing guru of the new Millenium, created, along with his team, a website called "Squidoo" with the intention of making available a place for the masses to report on what they knew about a particular subject through a "lens". Essentially a lens is a page of information about the subject. The metaphor of a "lens" to describe this information dissemination seems logical. On each page a user shares their knowledge with others in a singularly focused way.
Wikipedia does something similar. The many sharing with the many what it is they know about a subject. Filtering, capturing and distilling information is becoming a crucial skill in this age of the digital information highway.
But my question is - how do we know that what we know is actually what it is?
Much of what I read on the net is filtered through my own personal "lens" of perception. Some pieces of knowledge I take in and absorb, integrating them into a sort of personal encyclopaedia of "facts". I accept these as truths; often unquestioned. Other things I read, I discard and relegate to the informational rubbish tip called "Crap".
Regardless if the original information was correct or not, I take on board - or discard - stuff, which through my perceptions of its accuracy - or inaccuracy - is based in large part, on a part of me which is entirely unaware I'm filtering anything at all! I am pretty much unaware, most of the time, why I accept or discard what comes at me.
What I label as fit for the Crap Tip - others perceive as entirely a Truth to be imparted to the masses! What I label as Truth has the potential to be mocked as sheer lunacy by many.
No one can always have a handle on the true facts about everything, because, the fact is... truth is distorted much of the time, by the personal perceptions of those who impart it.
The only basis for establishing hard fact is through collective acknowledgement that a larger than usual number of perceptions from other individuals concur. Or is it?
Fact is - lots and lots of people tend to concur on stuff which is hardly ever likely to be a genuine hard-core "Truth". Not on the whole anyway! People are quite mad about adopting something as truth; stuff which is unlikely ever to be a genuinely real Truth - if indeed we could spot one of those and agree! For pities sake! It's hard enough defining the meaning of Truth let alone trying to explain this queer human habit of filtering things through perceptions rather than actually knowing things. Perception changes things. All the freaking time! This whole paragraph is written from my own perception about the nature of fact and truth eh?
It makes for a rather frightening future really. Given the huge amount of information now available to us, how will we learn to discern? How will we ever know that is actual and True - trustworthy? What kinds of perceptions am I developing that I am unable to drop or keep when I read or absorb information? How do I know from what I see and hear that which I need to accept as the Truth? What do I need to toss as dross into the Crap Tip? What must I laugh at, what can I action; which truth can I sell on to others?
It's a mind melt-down!
Indefatigably, I will have to continue to master the art of questioning my beliefs and learning how to discern what perceptions exist within me and if they are actually useful for determining a Truth from the information I'm exposed to everyday.
I think perhaps - and this is purely based on my perception - that in the future, it will be those who are aware of how and why they filter the information coming at them, who will be best placed to impart that information to the masses.
Anyone can write a Squidoo page on a topic; very few will be erudite and humble disseminators of true knowledge. Even fewer will be able to perceive the latter.
Wikipedia does something similar. The many sharing with the many what it is they know about a subject. Filtering, capturing and distilling information is becoming a crucial skill in this age of the digital information highway.
But my question is - how do we know that what we know is actually what it is?
Much of what I read on the net is filtered through my own personal "lens" of perception. Some pieces of knowledge I take in and absorb, integrating them into a sort of personal encyclopaedia of "facts". I accept these as truths; often unquestioned. Other things I read, I discard and relegate to the informational rubbish tip called "Crap".
Regardless if the original information was correct or not, I take on board - or discard - stuff, which through my perceptions of its accuracy - or inaccuracy - is based in large part, on a part of me which is entirely unaware I'm filtering anything at all! I am pretty much unaware, most of the time, why I accept or discard what comes at me.
What I label as fit for the Crap Tip - others perceive as entirely a Truth to be imparted to the masses! What I label as Truth has the potential to be mocked as sheer lunacy by many.
No one can always have a handle on the true facts about everything, because, the fact is... truth is distorted much of the time, by the personal perceptions of those who impart it.
The only basis for establishing hard fact is through collective acknowledgement that a larger than usual number of perceptions from other individuals concur. Or is it?
Fact is - lots and lots of people tend to concur on stuff which is hardly ever likely to be a genuine hard-core "Truth". Not on the whole anyway! People are quite mad about adopting something as truth; stuff which is unlikely ever to be a genuinely real Truth - if indeed we could spot one of those and agree! For pities sake! It's hard enough defining the meaning of Truth let alone trying to explain this queer human habit of filtering things through perceptions rather than actually knowing things. Perception changes things. All the freaking time! This whole paragraph is written from my own perception about the nature of fact and truth eh?
It makes for a rather frightening future really. Given the huge amount of information now available to us, how will we learn to discern? How will we ever know that is actual and True - trustworthy? What kinds of perceptions am I developing that I am unable to drop or keep when I read or absorb information? How do I know from what I see and hear that which I need to accept as the Truth? What do I need to toss as dross into the Crap Tip? What must I laugh at, what can I action; which truth can I sell on to others?
It's a mind melt-down!
Indefatigably, I will have to continue to master the art of questioning my beliefs and learning how to discern what perceptions exist within me and if they are actually useful for determining a Truth from the information I'm exposed to everyday.
I think perhaps - and this is purely based on my perception - that in the future, it will be those who are aware of how and why they filter the information coming at them, who will be best placed to impart that information to the masses.
Anyone can write a Squidoo page on a topic; very few will be erudite and humble disseminators of true knowledge. Even fewer will be able to perceive the latter.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The music is gathering
It's taking me ages but I'm slowly getting heaps of old CD's back into iTunes again.
I had all the CD's from the family collection in my old hard-drive. Sadly, that HD crashed and burned along with all the music about two years ago. I've finally gotten around to adding the music to this current HD in my beloved MacBook.
The bonus of being able to share favourite music with dear friends via dropbox has also added lots of depth and variety to my listening selection.
Methinks though I'm due for another back up session :) So...off to find the external hard-drive and save all the recent stuff.
I had all the CD's from the family collection in my old hard-drive. Sadly, that HD crashed and burned along with all the music about two years ago. I've finally gotten around to adding the music to this current HD in my beloved MacBook.
The bonus of being able to share favourite music with dear friends via dropbox has also added lots of depth and variety to my listening selection.
Methinks though I'm due for another back up session :) So...off to find the external hard-drive and save all the recent stuff.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Push me and I leave
For a little while now, I've been playing in the MMOG called "Evony".
Essentially, its a medieval kind of strategy game where you build up cities with resources and troops by the thousands in order to conquer other cities and troops. All this so as to get your name at the top of the leader board.
It's supposedly simple but its not. As will all games there are "rules" and "cheats" which one is advised to know well in advance rather than stumbling blindly in and fumbling about like I tend to do.
I joined a reasonably powerful alliance of other players in the game within a couple of weeks of building up my city. Bad move apparently!
Just one month after joining and putting in time and energy and even some of my rl resources (yes! I admit I spent real money on an online game!), I have left. Bitter? oh yes!
So why did I leave?
Because if there is ONE thing that climbs up my nose more than anything else its to be DEMANDED by others to do things a certain way!
I will not be pushed, coerced, stridently bossed, or nagged - by anyone! As soon as I feel like I'm being pushed around or entrapped like this I do either of two things; I leave or I get sick. I left evony because I could. It was easy to do.
With other stuff in my life currently, it's a tougher decision as much hinges on the outcome. I'm right now, sick with a cough/cold. This tells me that all is not well in my world (apart from viruses traversing the airwaves). I get sick a lot when something in my world is pushing me into corners, entrapping me and forcing its 'authority' onto me. In the real world one can't always push back without a fight and that's the other thing that gets up my nose! Having to fight. I will avoid that at whatever cost including my health if needs be.
Alpha Type I most certainly am not but stubborn yes. Stubborn in a low-key, say-nothing, subversive kind of way. I back off and back out quickly if the threat of being forced to do something against my will, is evident. Bossing me around doesn't make me productive at all.
Honesty would have me say here at this point that I'm proud, wilful and independent with a massive catch. I'm passive-aggressive to the core. I will not initiate a fight but back me into a corner and I will lash out - sometimes violently.
On the other hand - I will walk over burning coals for anyone in "authority" if they praise the stuff I do well and salve my irrepressible ego with kind words and deeds. In any given situation where I'm confronted with having to perform, I do so much better when the stuff I've done right is acknowledged rather than the stuff I'm doing wrong. This also means that I am easily manipulated although as I get older I can at least spot manipulation for what it is. Doesn't matter though; I'd rather be talked up than beaten down.
It might be a matter of the projection of my beliefs onto the words of other people maybe. Not that fussed about it really right now. I just know that if someone tells me I HAVE to do this, this and this, when its a bloody game and not a life and death thing - I get out.
I reckon there are only two things worth fighting against in this world. Cancer and Injustice. That's it. Everything else is just pride, arrogance and stupid competitiveness talking.
Essentially, its a medieval kind of strategy game where you build up cities with resources and troops by the thousands in order to conquer other cities and troops. All this so as to get your name at the top of the leader board.
It's supposedly simple but its not. As will all games there are "rules" and "cheats" which one is advised to know well in advance rather than stumbling blindly in and fumbling about like I tend to do.
I joined a reasonably powerful alliance of other players in the game within a couple of weeks of building up my city. Bad move apparently!
Just one month after joining and putting in time and energy and even some of my rl resources (yes! I admit I spent real money on an online game!), I have left. Bitter? oh yes!
So why did I leave?
Because if there is ONE thing that climbs up my nose more than anything else its to be DEMANDED by others to do things a certain way!
I will not be pushed, coerced, stridently bossed, or nagged - by anyone! As soon as I feel like I'm being pushed around or entrapped like this I do either of two things; I leave or I get sick. I left evony because I could. It was easy to do.
With other stuff in my life currently, it's a tougher decision as much hinges on the outcome. I'm right now, sick with a cough/cold. This tells me that all is not well in my world (apart from viruses traversing the airwaves). I get sick a lot when something in my world is pushing me into corners, entrapping me and forcing its 'authority' onto me. In the real world one can't always push back without a fight and that's the other thing that gets up my nose! Having to fight. I will avoid that at whatever cost including my health if needs be.
Alpha Type I most certainly am not but stubborn yes. Stubborn in a low-key, say-nothing, subversive kind of way. I back off and back out quickly if the threat of being forced to do something against my will, is evident. Bossing me around doesn't make me productive at all.
Honesty would have me say here at this point that I'm proud, wilful and independent with a massive catch. I'm passive-aggressive to the core. I will not initiate a fight but back me into a corner and I will lash out - sometimes violently.
On the other hand - I will walk over burning coals for anyone in "authority" if they praise the stuff I do well and salve my irrepressible ego with kind words and deeds. In any given situation where I'm confronted with having to perform, I do so much better when the stuff I've done right is acknowledged rather than the stuff I'm doing wrong. This also means that I am easily manipulated although as I get older I can at least spot manipulation for what it is. Doesn't matter though; I'd rather be talked up than beaten down.
It might be a matter of the projection of my beliefs onto the words of other people maybe. Not that fussed about it really right now. I just know that if someone tells me I HAVE to do this, this and this, when its a bloody game and not a life and death thing - I get out.
I reckon there are only two things worth fighting against in this world. Cancer and Injustice. That's it. Everything else is just pride, arrogance and stupid competitiveness talking.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Jessica comes home
She's going to be 17 years old this coming Tuesday the 18th of May 2010, but Jessica Watson is capturing Aussie imaginations as she sails Ella's Pink Lady into Sydney Harbour in just under an hour or so.
She's been alone in her little pink "boat" for the past 200 plus days circumnavigating the world. She can't be recognised by any "official" bodies as being the youngest person to sail the world....but no one seems to care! She's so far the youngest person to sail across every longitude and the equator that has ever lived! For all the criticisms and the doubts... Jessica's determination and vision has proved that when a person craves something enough... they usually get it.
Her site is currently "down" at present so I can't link to her quote that is sweeping the television broadcasts and online. I'll do my best to recall it...
I'm approaching 50 and I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up! I've drifted through life absorbing experiences without really claiming a vision of my own to challenge myself to conquer.
I've "promised" myself all sort of idealistic desires...but they amount to mere wannabe dreams.
Jessica humbles me because she realised her vision . All the fears, the unknowns, the boring parts, the criticisms, the self-sabotage, the procrastination were, no doubt, there within Jess on the journey leading to today. But, there was something else that mitigated those querulous voices and conquered them so that in her mind her achievement becomes something "any ordinary person" could do.
It's that "something else" within that changes ordinary to special.
I believe its that single-minded determination to achieve what one sees clearly within their minds eye as being completely possible. Not everyone has that gift...very few know how to quell those ambition-killing voices either! It requires a vision so crystal clear and a belief that something is possible regardless of everything.
That's the difference Jess. This is what makes you above all others today ...very very special.
She's been alone in her little pink "boat" for the past 200 plus days circumnavigating the world. She can't be recognised by any "official" bodies as being the youngest person to sail the world....but no one seems to care! She's so far the youngest person to sail across every longitude and the equator that has ever lived! For all the criticisms and the doubts... Jessica's determination and vision has proved that when a person craves something enough... they usually get it.
Her site is currently "down" at present so I can't link to her quote that is sweeping the television broadcasts and online. I'll do my best to recall it...
You don't have to be anyone special to do something big, you just have to really want it.Sorry Jess.... you are wrong! A person who does something as unique, challenging, courageous and as intense as what you've achieved needs to have some very special qualities indeed - regardless of their age.
I'm approaching 50 and I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up! I've drifted through life absorbing experiences without really claiming a vision of my own to challenge myself to conquer.
I've "promised" myself all sort of idealistic desires...but they amount to mere wannabe dreams.
Jessica humbles me because she realised her vision . All the fears, the unknowns, the boring parts, the criticisms, the self-sabotage, the procrastination were, no doubt, there within Jess on the journey leading to today. But, there was something else that mitigated those querulous voices and conquered them so that in her mind her achievement becomes something "any ordinary person" could do.
It's that "something else" within that changes ordinary to special.
I believe its that single-minded determination to achieve what one sees clearly within their minds eye as being completely possible. Not everyone has that gift...very few know how to quell those ambition-killing voices either! It requires a vision so crystal clear and a belief that something is possible regardless of everything.
That's the difference Jess. This is what makes you above all others today ...very very special.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
cry baby
What is it about myself that any kind of argument or confrontation causes me to shed tears?
I have been a cry-baby ever since I was a little girl. What I ask myself though, is "Why is it, that at age 48, I still feel an instinctive urge to shed tears the moment I am being confronted?"
There are a few things I do know about myself.
1) I feel guilty in any kind of conflict or tense situation whether I am or not.
2) I feel like I have let people down more often than I feel I have been clever or useful to them.
3) I feel like I may have done the "wrong" thing in any situation where my integrity or intelligence is being called into question.
4) I always feel like my integrity and/or my intelligence is being called into question.
5) I consistently doubt my intelligence and abilities. Sometimes my integrity too (I have a memory that isn't that pragmatic when it comes to facts or details).
6) I feel too much.
7) I categorically, never want anyone to think badly of me no matter what I do.
Now the big question, in answer to all of these is "Why?" Why should I feel any of the above when it is neither necessary, convenient or apparent I should do so?
My simple guess is this: At some point in my formative years, I intuited that I am not capable. As a result, my inbuilt pride barometer rebels at this core assumption and triggers a violent emotional reaction within me resulting in those embarrassing tears.
There must be some kind of internal revolt switch going off the moment I am in any kind of situation that, I believe, demonstrates my incapability.
My pride says "You are not wrong", whereas my conscience quavers, fusses and fumes that I might be "wrong" perhaps, because the details are blurry, and the facts are not at ready-reckoning distance in my mind. Ergo - I'm "bad" to have let someone down. "I am unreliable, unintelligent, unwise, imperfect". All my wanton flaws are exposed and I rail within, in a maelstrom of emotional factionalism between self-hatred and the primitive rage of an abused pride. And I cry!
This is no easy thing. To change my propensity for weeping when confronted will take an enormous shake-up of my mental landscape. It may well be that the very synapses, that formed during the early development of these core beliefs, will never be entirely eradicated of this pestilence! But accepting it? I am not sure I can at this point.
I DO get angry when I feel my integrity is being called into question! But I very often squelch that anger because if I have to express it - it comes out as an unabated flood rather than clear-eyed, cool-headed and reasoned argument for the defence! I want to be able to argue efficiently for my case but my unequivocal lack of eloquence when full of charged emotions stalls this ability and then some!
The thought-tapes inside my head need erasing and re-recording. Would my ego actually allow this? I am not sure! The Self is a funny thing! It gets rather comfortable with the status-quo. Surreptitiously, ego channels our energies into paths of least resistance. My intuitive and instinctive crying response to conflict situations is a well worn path to a known resolution and result.
Generally speaking, (and this is purely, a theoretical analysis stemming from my own biases about crying women): a crying girl disarms most people. A crying girl is diminutive and "sweet", her vulnerability and fragility exposed through her emotionalism. She's every man's "Perfect Little Daughter" whether he believes it or not, she speaks to the hero in him through her tears. She's in need of protection from a cruel world. Her naivety and demure femaleness are on show through her subjugation to the more powerful party. She is a victim in need of rescuing. She demonstrates a perverse and ironic strength by rallying forth if treated gently, her inferior Self stroked and soothed with kindness rather than harsh judgements on her lack of wit or intelligence. A crying girl is not really a grown woman yet - even if she may look like one! A crying girl makes people feel guilty. A crying girl is powerfully manipulative of others through her genius in the use of emotional blackmail.
This makes me gag at how pathetic it makes me look. Here I am! A weeping girl incapable of standing clear-eyed and strong in the midst of inaccurate (or accurate for that matter) accusations of her part in fault. My head believes none of the insipid trash above, but it seems that somewhere, somehow, I learned to behave like this for at least some of these reasons!
How horrible it is for a girl child to learn such things; how sad for the woman to realise she's learned them!
Will I accept this flaw in my character and nature? No! I shall rail against it until I have determined its source and healed this rift between my emotions and psyche.
Rectifying my propensity for being a cry-baby could take me the rest of my life and it may not stop the flow of my tears in an argument - but then again - it might help me grow up, and that is no small thing either.
I have been a cry-baby ever since I was a little girl. What I ask myself though, is "Why is it, that at age 48, I still feel an instinctive urge to shed tears the moment I am being confronted?"
There are a few things I do know about myself.
1) I feel guilty in any kind of conflict or tense situation whether I am or not.
2) I feel like I have let people down more often than I feel I have been clever or useful to them.
3) I feel like I may have done the "wrong" thing in any situation where my integrity or intelligence is being called into question.
4) I always feel like my integrity and/or my intelligence is being called into question.
5) I consistently doubt my intelligence and abilities. Sometimes my integrity too (I have a memory that isn't that pragmatic when it comes to facts or details).
6) I feel too much.
7) I categorically, never want anyone to think badly of me no matter what I do.
Now the big question, in answer to all of these is "Why?" Why should I feel any of the above when it is neither necessary, convenient or apparent I should do so?
My simple guess is this: At some point in my formative years, I intuited that I am not capable. As a result, my inbuilt pride barometer rebels at this core assumption and triggers a violent emotional reaction within me resulting in those embarrassing tears.
There must be some kind of internal revolt switch going off the moment I am in any kind of situation that, I believe, demonstrates my incapability.
My pride says "You are not wrong", whereas my conscience quavers, fusses and fumes that I might be "wrong" perhaps, because the details are blurry, and the facts are not at ready-reckoning distance in my mind. Ergo - I'm "bad" to have let someone down. "I am unreliable, unintelligent, unwise, imperfect". All my wanton flaws are exposed and I rail within, in a maelstrom of emotional factionalism between self-hatred and the primitive rage of an abused pride. And I cry!
This is no easy thing. To change my propensity for weeping when confronted will take an enormous shake-up of my mental landscape. It may well be that the very synapses, that formed during the early development of these core beliefs, will never be entirely eradicated of this pestilence! But accepting it? I am not sure I can at this point.
I DO get angry when I feel my integrity is being called into question! But I very often squelch that anger because if I have to express it - it comes out as an unabated flood rather than clear-eyed, cool-headed and reasoned argument for the defence! I want to be able to argue efficiently for my case but my unequivocal lack of eloquence when full of charged emotions stalls this ability and then some!
The thought-tapes inside my head need erasing and re-recording. Would my ego actually allow this? I am not sure! The Self is a funny thing! It gets rather comfortable with the status-quo. Surreptitiously, ego channels our energies into paths of least resistance. My intuitive and instinctive crying response to conflict situations is a well worn path to a known resolution and result.
Generally speaking, (and this is purely, a theoretical analysis stemming from my own biases about crying women): a crying girl disarms most people. A crying girl is diminutive and "sweet", her vulnerability and fragility exposed through her emotionalism. She's every man's "Perfect Little Daughter" whether he believes it or not, she speaks to the hero in him through her tears. She's in need of protection from a cruel world. Her naivety and demure femaleness are on show through her subjugation to the more powerful party. She is a victim in need of rescuing. She demonstrates a perverse and ironic strength by rallying forth if treated gently, her inferior Self stroked and soothed with kindness rather than harsh judgements on her lack of wit or intelligence. A crying girl is not really a grown woman yet - even if she may look like one! A crying girl makes people feel guilty. A crying girl is powerfully manipulative of others through her genius in the use of emotional blackmail.
This makes me gag at how pathetic it makes me look. Here I am! A weeping girl incapable of standing clear-eyed and strong in the midst of inaccurate (or accurate for that matter) accusations of her part in fault. My head believes none of the insipid trash above, but it seems that somewhere, somehow, I learned to behave like this for at least some of these reasons!
How horrible it is for a girl child to learn such things; how sad for the woman to realise she's learned them!
Will I accept this flaw in my character and nature? No! I shall rail against it until I have determined its source and healed this rift between my emotions and psyche.
Rectifying my propensity for being a cry-baby could take me the rest of my life and it may not stop the flow of my tears in an argument - but then again - it might help me grow up, and that is no small thing either.
Friday, March 19, 2010
My feet hurt!
Forget achy breaky hearts... let's try achy breaky feet shall we?
Feet that have stood too long.
Feet that have walked too far.
Feet that have been - it seems - forgotten during sedentary jobs.
Feet that get hot and bothered.
Feet that aim for comfortable shoes but which never quite manage that task.
Feet that hurt.
Feet that throb and throb so violently, if it were a noise, it would be the sound of a kettle drum pounding directly into your ears.
Feet that sing - loudly - all by themselves like Brynhildr does in a Wagnerian opera!
Feet that kill, thrusting spears of hot molten core straight up the shin bone and into the knees.
Feet that will allow you to stand but only if you are still enough that they stop throbbing and go completely numb.
Feet that blow up, so that it looks like you have bubbles on the ends of your legs.
My gosh! One finally feels their feet when their feet feel.... everything!
Feet that have stood too long.
Feet that have walked too far.
Feet that have been - it seems - forgotten during sedentary jobs.
Feet that get hot and bothered.
Feet that aim for comfortable shoes but which never quite manage that task.
Feet that hurt.
Feet that throb and throb so violently, if it were a noise, it would be the sound of a kettle drum pounding directly into your ears.
Feet that sing - loudly - all by themselves like Brynhildr does in a Wagnerian opera!
Feet that kill, thrusting spears of hot molten core straight up the shin bone and into the knees.
Feet that will allow you to stand but only if you are still enough that they stop throbbing and go completely numb.
Feet that blow up, so that it looks like you have bubbles on the ends of your legs.
My gosh! One finally feels their feet when their feet feel.... everything!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
writing style
I spent hours writing a speech for my boss at work today. It nearly killed me! A mere 1612 words too! Not much of a drop in the sentences bucket really. I enjoyed the work but I was vaguely stressed about it too. Thing is, writing a piece for someone else to read aloud is extraordinarily difficult.
The considerations to take into account are the prospective speakers language style, their fluency of speech, their personality and their interests. It isn't easy if you don't know someone "that" well, to come up with a clear and concise presentation of thoughts that reflect what they may have inside their heads.
My style of writing is - well let's face it! It's verbose! I'm every bit the "story teller". I can barely write a departmental report to save my life not given as I am to the concept of "dot points"! I like to explain, iterate, construct and delineate all possible angles of interpretation within a text. I write to construct a kind of fluid coherence more akin to that of poetic prose rather than succinct documentary. I use words where none are necessary or required but they go in anyway because it feels like its required; that the fluidity of the writing needs that kind of accoutrement!
This is a problem in my current job! Truly it is! I can't read anything to my colleagues, because to their ears it "sounds fine". However, to those experienced in the way of all things "Government Department", my writing style is is only a smidge short of total crud! The red biro gets a regular workout when my work is presented for "Editorial Comment" to my boss!
It sucks!
Perhaps, I was designed to simply tell stories rather than define the vagaries of volunteerism to the unwilling masses through my style of writing?
If I could write really well, I'd certainly be in demand job-wise. As it stands, I am too wordy; too florid and far too expansive for the kinds of writing required in my industry. It can be very frustrating. I still love doing this work though. I enjoy the process of writing for the most part, even if I have to edit things a dozen times before they're ready to go "live" so to speak. I guess its all good training.
I try very hard not to take it personally now. I figure, I might as well learn how to write a bullet point or two before I leave this mortal coil. It can't harm, surely?
Ah, but I do admit to a shameful desire to be able to write exactly what I please: my style, my words, my thoughts, my syntax: all mingled together into some prosy, rich and delectable word-soup for the edification and entertainment of others. I like having an idiosyncratic style all my own. It feels good to place words next to each other, matching them for the weight of their simpatico sentiment.
I'll be very surprised if my speech-writing skills will pass muster in the next day or so. The hours of labour spent on that thing today is, probably, similar to the amount of expensive film left on the cutting room floor. Someone has to gather it all up and discount the cost of making it and hope that some day, it might prove "valuable" to someone else!
I thank God for the blogging art-form. It's the one of the few spaces I have available, to construct sentences my way - in all my verbose, grandiose, wordy, littérateur way! For that I'm truly grateful.
The considerations to take into account are the prospective speakers language style, their fluency of speech, their personality and their interests. It isn't easy if you don't know someone "that" well, to come up with a clear and concise presentation of thoughts that reflect what they may have inside their heads.
My style of writing is - well let's face it! It's verbose! I'm every bit the "story teller". I can barely write a departmental report to save my life not given as I am to the concept of "dot points"! I like to explain, iterate, construct and delineate all possible angles of interpretation within a text. I write to construct a kind of fluid coherence more akin to that of poetic prose rather than succinct documentary. I use words where none are necessary or required but they go in anyway because it feels like its required; that the fluidity of the writing needs that kind of accoutrement!
This is a problem in my current job! Truly it is! I can't read anything to my colleagues, because to their ears it "sounds fine". However, to those experienced in the way of all things "Government Department", my writing style is is only a smidge short of total crud! The red biro gets a regular workout when my work is presented for "Editorial Comment" to my boss!
It sucks!
Perhaps, I was designed to simply tell stories rather than define the vagaries of volunteerism to the unwilling masses through my style of writing?
If I could write really well, I'd certainly be in demand job-wise. As it stands, I am too wordy; too florid and far too expansive for the kinds of writing required in my industry. It can be very frustrating. I still love doing this work though. I enjoy the process of writing for the most part, even if I have to edit things a dozen times before they're ready to go "live" so to speak. I guess its all good training.
I try very hard not to take it personally now. I figure, I might as well learn how to write a bullet point or two before I leave this mortal coil. It can't harm, surely?
Ah, but I do admit to a shameful desire to be able to write exactly what I please: my style, my words, my thoughts, my syntax: all mingled together into some prosy, rich and delectable word-soup for the edification and entertainment of others. I like having an idiosyncratic style all my own. It feels good to place words next to each other, matching them for the weight of their simpatico sentiment.
I'll be very surprised if my speech-writing skills will pass muster in the next day or so. The hours of labour spent on that thing today is, probably, similar to the amount of expensive film left on the cutting room floor. Someone has to gather it all up and discount the cost of making it and hope that some day, it might prove "valuable" to someone else!
I thank God for the blogging art-form. It's the one of the few spaces I have available, to construct sentences my way - in all my verbose, grandiose, wordy, littérateur way! For that I'm truly grateful.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The safest harbour 2
The Safest Harbour 1
Next morning the man woke stronger and ravenously hungry. He scanned every corner of Millie's hull and upper decks for items he might fashion into fishing hooks, spears and other meat gathering devices.
The gulls aloft, were nonchalant, not realising the man's intentions. His spear, thrust with an expert eye through the breast of a young gull, scattered the rest in shrieking horror.
The man did not have a way of cooking the bird but he stripped it of its feathers and then used the meat as bait for his fishing rod made from line and hooks found in the stern. Fish could be eaten raw - gulls could not. Millie was so proud of him! She admired the way he worked so efficiently. She admired his wisdom and clever thinking. She all but forgot her predicament of being so lost at sea in her fascinated observations of the man and his labours.
The man did indeed feast on raw fish that day. He made faces and threw up over Millie's sides a few times, but in the end he ate and it was better. He sat in Millie's cockpit and pondered what to do. He tested her rudder and was surprised to find it had survived the storm and she could be steered. Somehow, he had to get that old heavy sailcloth up from below onto the deck to work it onto the gear and catch the winds. It would be difficult work. He looked at his hands, bleeding in places from working ropes and hooks, blistered and peeling on the backs from the sun. He was determined to survive and this little boat was going to help him - no matter the cost!
It took nearly two whole days of hard labour - in between running to check his fishing lines and eating raw fish - for the man to get the sailcloth up onto the deck. Finding an old box of line and tackle stashed deep in the hold, he fashioned gear that would take the sail almost half way up Millie's empty mast. By day three, the man was ready to haul the sail aloft but found it so heavy he struggled against it for most of the day. He almost gave in and then an idea came to him to leverage the sail lines around the large spindle in the stern. The spindle had once been used to let trolling line out to sea.
The man spliced and cut line into other line to lengthen it enough to reach the spindle. He fastened the line to the spindle and prayed this approach would work to raise the sail. He bent at the handle, pausing briefly and speaking the first words Millie had heard from his lips "C'mon girl! Don't let me down now!". She clenched her eyes shut and willed the spindle to work with all her might. The handle turned, creaking and squeaking. The line strained and the man held his breath fearing his splices might tear apart. He turned the handle slowly and slow centimetre by centimetre, the sail was hauled up to fill with the westerly breeze. Millie could feel her keel shudder as her rudder started to flap with the promise of speed.
The man locked down the handle on the spindle when he could turn it no longer. The sail was up high enough to fill with breeze and move the little boat across the ocean. A running ocean current gathered pace beneath Millie as if in answer to her impetus. The man raced to the cockpit and grasped the tiller in his blistered, bleeding hands and tacked Millie with the wind. She was moving! Zigging and zagging across the ocean heading for "Somewhere".
For five nights and five days, the man tacked Millie. At night he scanned the horizon for the North star and fixed his sights on it as if it were a lighthouse showing the way. He slept with his arm draped over the tiller during the day and moved Millie towards the star by night. On night number five, Millie saw a real lighthouse. Her little heart fairly leaped out from within her. The man whooped and hollered and danced a merry jig on the deck. He guzzled the precious water he had collected and threw the rest of the rotting gull carcass over the side in celebration!
At the break of dawn on the fifth day, Millie entered the narrow head waters of a beautiful harbour. The waters were calm and deep. Dolphins chattered and giggled beside her as the man steered her towards the town on the other side. As they got closer, Millie could see that this town was so very unlike Brae as to be almost alien. The streets bustled with people and cars. The esplanade that followed the shoreline was peppered with people walking, running, fishing and chatting. There were young lovers on seats kissing in the morning sun and children shrieking as grandfathers dragged fish from the sea with their rods. There were boats lined up in a small marina, gleaming and loved. Millie felt suddenly embarrassed at how shabby she looked but the man, sensing her thoughts, patted her deck and said "You are the most wonderful boat I ever owned", with a catch in his voice that held a reverence and pride. Millie sobbed. She cried out all the fear, trepidation, and grief of the past week into the harbour depths and soon felt so light and airy that she thought she might start to fly.
A patrol of boats came out to greet Millie and the man. When the sailors all heard the man's story, they slapped him on the back and wrapped him in blankets and poured whiskey into panniers for him to drink. News travelled as if on wings back to the people on the shore. Soon, a large crowd gathered at the pier to welcome Millie and the man and cheer their amazing survival against the odds. The man thanked the sea patrol men and made a simple request.
Six weeks later, Millie could hardly believe how her life had changed. The man had requested only one thing in exchange for his story of survival and hope. Millie was now gleaming with new paint, polished decks and equipped with new sails. Her hold had been cleaned and her keel scraped. She was fitted with the latest nautical equipment. Her old spindle was oiled and now spun as lazily and easily as a spinning wheel. She had all new line and her anchor was rust free.
The man? Ah... well he shone too. His hair and beard were trimmed and clean. His hands were blister free and the wounds of his ordeal were healing over to become scars to be borne with pride. He stood tall and even handsome. His eyes sparkled with intelligence, wit and good humour and he longed to be out on the ocean again, fishing - making a living.
Millie found herself being taken out to sea once more. This time as a working boat. Her decks were scrubbed every day. She was given opportunity every day to earn the man and his helpers an income. Together they became a team. Nothing fancy. Just a solid working team. She was owned by someone who cared about her - loved her even. Millie's heart swelled with such happiness and joy that she practically near glowed; for Millie had found the secret to a Good life: she'd found the safest harbour of all. Companionship.
End
Next morning the man woke stronger and ravenously hungry. He scanned every corner of Millie's hull and upper decks for items he might fashion into fishing hooks, spears and other meat gathering devices.
The gulls aloft, were nonchalant, not realising the man's intentions. His spear, thrust with an expert eye through the breast of a young gull, scattered the rest in shrieking horror.
The man did not have a way of cooking the bird but he stripped it of its feathers and then used the meat as bait for his fishing rod made from line and hooks found in the stern. Fish could be eaten raw - gulls could not. Millie was so proud of him! She admired the way he worked so efficiently. She admired his wisdom and clever thinking. She all but forgot her predicament of being so lost at sea in her fascinated observations of the man and his labours.
The man did indeed feast on raw fish that day. He made faces and threw up over Millie's sides a few times, but in the end he ate and it was better. He sat in Millie's cockpit and pondered what to do. He tested her rudder and was surprised to find it had survived the storm and she could be steered. Somehow, he had to get that old heavy sailcloth up from below onto the deck to work it onto the gear and catch the winds. It would be difficult work. He looked at his hands, bleeding in places from working ropes and hooks, blistered and peeling on the backs from the sun. He was determined to survive and this little boat was going to help him - no matter the cost!
It took nearly two whole days of hard labour - in between running to check his fishing lines and eating raw fish - for the man to get the sailcloth up onto the deck. Finding an old box of line and tackle stashed deep in the hold, he fashioned gear that would take the sail almost half way up Millie's empty mast. By day three, the man was ready to haul the sail aloft but found it so heavy he struggled against it for most of the day. He almost gave in and then an idea came to him to leverage the sail lines around the large spindle in the stern. The spindle had once been used to let trolling line out to sea.
The man spliced and cut line into other line to lengthen it enough to reach the spindle. He fastened the line to the spindle and prayed this approach would work to raise the sail. He bent at the handle, pausing briefly and speaking the first words Millie had heard from his lips "C'mon girl! Don't let me down now!". She clenched her eyes shut and willed the spindle to work with all her might. The handle turned, creaking and squeaking. The line strained and the man held his breath fearing his splices might tear apart. He turned the handle slowly and slow centimetre by centimetre, the sail was hauled up to fill with the westerly breeze. Millie could feel her keel shudder as her rudder started to flap with the promise of speed.
The man locked down the handle on the spindle when he could turn it no longer. The sail was up high enough to fill with breeze and move the little boat across the ocean. A running ocean current gathered pace beneath Millie as if in answer to her impetus. The man raced to the cockpit and grasped the tiller in his blistered, bleeding hands and tacked Millie with the wind. She was moving! Zigging and zagging across the ocean heading for "Somewhere".
For five nights and five days, the man tacked Millie. At night he scanned the horizon for the North star and fixed his sights on it as if it were a lighthouse showing the way. He slept with his arm draped over the tiller during the day and moved Millie towards the star by night. On night number five, Millie saw a real lighthouse. Her little heart fairly leaped out from within her. The man whooped and hollered and danced a merry jig on the deck. He guzzled the precious water he had collected and threw the rest of the rotting gull carcass over the side in celebration!
At the break of dawn on the fifth day, Millie entered the narrow head waters of a beautiful harbour. The waters were calm and deep. Dolphins chattered and giggled beside her as the man steered her towards the town on the other side. As they got closer, Millie could see that this town was so very unlike Brae as to be almost alien. The streets bustled with people and cars. The esplanade that followed the shoreline was peppered with people walking, running, fishing and chatting. There were young lovers on seats kissing in the morning sun and children shrieking as grandfathers dragged fish from the sea with their rods. There were boats lined up in a small marina, gleaming and loved. Millie felt suddenly embarrassed at how shabby she looked but the man, sensing her thoughts, patted her deck and said "You are the most wonderful boat I ever owned", with a catch in his voice that held a reverence and pride. Millie sobbed. She cried out all the fear, trepidation, and grief of the past week into the harbour depths and soon felt so light and airy that she thought she might start to fly.
A patrol of boats came out to greet Millie and the man. When the sailors all heard the man's story, they slapped him on the back and wrapped him in blankets and poured whiskey into panniers for him to drink. News travelled as if on wings back to the people on the shore. Soon, a large crowd gathered at the pier to welcome Millie and the man and cheer their amazing survival against the odds. The man thanked the sea patrol men and made a simple request.
Six weeks later, Millie could hardly believe how her life had changed. The man had requested only one thing in exchange for his story of survival and hope. Millie was now gleaming with new paint, polished decks and equipped with new sails. Her hold had been cleaned and her keel scraped. She was fitted with the latest nautical equipment. Her old spindle was oiled and now spun as lazily and easily as a spinning wheel. She had all new line and her anchor was rust free.
The man? Ah... well he shone too. His hair and beard were trimmed and clean. His hands were blister free and the wounds of his ordeal were healing over to become scars to be borne with pride. He stood tall and even handsome. His eyes sparkled with intelligence, wit and good humour and he longed to be out on the ocean again, fishing - making a living.
Millie found herself being taken out to sea once more. This time as a working boat. Her decks were scrubbed every day. She was given opportunity every day to earn the man and his helpers an income. Together they became a team. Nothing fancy. Just a solid working team. She was owned by someone who cared about her - loved her even. Millie's heart swelled with such happiness and joy that she practically near glowed; for Millie had found the secret to a Good life: she'd found the safest harbour of all. Companionship.
End
Monday, March 15, 2010
Trust: the thing we must do for others but not for things
Something wicked this way comes...
One of those slightly dodgy "current affairs" magazine style shows on commercial television was proclaiming the horrors of new kinds of mobile phone spy technology tonight. Yes! It was indeed a rather scary concept - that there are applications out there which make it really simple to track your every conversation and text message. In the hands of the wrong kinds of people this would cause an enormous amount of stress and inconvenience to anyone! I believe it is actually illegal in Australia, for ordinary citizens to bug other people's phone conversations and read their private texts. Obviously the technology exists to make it easy for the less than ethical to breach trust! Not a good thing.
However, this modern day breach of privacy horror aside - I was more appalled at the final comment from the journalist covering the story
"The simple message is - trust no one!"Hmm!
Coincidentally, the very next story was on purchasing cheap specs and the comment here was
"Go for brands you can trust!"This is insidious and dangerous talk. The juxtaposition of these two themes around "Trust" make it clear that this television program's producers believe that all individuals are to be suspected of all manner of malicious dealings whereas companies, who produce "Stuff", are the ones to "trust" implicitly, for their "ethical marketing and customer service".
Hmm! x 2
I'm not happy about it. When human beings are taught that it is better to trust a brand name than it is to trust their neighbours - something very wicked and disastrous happens to a civilisation. It breaks down from the ground up. Suspicion, secrecy, deception and corruption ensue. Friends are no longer friends; families can no longer believe they are safe within the confines of home and hearth; business colleagues are left bereft of congenial support in the workplace.
Above all, it is ones privacy that suffers! Yes! The disastrous irony of this kind of thinking results in people actually losing the very thing they feared losing in the first place. Once trust is no longer a valid reason to conduct a relationship - of the kind between individuals - suspicion leads people to paranoia and the desire to spy on others anyway.
The television may be soliciting advertising revenue through this ploy too and that is indeed a massive breach of trust. It is one thing to inform - it is quite another to consciously manipulate. One does need to view these kinds of piece-meal, sound byte styled affairs shows with a certain level of scepticism it seems! Ergo - it is in this instance that the gift of trust must be most carefully practised. It is heinous to assume that individuals must always be assumed untrustworthy before the most widely marketed brand name! At least that is my personal opinion on the matter.
Trust is a currency. It is the payment given for relationship. To breach it is grievously wrong.
So... I ask this: protect the people around you. Trust others first before believing they are out to destroy or maim you. Give trust and trust returns. Do not let anyone (least of all - television shows) tell you that "no one" can be trusted for many, many people can be trusted and are above reproach. Build the foundations of trust between people with a smile and an aware but open heart
and lastly....
.... always remember that when it comes to buying "Stuff"....
Caveat emptor
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The safest harbour
Millie sighed and bobbed unhappily in the briny sea next to the broken down jetty near the miserable little sea-side village of Brae. Her mast paint peeled in the blazing sun, her decks dull and spattered with the ruminations of seagulls, she eyed the forlorn little street that fronted the harbour above. No one came by to gaze out over the sea. No one stopped to cast a rod for a lazy afternoon of fishing. No children shrieked or shrilled with the joys of discovery from ocean depths. There were hardly any sounds in the street. It was as if it were a ghost-town with nary a ghost.
Millie recalled days long since gone when the town was a busy little port, with sweet girls in pretty frocks watching from the street above, for their fisher boyfriends to come in from a long days haul. She remembered how she felt after a long day out in the wild ocean, near-to-bursting with fish in her hull, coming in to moor at her little place by the jetty. The feeling was one of relief and utter exhaustion from a job well done.
The harbour was now almost abandoned except for the occasional visitor who scurried more than paused to take inventory of boats, and nets and then spin the wheels on their terribly posh cars out of the village of Brae back to the big city to frown and mutter at the costs of keeping "such rubbish" such as the likes of Millie. She felt so utterly abandoned.
The ropes that tied her to the moorings on the jetty were rotting away. She could feel the swell of the ocean deep below her keel, telling her that something was changing. She was frightened and did not know what lay ahead.
One morning the sky broke dawn in shades of red and gold so vivid that Millie woke from her sleep with a terrible trembly, burly feeling deep in her hold. Something was not going to be right today - she could feel it. The sky changed colour, everything became tinged in a kind of unearthly green. Even the clouds had bright green linings to them that had to be seen to be believed. The day went very quiet. Birds stopped ruminating from aloft. The town above ceased even the few noises it did have during a normal day. Things seemed deathly quiet. The horizon switched to a menacing blackness, with angry marching clouds galloping and fuming their way across open seas towards the village of Brae.
The Storm hit sometime around noon. Violent winds battered the few miserable boats in the little harbour so that some released their moorings and were cast adrift to an angry sea. Millie squeezed her eyes shut to brave out the vicious attack of wind, sea salt, sand and flashing lightening. She tried not to think of her mast standing still tall and bare to the open sky but sail-less being struck by one of those brilliant frightening bolts of power. Her own moorings suddenly released her to the mercy of the raging sea. The little harbour became a death trap for many of these unmanned boats. Some were dashed against the rocks and were scuppered. Some capsized to become bobbing hulls and nothing more and others again were thrown though the mouth of the harbour to be beached further along the coastline.
Millie however, seemed to be held by some unseen hand and her rudder, flapping wildly as it was, kept her from the rocks or from capsizing. She was however, cast out from the harbour into the wide and violent ocean to ride impossible waves for an interminable night of pain and gut-wrenching fear.
Silence reined once more and Millie found herself, alone and exhausted, but mercifully intact, on a wide-blue ocean. The gulls soon shattered the surreal calm with shrieks of joy at a place to rest on their journey to land.
"Where am I?" she asked the gulls aloft.
"Half way!" said most of the gulls inscrutably.
Millie cried. Half way to anywhere was nowhere to "Somewhere" and right now, as much as she was just a little bit glad to be free of her entrapment in that sullen little harbour, she was quite terrified at what lay ahead. Drifting in a quartering sea, she believed she was quite possibly, going to be alone for a very long time until she sank beneath the waves to the bottom of the ocean. Closing her eyes to sleep off her exhaustion and belay her fears, she let herself drift, not knowing how or where the whispering winds would take her.
She awoke with a start as she felt a feeble tug at the Jacob's Ladder on her Port side. She'd not realised that the ladder had become loosened in the storm and had been dragging through the ocean along her side for how long she didn't know. But here it was again... a gentle insistent tug. She felt it grow a little stronger and more determined.
A man's arm hooked itself into the sodden rope rung of the ladder and he clung there, a mixture of shock and relief plastered against his storm ravished face. The planking on which he had lay from a vessel torn apart by the storm was sinking beneath him as he hauled himself with the last of his strength, slowly, up the ladder to her deck. There he lay on his back for a long time dazed and confounded.
Millie's heart ached for the man. She could not tell if he was alive or dead. She wanted very much for him to be alive! Someone to steer her, guide her through this blue desert would be a godsend of unspeakable miracles! She willed the man to be alive!
Many hours... perhaps days... later he awoke slowly, his mouth parched and his joints aching. He stretched himself slowly, checking if he was still indeed alive and not a ghost on a miserable little boat in the middle of an enormous sea. He sat up, holding his head in his hands as it throbbed wildly in pain. Dehydration! He must find water and soon. Knowing boats as he did, he eased his way to the old cockpit. He searched but could not find a waterbottle. He went below deck, staggering and slightly unsteady on his feet, his eyes affected by too much salt and sun. Below he found old tin cans in the galley and a knife - a miracle really. He also found sail cloth and with the determination of survival hauled these treasures above as best he could. The sail cloth was heavy and he cut a section away from it to take to make a way of turning sea-water into potable water he could drink. A simple case of using the sun and the wonders of evaporation. Using utensils from the galley he made a filter with the piece of sail cloth, scraping away some of its greasy coating with the knife to bare the pure linen underneath. Hauling up seawater he set it into the contraption and very soon, the salt crystals formed on the topside of the cloth while underneath the water dripped into a panniken clear and drinkable. He spent most of the day sipping at and in turn hauling water this way. Each sip he seemed to grow stronger and more alert.
Finally he slept above deck near his water making device, the sleep of a man in determined recovery. Millie was so proud of him. Her little heart entranced at his strength of will and his determination to survive no matter the odds. She vowed to be like him and mustered her courage to face whatever lay ahead.
.... tbc (though given my track record on finishing stories like this? we shall see)
Millie recalled days long since gone when the town was a busy little port, with sweet girls in pretty frocks watching from the street above, for their fisher boyfriends to come in from a long days haul. She remembered how she felt after a long day out in the wild ocean, near-to-bursting with fish in her hull, coming in to moor at her little place by the jetty. The feeling was one of relief and utter exhaustion from a job well done.
The harbour was now almost abandoned except for the occasional visitor who scurried more than paused to take inventory of boats, and nets and then spin the wheels on their terribly posh cars out of the village of Brae back to the big city to frown and mutter at the costs of keeping "such rubbish" such as the likes of Millie. She felt so utterly abandoned.
The ropes that tied her to the moorings on the jetty were rotting away. She could feel the swell of the ocean deep below her keel, telling her that something was changing. She was frightened and did not know what lay ahead.
One morning the sky broke dawn in shades of red and gold so vivid that Millie woke from her sleep with a terrible trembly, burly feeling deep in her hold. Something was not going to be right today - she could feel it. The sky changed colour, everything became tinged in a kind of unearthly green. Even the clouds had bright green linings to them that had to be seen to be believed. The day went very quiet. Birds stopped ruminating from aloft. The town above ceased even the few noises it did have during a normal day. Things seemed deathly quiet. The horizon switched to a menacing blackness, with angry marching clouds galloping and fuming their way across open seas towards the village of Brae.
The Storm hit sometime around noon. Violent winds battered the few miserable boats in the little harbour so that some released their moorings and were cast adrift to an angry sea. Millie squeezed her eyes shut to brave out the vicious attack of wind, sea salt, sand and flashing lightening. She tried not to think of her mast standing still tall and bare to the open sky but sail-less being struck by one of those brilliant frightening bolts of power. Her own moorings suddenly released her to the mercy of the raging sea. The little harbour became a death trap for many of these unmanned boats. Some were dashed against the rocks and were scuppered. Some capsized to become bobbing hulls and nothing more and others again were thrown though the mouth of the harbour to be beached further along the coastline.
Millie however, seemed to be held by some unseen hand and her rudder, flapping wildly as it was, kept her from the rocks or from capsizing. She was however, cast out from the harbour into the wide and violent ocean to ride impossible waves for an interminable night of pain and gut-wrenching fear.
Silence reined once more and Millie found herself, alone and exhausted, but mercifully intact, on a wide-blue ocean. The gulls soon shattered the surreal calm with shrieks of joy at a place to rest on their journey to land.
"Where am I?" she asked the gulls aloft.
"Half way!" said most of the gulls inscrutably.
Millie cried. Half way to anywhere was nowhere to "Somewhere" and right now, as much as she was just a little bit glad to be free of her entrapment in that sullen little harbour, she was quite terrified at what lay ahead. Drifting in a quartering sea, she believed she was quite possibly, going to be alone for a very long time until she sank beneath the waves to the bottom of the ocean. Closing her eyes to sleep off her exhaustion and belay her fears, she let herself drift, not knowing how or where the whispering winds would take her.
She awoke with a start as she felt a feeble tug at the Jacob's Ladder on her Port side. She'd not realised that the ladder had become loosened in the storm and had been dragging through the ocean along her side for how long she didn't know. But here it was again... a gentle insistent tug. She felt it grow a little stronger and more determined.
A man's arm hooked itself into the sodden rope rung of the ladder and he clung there, a mixture of shock and relief plastered against his storm ravished face. The planking on which he had lay from a vessel torn apart by the storm was sinking beneath him as he hauled himself with the last of his strength, slowly, up the ladder to her deck. There he lay on his back for a long time dazed and confounded.
Millie's heart ached for the man. She could not tell if he was alive or dead. She wanted very much for him to be alive! Someone to steer her, guide her through this blue desert would be a godsend of unspeakable miracles! She willed the man to be alive!
Many hours... perhaps days... later he awoke slowly, his mouth parched and his joints aching. He stretched himself slowly, checking if he was still indeed alive and not a ghost on a miserable little boat in the middle of an enormous sea. He sat up, holding his head in his hands as it throbbed wildly in pain. Dehydration! He must find water and soon. Knowing boats as he did, he eased his way to the old cockpit. He searched but could not find a waterbottle. He went below deck, staggering and slightly unsteady on his feet, his eyes affected by too much salt and sun. Below he found old tin cans in the galley and a knife - a miracle really. He also found sail cloth and with the determination of survival hauled these treasures above as best he could. The sail cloth was heavy and he cut a section away from it to take to make a way of turning sea-water into potable water he could drink. A simple case of using the sun and the wonders of evaporation. Using utensils from the galley he made a filter with the piece of sail cloth, scraping away some of its greasy coating with the knife to bare the pure linen underneath. Hauling up seawater he set it into the contraption and very soon, the salt crystals formed on the topside of the cloth while underneath the water dripped into a panniken clear and drinkable. He spent most of the day sipping at and in turn hauling water this way. Each sip he seemed to grow stronger and more alert.
Finally he slept above deck near his water making device, the sleep of a man in determined recovery. Millie was so proud of him. Her little heart entranced at his strength of will and his determination to survive no matter the odds. She vowed to be like him and mustered her courage to face whatever lay ahead.
.... tbc (though given my track record on finishing stories like this? we shall see)
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Hugo and the irrelevance of logic in Christ
Hugo Schwyzer is a pretty broad-minded, leftist, feminist bloke! He writes insightful discourses in all manner of subjects about gender and sexuality as well as history and other esoteric things.
He's also a professed christian.
It makes no sense of course. There's that lovely Rennaisance assumption alive and well to this day, that says that rational and intelligent persons who "believe in science" cannot in all seriousness also believe in Christ. For me, science is as much an aspect of God's bountiful blessings to be a non issue. I have absolutely no problem with science and so on. For those who believe in Science, the issue of Faith is very difficult to grasp. Faith as a thing isn't easy to pin down in objective laboratory tests. It's not logical.
As I always say... You cannot know something until you're inside of it. You cannot understand the experience a thing until you're actually experiencing it.
Faith.
You cannot know Faith until you are living inside Faith.
There's no greater conundrum than to sit outside Faith and simply not "get it". It's like trying to make sense of a painting by Dali or a optical illusion by Escher. Even Rorschach tests make more sense than having Faith in Christ.
Hugo is correct when he implies that logic is irrelevant to Faith. Faith is something slightly to the left of actual belief too. One can believe many erroneous things as well as good and logical things. I believe in gravity and I also believe that man has walked on the moon! Some don't and that's still a belief which may - or may not - be wrong.
Faith however isn't "just" a belief - it's also a medicine, a crutch, a prop, a hope, a plea, an intuiting, a knowing, an emotional construct beyond mere beliefs in illogical things. It's watery, amorphous, esoteric, utterly illogical and asinine. Faith is a living, breathing entity in the metaphysical hearts of some people who cannot imagine life without it there.
The HOW of living out ones Faith is however, dependent on reason and logic in many instances. Even I have a wariness and scepticism of miraculous signs. One must weigh all things from the perspective of an altruistic love which can be difficult enough even with Faith. We're such a selfish kind of creature. Certainly, there are some scientific facts that one believes on the tangible, touchable, sniff-able evidence and to bend these can create a storm of protest in the mind too.
The WHY of living in Faith is a different matter entirely and its mostly subjective and emotional. It's so deeply set in the parts of a human being untouchable by the logic of science that unless you somehow tap into that untouchable "knowing" - you will never know.
This reminds me of the scenes in the recent movie Avatar where the Na'vi entwine nerve endings from themselves into the literal fabric of their environment. For many Christians, myself (and it seems, Hugo) included, this entwining into the Godhead gives us a perspective that's just not possible to convey to those who do not have the same entwined symbiosis to it.
To nearly misquote a line from Jethro Tull's "Thick as a Brick" ....
Without Faith:
Which I think is entirely true and quite logical really. There are many who profess to be Christians who's version of god is utterly reprehensible and I will have no part of their interpretation of the Christian Gospel at all! I cannot however, question their Faith - for I do not have the power to pass judgment on it when my sort of Faith is so exclusively my own
So, given that Faith is so hard to convey, the miracle in all of this is that lives continue to change - for a resounding "Better" to those who experience it - through the impact of Christ. It's as if there's some kind of magnetic attraction between the illogical dimension and various and sporadic persons. Once enmeshed inside that dimension, Faith eventually may (or may not) take root and flourish in the spiritual centre of the person. For me the embodiment of that dimension is Christ.
I may perhaps gain everything but I will lose nothing in owning this "foolishness".
He's also a professed christian.
It makes no sense of course. There's that lovely Rennaisance assumption alive and well to this day, that says that rational and intelligent persons who "believe in science" cannot in all seriousness also believe in Christ. For me, science is as much an aspect of God's bountiful blessings to be a non issue. I have absolutely no problem with science and so on. For those who believe in Science, the issue of Faith is very difficult to grasp. Faith as a thing isn't easy to pin down in objective laboratory tests. It's not logical.
As I always say... You cannot know something until you're inside of it. You cannot understand the experience a thing until you're actually experiencing it.
Faith.
You cannot know Faith until you are living inside Faith.
There's no greater conundrum than to sit outside Faith and simply not "get it". It's like trying to make sense of a painting by Dali or a optical illusion by Escher. Even Rorschach tests make more sense than having Faith in Christ.
Hugo is correct when he implies that logic is irrelevant to Faith. Faith is something slightly to the left of actual belief too. One can believe many erroneous things as well as good and logical things. I believe in gravity and I also believe that man has walked on the moon! Some don't and that's still a belief which may - or may not - be wrong.
Faith however isn't "just" a belief - it's also a medicine, a crutch, a prop, a hope, a plea, an intuiting, a knowing, an emotional construct beyond mere beliefs in illogical things. It's watery, amorphous, esoteric, utterly illogical and asinine. Faith is a living, breathing entity in the metaphysical hearts of some people who cannot imagine life without it there.
The HOW of living out ones Faith is however, dependent on reason and logic in many instances. Even I have a wariness and scepticism of miraculous signs. One must weigh all things from the perspective of an altruistic love which can be difficult enough even with Faith. We're such a selfish kind of creature. Certainly, there are some scientific facts that one believes on the tangible, touchable, sniff-able evidence and to bend these can create a storm of protest in the mind too.
The WHY of living in Faith is a different matter entirely and its mostly subjective and emotional. It's so deeply set in the parts of a human being untouchable by the logic of science that unless you somehow tap into that untouchable "knowing" - you will never know.
This reminds me of the scenes in the recent movie Avatar where the Na'vi entwine nerve endings from themselves into the literal fabric of their environment. For many Christians, myself (and it seems, Hugo) included, this entwining into the Godhead gives us a perspective that's just not possible to convey to those who do not have the same entwined symbiosis to it.
To nearly misquote a line from Jethro Tull's "Thick as a Brick" ....
Without Faith:
god is an overwhelming responsibility
Which I think is entirely true and quite logical really. There are many who profess to be Christians who's version of god is utterly reprehensible and I will have no part of their interpretation of the Christian Gospel at all! I cannot however, question their Faith - for I do not have the power to pass judgment on it when my sort of Faith is so exclusively my own
So, given that Faith is so hard to convey, the miracle in all of this is that lives continue to change - for a resounding "Better" to those who experience it - through the impact of Christ. It's as if there's some kind of magnetic attraction between the illogical dimension and various and sporadic persons. Once enmeshed inside that dimension, Faith eventually may (or may not) take root and flourish in the spiritual centre of the person. For me the embodiment of that dimension is Christ.
I may perhaps gain everything but I will lose nothing in owning this "foolishness".
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Indian cooking: a symphony for the nose
A new Indian restaurant is opening today just a few doors down from my workplace. The smells emanating from their kitchen today, drove my salivary glands giddy with desire and my belly with hunger.
I've thankfully, refrained for now from indulging in the massive range of delicacies on offer. I'm sure this won't last long! Goodness knows how many kilojoules of wonderment await in this den of culinary vice!
Indian food!
There is truly a symphony of gastric song in just the words alone. Nuanced spices structuring basic ingredients to culinary heights of gastronomic beauty; basic ingredients, such as rice, chicken, vegetables and fish steaming with fragrant possibilities for the palate!
The heart - and the belly - crave the promise of such a siren's song to the nose!
There is no other international cuisine quite like the scents and flavours of Indian food. It is a law unto itself. Not all Indian food is spicy hot of course. Even so, the piquant blending of selected spices, herbs and condiments adds notes to food just as music adds notes to sound, morphing them into pleasantries for the senses and the soul.
I can't wait to sample the food at our new Indian Restaurant! If the smells coming from there today are anything to go by - the food promises to be utterly divine. Today however, I shall have to be a gastronomic Odysseus and tie myself to a dietary mast in order to listen with my nose but make my body wait for this wicked but potentially satisfying grace.
Such sweetly fragrant agony!
I've thankfully, refrained for now from indulging in the massive range of delicacies on offer. I'm sure this won't last long! Goodness knows how many kilojoules of wonderment await in this den of culinary vice!
Indian food!
There is truly a symphony of gastric song in just the words alone. Nuanced spices structuring basic ingredients to culinary heights of gastronomic beauty; basic ingredients, such as rice, chicken, vegetables and fish steaming with fragrant possibilities for the palate!
The heart - and the belly - crave the promise of such a siren's song to the nose!
There is no other international cuisine quite like the scents and flavours of Indian food. It is a law unto itself. Not all Indian food is spicy hot of course. Even so, the piquant blending of selected spices, herbs and condiments adds notes to food just as music adds notes to sound, morphing them into pleasantries for the senses and the soul.
I can't wait to sample the food at our new Indian Restaurant! If the smells coming from there today are anything to go by - the food promises to be utterly divine. Today however, I shall have to be a gastronomic Odysseus and tie myself to a dietary mast in order to listen with my nose but make my body wait for this wicked but potentially satisfying grace.
Such sweetly fragrant agony!
Saturday, February 27, 2010
from encyclopedia's to Google: thoughts on portals for information collection.
Once upon a time, information was power. Those who controlled the information had the power to make, break, change and iterate their particular polemic. The rest of us accepted that those who "knew", knew what was in our best interests. Those who controlled information flow could control not only its dissemination but also its generation. What was written, kept hidden, made public, exposed, created, imparted and expressed was in proportion to the benevolence or malevolence of the arbitrators of that information.
This state of affairs has changed markedly in the past 40 years or so - my lifetime so far. Information - good information - is probably as valuable now as it ever was but with one significant difference - it's now accessible by much greater proportion of the population. This means that information - even good enough information - is cheap, ubiquitous, ever-changing, endless, and it has the life-span of nano-seconds compared to the information available even as late as 30 or 40 years ago.
When I was a little girl, growing up on a farm kilometres from the closest town, with little access to television and little understanding of the pompous and esoteric murmurings of public radio - my only source of reliable information at the time was my father's beloved set of Encyclopedia Brittanica. This was the place my father sent me when I wanted to know the meaning of something, the history of some event or the workings of the human body. I was forced to learn how to use its indexing system - complicated enough as it was for an 9 year old - I would spend hours pouring over the 24 gargantuan tomes in their maroon bindings searching and cross-referencing to learn whatever I could about what it was itching in my brain. Most of the time, I could barely comprehend the language, but learn it I did for there was no other way for me to access the information I wanted. Effectively, I was controlled to know whatever it was that EB deemed it appropriate for me, my father and others blessed enough to own a set of Encyclopedia's!
Now, I Google! It's easy, it's fun, I can sift and sort information quickly, making pretty reasonable judgments as to its accuracy and intent - I hope! In this day and age, Information is not deemed "of quality" until that fact has been intuited by the consumer of that information. This makes the information available today quite a bit more subjective than it was many years ago I think and its perceived "quality" may be often questionable. It's also a probably truth that what EB imparted as information back in the first half of the 20th Century was just as "questionable" to the biases of those in control of its dissemination - we may never really know.
The web has distinguished itself as an inexhaustible vault of Information. Qualitative and quantitative information may be harder to find but its there. I already see a kind of frenzy happening around me - particularly in my work in community development - in reining, boxing, corralling, sorting and sifting all this information in so that it becomes "easier to handle".
Government departments are attempting to make online "portals" to collect vast amounts of information into isolated repositories for different sections of the population - much like a kind of limited encyclopedia of knowledge about one subject at a time for one kind of group at a time. It's all about control but in the guise of making this information easier for people to find. A part of me fears this kind of approach. To me it smacks of an inability to both accept the impossibility of being able to control information and the sheer effrontery to assume people want that information controlled in the first place.
There's no question that the web can make hunting down scraps of information a bit like sifting for needles in haystacks but I'd rather people were given the options for how to make the search than having others dictate to certain groups via "portals" or "info exchanges" just what information they "need".
People need to be skilled up and educated in how to search the web for what they want and need to know just like I was trained to hunt and understand the information I wanted from those precious books as a child. Search engines need to be impartial and not geared to show the information of the highest bidders. We simply cannot easily decide as collective groups what is qualitative information anymore and the quantitative aspect of information control is most likely impossible anyway. The skills for assessing and utilising quality information from across the web must taught - to individuals, so that they can decide for themselves what is useful to their needs.
We value freedom of speech. Let's now also value and encourage the freedom of people to find and use good information for themselves rather than corralling it for them in the mistaken assumption that its control and manipulation is required.
This state of affairs has changed markedly in the past 40 years or so - my lifetime so far. Information - good information - is probably as valuable now as it ever was but with one significant difference - it's now accessible by much greater proportion of the population. This means that information - even good enough information - is cheap, ubiquitous, ever-changing, endless, and it has the life-span of nano-seconds compared to the information available even as late as 30 or 40 years ago.
When I was a little girl, growing up on a farm kilometres from the closest town, with little access to television and little understanding of the pompous and esoteric murmurings of public radio - my only source of reliable information at the time was my father's beloved set of Encyclopedia Brittanica. This was the place my father sent me when I wanted to know the meaning of something, the history of some event or the workings of the human body. I was forced to learn how to use its indexing system - complicated enough as it was for an 9 year old - I would spend hours pouring over the 24 gargantuan tomes in their maroon bindings searching and cross-referencing to learn whatever I could about what it was itching in my brain. Most of the time, I could barely comprehend the language, but learn it I did for there was no other way for me to access the information I wanted. Effectively, I was controlled to know whatever it was that EB deemed it appropriate for me, my father and others blessed enough to own a set of Encyclopedia's!
Now, I Google! It's easy, it's fun, I can sift and sort information quickly, making pretty reasonable judgments as to its accuracy and intent - I hope! In this day and age, Information is not deemed "of quality" until that fact has been intuited by the consumer of that information. This makes the information available today quite a bit more subjective than it was many years ago I think and its perceived "quality" may be often questionable. It's also a probably truth that what EB imparted as information back in the first half of the 20th Century was just as "questionable" to the biases of those in control of its dissemination - we may never really know.
The web has distinguished itself as an inexhaustible vault of Information. Qualitative and quantitative information may be harder to find but its there. I already see a kind of frenzy happening around me - particularly in my work in community development - in reining, boxing, corralling, sorting and sifting all this information in so that it becomes "easier to handle".
Government departments are attempting to make online "portals" to collect vast amounts of information into isolated repositories for different sections of the population - much like a kind of limited encyclopedia of knowledge about one subject at a time for one kind of group at a time. It's all about control but in the guise of making this information easier for people to find. A part of me fears this kind of approach. To me it smacks of an inability to both accept the impossibility of being able to control information and the sheer effrontery to assume people want that information controlled in the first place.
There's no question that the web can make hunting down scraps of information a bit like sifting for needles in haystacks but I'd rather people were given the options for how to make the search than having others dictate to certain groups via "portals" or "info exchanges" just what information they "need".
People need to be skilled up and educated in how to search the web for what they want and need to know just like I was trained to hunt and understand the information I wanted from those precious books as a child. Search engines need to be impartial and not geared to show the information of the highest bidders. We simply cannot easily decide as collective groups what is qualitative information anymore and the quantitative aspect of information control is most likely impossible anyway. The skills for assessing and utilising quality information from across the web must taught - to individuals, so that they can decide for themselves what is useful to their needs.
We value freedom of speech. Let's now also value and encourage the freedom of people to find and use good information for themselves rather than corralling it for them in the mistaken assumption that its control and manipulation is required.
Friday, February 26, 2010
the email test blog
I'm actually writing this from within my email account. Bizarre but true! If it actually works it may yet revolutionise the way I blog! For the past four years, I've conscientiously gone directly inside blogger.com in order to record my impressions, thoughts and creative ideas. I'm always up for a trick if it makes life easier and in the past year, writing in blogger has succumbed to a malady mainly called "Can't be bothered!".
I still yearn for my blog. I still want to write in it and express myself within its hallowed virtual halls. It's just been too tedious a process to open a blank page and begin writing. Yet, from my email account, where writing is almost as natural as breathing for me, I might perhaps find the wherewithal again to bare my soul and aMuse my "Genius" in the cosy glow of blogger's footlights.
Let's test this puppy out and see if the possibilities are there!
I still yearn for my blog. I still want to write in it and express myself within its hallowed virtual halls. It's just been too tedious a process to open a blank page and begin writing. Yet, from my email account, where writing is almost as natural as breathing for me, I might perhaps find the wherewithal again to bare my soul and aMuse my "Genius" in the cosy glow of blogger's footlights.
Let's test this puppy out and see if the possibilities are there!
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