‘It was just before that, in late November, that Jim caught one day, in a casual sweep of his glasss over a marshy bank, a creature that he recogni [s] ed and then didn’t: the beak was too long an down-curved, the body too large for any of the various sandpipers. He stared and didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t have been more puzzled, more astonished, if he’d found a unicorn.
‘Next day, on the offchance, he took Miss Harcourt to the place and they waited, silent for the most part, and talking about nothing much when they did talk, while Jim covered the area with his glasses.
‘Miss Harcourt rather sprawled, with her boots at the end of outstretched legs and her great skirt rumpled, not at all minding the dust. Her bonnet was always lopsided and she didn’t mind that either. She had her own rules and kept them but she didn’t care for other people’s. Jim’s father thought her mad. ‘That old girl you hang about with,’ he sneered ‘she’s a bit of a hatter.’ But she spoke like a lady, she didn’t hit the bottle and had, except for her passion for photography and the equipment she lugged about, no visible eccentricities. People found her, as a subject for gossip, unmanageable, unrewarding, and she oughtn’t to have been; they resented it. So his father and some others called her mad but could not furnish evidence.
‘Jim chewed a match, working it round and round his jaw.
‘At last it was there. It had stepped right out of cover into a break between reeds. Raising a finger to warn her, he passed the field glasses.
‘;By that clump of reeds,’ he whispered [AT TEN O’CLOCK].’ ‘1
Time is not a traveller Tenterfield saddle-er but alas from February 26, 1606 not @ Cape York in the terms of your normal healthy primary schooler crude Anne-Rand-Alan-Greenspan-Nathaniel-Branden barely-awake Philosophic-objectivist if not utterly fake consciousness but somewhere down the west coast of Cape York Peninsula until 1015 Hours FER Westpac East-antarctica longitudinal trisphere time 17/11/2025 it was thought to be
John
Australia
1as Auss-ie arguments over god con tan weh and many of us catastrophically sit out in the patio defecating and the humidity is, well you all know what phew-midity is about huh we some of us menfolk ponder the most bright dark pink holes known to quantum optics in a vibrant society of grown-up human beans well we don’t actually what are we gynaecologists or ‘pervesn+1′
xn+1 this word, from the economic depression, hardship & widespread poverty 1930s period is not recommended for young Australians’ usage for help call Lifeline 13 11 14 or text 0477 13 11 14 and a stern warning from the garbment (turnout couture dress outfit uniform) you may be arrested and stuck in police cells overnight or for just an hour or two depending how the officers feel at the time perhaps as many as eight times
~ Kevin you are dashed lucky you weren’t thrown into one of those Forensic Psychiatry Facilities to be found in every state capital run by Geoff Kennett, Ian Hickie, the psychotropic drugs for teens 2008 Australian of th.. uh-oh, Damian Ferrie, Astha Tomar, Angelo Virgona, Sophie Adams and not Jon Jureidini
~ Mother
6
‘They were the days of the big migrations, those last days of August and early September, and Jim spent long hours observing and noting down new arrivals: the first refugees Miss Harcourt called them – a strange word, he wondered where she had heard it. He never had.
‘Tree martins first, but they came only from the Islands to breed; great flocks of them ewere suddenly there overnight, already engaged in remaking old nests, dotterel and grey-crowned knots, the various tattlers, once a lone greenshank; then sharp-tailed sandpipers, wood sandpipers from the Balkans, whimbrel, grey plover, the Eastern Curlew, Japanese snipe, [fork-tailed swifts from Siberia]: then much later, towards the turn of the year, Terek sandpipers and pratinoles, the foreign ones in the same flock with the locals but clearly distinguishable. He filled book after book with his sightings, carefully noting the numbers and the dates of arrival.
‘The first sight of a bird, there again, after so many months’ absence, in the clear round of his glasses, with a bit of landscape behind it, a grass tuft, or reeds or a raft of sticks – that was a small excitement. Quickly he took from his pocket the folded notebook with its red oilcloth cover and the pencil stub from behind his ear, and with his eyes still on the bird, made his illegible scribbles. [The greater excitement was in inscribing what he had seen into The Book].
‘Using his best copybook hand, including all the swirls and hooks and tails on the capital letters that you left off when you were simply jotting things down, he entered them up, four or five to a page. This sort of writing was serious. It was giving the creature, through its name, a permanent place in the world, as Miss Harcourt did through pictures. The names were magical. They had behind them, each one, in a way that still seemed mysterious to him, as it had been when he first learned to say them over in his head, both the real bird he had sighted, with its peculiar markings and its individual cry, and the species with all its characteristics of diet, habits, preference for this or that habitat, kind of nest, number of eggs etc. Out of air and water they passed through their name, and his hand as he carefully formed the letters, into The Book. Making a place for them there was giving them existence in another form, recognising their place in the landscape, or his stretch of it: providing ‘sanctuary’.
‘He did this entering up at a particular time and in a particular frame of mind. He liked to have the lamp set just so, and chose a good pen and the best ink; bringing to the occasion his fullest attention; concentrating as he had on those long boring afternoons at the one teacher school when he had first, rather reluctantly and without at all knowing what it was to be for, learned to form the round, full-bodied letters; and adding with a flourish now the big F’s, the curled tails of the Q’s. He was proud of his workl, and pleased when, each week, he was able to show Ashley what he had added.
‘ ‘Beautiful!’ Ashley said for the names, the writing, as he never did for the actual birds, to which he brought only his silence. And that was right. It pleased Jim to have verbal praise for The Book and silence in the face of the real creature as it lifted its perfect weight from water into air, since in that way Ashley’s reaction mirrored his own.
‘When Ashley and Julia Bell were married at the end of the year Jim presented them with the first of the Books; not exactly as a wedding gift, but as a mark of the occasion. With it went the first of Miss Harcourt’s pictures.’
Mr Malouf 1982 Fly Away Peter
1 Macro or Parsed You-knee-versal Neoclassical word, sentence, paragraph, chapter, volume or cyclopedia (a reference work often in several volumes containing articles on various topics often arranged in alphabetical order dealing with the entire range of human knowledge or with some particular specialty as in the vast array of methodologically chaotic ‘science,’ technology, engineering, mathematics and history-of-the-visual & cinematic-arts topics for largely fatuous back-slapping and big cigars conference junkets artificially compartmentalised under patriarchic fiscal elites per Green Economist international newsletter Blundell Australia 1993)
2 syntactically accented as ‘meaning & social-value’ differentiated series.. for example you may take the 6 words What-is-this-thing-called-love?, and insert a comma respectively after the first, second, third, fourth & fifth words (David Kranz SA gvrnment Adelaide 1977)
3 these were seen in magnificent tight flocks of say 35 to 90 birds on any undogged secluded beach on western Eyre Peninsula from antiquity through until the early Twenty 0’s along the waterline. ‘Ours’ were from the west side of North Korea where they encountered issues with government concrete-aggregate OK
“[𝕹] ext year, a trial will take place in Avignon that is presumably unique worldwide in these dimensions.
“51 defendants and at least as many lawyers. The numbers on the victims’ side are not known; there is one main victim and at least one additional subsidiary prosecutor.
“Yes, I know, I should speak of alleged victims. But in this case, video evidence exists, and no one disputes the acts themselves.
“For the investigators, the story began in September 2020 in a supermarket in the provincial town of Carpentras. The supermarket security guard observed a retiree photographing women under their skirts with his cell phone. And called the gendarmes.
“Three of the affected women then filed complaints. [ In the interrogation, the old man (late 60s, three children and several grandchildren) claimed it was a one-time slip-up because his wife had left him in the lurch for three or four weeks to visit the children and grandchildren].
“The gendarmes let him go, but took a closer look at his phone and its contents. And then initiated a house search, during which all storage media were seized.
“They found videos in which, above all, one elderly lady is obviously unconscious, and various men sexually gratify themselves on her. This lady was the old man’s wife. The old man is a hunter and gatherer; on the seized data carriers, they found a table in which he had recorded these gentlemen—with date and whether it was their first or sixth time being active.
“This gendarmerie of the small provincial town reviewed the material and cross-checked it with a forum where the old man recruited his buddies.
“Occasionally, the old man also passed on a sedation prescription to a buddy and stopped by to take advantage of his unconscious wife.
“Around 90 buddies were identified in the videos and chats. 51 of them could be tracked down; one has since died. Currently charged are the old man and 50 of his identified buddies. For almost ten years, the old man had played this macabre game.
“Importantly, he didn’t recruit customers, but buddies. Despite being chronically short on cash, he never asked for money in return.
“After the gendarmes had investigated all these facts, they summoned the old man again and asked his wife to come as well.
“They first questioned the completely clueless woman to make sure she was clueless. And then explained to her why her husband had been summoned.
“This trial is already a textbook example of strategies employed by criminal defense attorneys in sexual offense cases.
“A lawyer from Lyon wanted to have the seizure of the data carriers annulled due to a procedural error. That would have gotten most of the buddies out of the proceedings, but she reassuringly stated in an interview that the main perpetrator would still be held accountable.
“Fortunately, that didn’t work. She also claims her client was tricked by the old man, who had assured him that the woman had consented. She’ll have her work cut out for her explaining why her client then had to park away from the house and arrive on foot. Why he wasn’t allowed to wear aftershave or smell of smoke. Why he had to undress in the kitchen. Why he had to whisper. We’re curious.
“But even more so: what’s the thrill in gratifying yourself on an unconscious retiree? The youngest perpetrator was a soldier in his early twenties. The buddies are a cross-section of society. Newspaper journalist, paramedic, entrepreneur, fire captain, truck driver…
“The trial was scheduled for spring; the lawyers filed complaints. For example, that every defendant has a right to an individual verdict. And that this is impossible with 51 defendants.[ ..]
“Always form, never substance. Because substantively, there’s little to say.
“Except that we’ll learn a lot about the sexuality of certain men.
“One way or another, thanks to these motions, the trial will probably take place in the fall instead. Whoever that may help.
“Anyone who wants to know more, I’m happy to provide the sources. “Mazan” and “viol” on @Google will deliver everything I’ve mentioned here in terms of facts.
🐒🐒🐒🐒\ ⌨️⌨️⌨️ sends sororal greetings to a chick called Katrin Kemmler we think if sororal or conceivably sororiferous greeetings are a thàng or thing transacting if not grossly-accumulating-money on Mr Musk’s @XComms qua ☞
About Katrin i think
Anyway team you’ve just read the neatest re-formatted auto-transcombobulation by Mr Musk’s awsome corporation and that’s me done for my first 🚕 off-the- J Arthur-say-1965 (when the writer was 15 then 16 and oarsome) Rank\ rank morning essay (long) OK
2 NOTES re YOUR personal micro relationships domains young people that in my role as educator and gnarly old social work chief i want to re-issue ↣
(i) Do you hold yourself interpersonally in non face 2 face, anonymous or virtual social RELATIONS where the other (party] is not known to you directly or personally in adversarial, defensive or basically suspicious or untrusting relation to THEM
(ii) How are your interpersonal RELATIONSHIPS with others affected by THEIR physical size, athletic talent or social skills in speech or writing, that is to imply how physically and socially or politically empowered these people are in relation to yourself
Screenshot
Now those young guys as in David Malouf’s 1982 Fly Away Peter..
“Europe, Jim decided must be a mad place. And now they said there was to be a war
“He sat apart with his back to a tree and ate the sandwiches he had brought while the others had their spread. Ashleycarried a glass of champagne across to him and sat for a bit, with his own glass, but they didn’t speak.
“Later, when he handed the ladies down onto the wooden landing stage he had constructed, at the end of a tenty-foot catwalk, each of them said ‘Thank you, Jim,’ and the gentlemen tipped him. Ashley never said thank you, and he pretended not to see the coins that passed, though he wouldn’t have deprived Jim of the extra shillings by forbidding it [Symph. # 5 in E Flat Major begins\ promo for @ABCjazz passes ‘by’].
“Ashley didn’t have to thank him. And not at all because Jim was only doing what he was employed to do.
“At either end of the boat they held a balance. That was so clear there was no need to state it. There was no need in fact to make any statement at all. But when Ashley wanted someone to talk to, he would [second movement begins] come down to where Jim was making a raft of reeds to attract whistlers, or laying out seed, and talk six to the dozen, and in such an incomprehensible rush of syllables that Jim, often, could make neither head nor tail of it, though he didn’t mind. Ashley too was an enthusiast, but not a quiet one. Jim understood that, even if he never did grasp what Wagner was – something musical, though not of his sort, and when Ashley gave [up-tempo third movement] up words altogether and came to whistling, he was glad to be relieved at last of even pretending to follow. Ashley’s talk was one kind of music, and the tuneless whistling another. What Ashley was doing, Jim saw, was expressing something essential to himself, like the ‘sweet pretty creature [Movement Four begins] ‘ of the willy wagtails.
“Ashley did not present a mystery to Jim, though he did not comprehend him. They were alike and different, that’s all, and never so close as when Ashley, watching, chattered away, whistled, chattered again, and then just sat, easily contained in their double silence.”
I’ve had my mobile dog ‘n bone powered down – i get my internet per Personal (oowwhhh you are a one you cute not to c’est fetching little electromechanical device, you) Hotspot (ooowh-oo – double ooowhhhoooo – eep) – for the best part of eight hours with the exception of 3 @Xcomms posts, were they, an hour and a half ago and now the transmit of this @wordpress.com outing.
I have not once done that since i got my first Telstra ‘cellphone’ in late 2011. It was excellent ‘headwork’ and fun, kind-of new, borrowed and not blue, to completely hash a say 150 year old tropaic slogan or sloganic inorganic trope.. a minor study in dishabituation and of a radically critical Antonio Gramsci..
[ Antonio Francesco Gramsci was an Italian Marxist philosopher and politician. He was a founding member and one-time leader of the Italian Communist Party. A vocal critic of Benito Mussolini and fascism, he was imprisoned in 1926, and remained in prison until shortly before his death in 1937.. @Wikipedia Druids Collective of Sherwood Forest
brief discursive analysis of thepre Club-of-Rome Euro-American psychiatric allopath crap drug marketing ideas of so called tolerance and addictive appetites for nano-scaled biochemical molecules in the human body hooley-freaking-dooley we’ve done it hard, team, but never you mindfully or mindlessly and fake-consciously ‘Disneyborough-Dr Timothy Leary & Ted Kaczyinski mind the Pommie Open University people of 1975 are ‘here’ or at least honing-in though Christ in his Infinite-wisdom knows what that particular contrarian ideologically-powered & absurdly tendentious (other-people’s money, it’s always other people’s money in “count-trees” run by idiots, crooks, crocks & seriously doddery former great men or great women am-i-right-or-am-i-right?) Australianism is supp-hosed 2 mean.. a ‘nylon’ pant-stocking worn by Germaine Greer versus my wife’s aunt Rona Joyner period young ladies.
I’ve not done this as any vicarious affective empathy exercise on behalf the poor oppressed youngsters of Australia who have a barking prime minister seeking to save them from what he calls the Algorythm but Honest 2 Betsy because I’d had a complete headfull of existentially lost sheep wallowing in creative self expression for rabbits and mental 10 year-old boys who don’t yet (bless the actual ones) get any of life, love or anythingand a compleat f_cking gutsfull of 100s of millions of public dollars worth of crap people in Canberra pretending to do real national interest politics man, woman, and i’ve enjoyed the break.
This evening’s 𝄞𝄡𝄢𝄪𝄫🎵🎶oh my goodness, what a cracker of a New-era playlist, @ABCClassic. They’re keeping it rolling and coming and it’s divine. We’re remaking Australian and elsewhwere’s Free 2 Air radio you all should have noticed by this but ” ” That’s OK” ” if you have’nt.
Ashley Crowther had come home after more than twelve years to find himself less of a stranger here than he expected.
He had been at school in England, then at Cambridge, then in Germany for a year studying music, and might have passed anywhere on that side of the world for an English gentleman. He spoke like one; he wore the clothes – he was much addicted to waist coats and watch chains, an affectation he might have to give up, he saw, in the new climate; he knew how to handle waiters, porters, commisionaires, etc. with just the right mixture of authority, condescension and jolly good humour. He was in all ways cultivated, and his idleness, which is what people here would call it, gave him no qualms. He took a keen interest in social questions, and saw pretty clearly that in the coming years there would be much to be done, stands to be taken, forces to be resisted, changes to be had and come to terms with. The idea excited him. He approved of change. With all that to think of he didn’t see that one had to have a vocation, a job named and paid for and endured for a certain number of hours each day, to be a serious person.
Ashley Crowther was a very serious person. He was dreamy, certainly, and excitably inarticulate, but he liked what was practical, what worked, and in the three years since he came of age had owned four automobiles. Now he was interested in the newest thing of all, the air. He didn’t fly himself, but his friend Bert did, and he was quite content, as in other cases, to play the patron and look on.
In the crude categories that had been in operation at Cambridge, athlete or aesthete, he had found himself willy-nilly among the latter. He had nevber been much good at games – his extreme thinness was against him – and he not only played the piano, Chopin and Brahms, but could whistle all the Leitmotifs from The Ring. But his childhood had been spent in the open, he had never lost his pleasure in wide spaces and distant horizons, in climbing, riding, going on picnics, and the creatures he had been surrounded by in those formative years had never deserted his dreams. Moving as they did in the other half of the world, far under the actualities of the daylight one, they had retained their primitive power and kept him in touch with a continent he had been sent away from at eleven but never quite left. Perhaps that is why when he came back at tweenty-three he has not a stranger.
Waking up that first morning in the old house – not in his own room, the room of his childhood, but in the big main bedroom since he was now the master – he had been overwhelmed by the familiarity of things; the touch of the air on his skin – too warm; the sharpness of the light even at twenty to seven – it might have been noon elsewhere; above all, since it is what came closest to the centre of his being, the great all-embracing sound that rose from the dazzling earth, a layered music, dense but deeply flowing, that was clippered insects rubbing their legs together, bird-notes, grass stems chaffing and fretting in the breeze. It immediately took him up and carried him back. He stepped out onto the verandah in his pyjamas – no need for even the lightest gown – [and it was all about him, the whole scene trembled upon it]. The flat earth had been transposed into another form and made accessible to different sense. An expansive monotone, its excited fluting and throbbing and booming from distended throats had been the ground-bass, he saw, of every music he had ever known. It was the sound his whole being moved to. He stood barefoot on the gritty board sand let it fill his ear.
‘How can you do it?’ his friends back there had said, commiserating but admiring his courage, which they altogether exaggerated.
‘It’s my fate,’ he had replied.
The phrase pleased him. It sounded solemn and final. But he was glad just the same to discover, now he was here, that he was not a stranger, and to feel, looking out on all this, the contentment of ownership and continuity.
It was his grandfather who had taken up the claim and put his name to the deeds; but he had died while the land was still wild in his head, a notion, no more, of what he had staked out in a strange and foreign continent that his children must make real. Ashley’s father had created most of what lay before him. Now it was his.
There was still everything to do – one saw that at a glance. But Ashley saw things differently from his father and grandfather. They had always had in mind a picture they had brought from home’, orderly fields divided by hedgerows, to which the present landscape, by planning and shaping, might one day be made to approximate. But for Ashley this was the first landscape he had known and he did not impose that other, greener one upon it; it was himself. Coming back, he found he liked its mixture of powdery blues and greens, its ragged edges, its sprawl. the sense it gave of being unfinished and of offering no prospect of being finished. These things spoke of space, and of a time in which nature might be left to go its own way and still yield up what it had to yield; there was that sort of abundance. For all his cultivation, he liked what was unmade here and could, without harm, be left that way.
There was more to Ashley Crowther’s image of the world than his formal clothes might have suggested – though he was, in fact, without them at this moment, barefoot on scrubbed boards – or, since he was shy, his formal manners, which were not so easily laid aside.
After breakfast he changed into a cotton shirt, twills, boots and a wide-brimmed hat and took a ride round his property, beginning with the little iron fenced enclosure where his parents, his grandparents and several smaller brothers and sisters were interred under sculptured stone.
.. Bert came with his flying machine. They watched it wobble in over the swamp, then circle the house and touch down, a bit unsteadily, in the home paddock. It sat there in the heat haze like a giant bird or moth while cows flicked their tails among cow-pats, and did not sem out of place. It was a landscape, Ashley thought, that could accommodate a good deal. That was his view of it. It wasn’t so clearly defined as England or Germany; new things could enter and find a place there. It might be old, even very old, but it was more open than Europe to what was still to come.
He also discovered Jim.
.. ‘What were you doing?’ he asked. It was a frank curiosity he expressed. There was nothing of reproach in it.
‘Watchin’ that Dollar bird,’ Jim told him. ‘You scared it off.’
‘Dollar bird?’
‘Oriental,’ Jim said. ‘Come down from the Moluccas.’
His voice was husky and the accent broad; he drawled. The facts he gave were unnecessary and might have been pedantic. But when he named the bird, and again when he named the island, he made them sound, Ashley thought, extraordinary. He endowed them with some romantic quality that was really in himself. An od interest revealed itself, the fire of an idividual passion.
Ashley slipped down from the saddle, and they stood side by side, the grass almost at thigh level. Jim pointed.
‘It’s in that ironbark, see?’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘There, over to the left. Second branch from the top. Red beak. Purple on the throat and tail feathers. See?’
Ashley stared, focused, found the branch; and then, with a sharp little leap of surprise and excitement, the bird – red beak, purple throat, all as the young man had promised.
‘I can see it!’ he exclaimed, just like a child, and they both grinned. The young man turned away and sat on a log. He took the makings of a smoke from his pocket. Ashley stumbled forward.
‘Have one of mine,’ he insisted. ‘No, really.’ He offered the case, already snapped open, with the gold-tipped tailor-mades under a metal band that worked like a concertina.
‘Thanks,’ the young man said, his square fingers making an awkward job of working the band. He turned the cylinder, so utterly smooth and symmetrical, in his fingers, looking at the gold paper round the tip, then put it to his lower lip, struck a wax match, which he cupped in his hand against the breeze, and held it out to Ashley, who dipped his head towards it and blew out smoke. Jim lit his own cigarette and flipped the match with his thumbnail. All this action carried them over a moment of nothing-more-to-say into an easy silence. Ashley led his horse to a stump opposite, and crossing his legs, and with his body hunched forward elbow to knee, fell intensely still, then said abruptly:
‘Are you out here often? Watching, I mean?’
‘Fairly.’
‘Why?’
‘I dunno. It’s something to do, isn’ it?’ He looked about, his grey eyes narrowed, and the land was a flat circle all round, grass-tips, tree-stumps, brush, all of it seemingly still and silent, all of it crowded and alive with eyes, beaks, wing tips.
.. Ashley followed his gaze .. he was intensely aware for a moment how much life there might be in any square yard of it. And he owned a thousand acres.
.. Ashley laughed too. He drew himself tighter together, the knotted legs, the elbows in hard against his body, and the laughter was like an imp he had bottled up in there that suddenly came bubbling out.
“Listen,’ he said, ‘how would you like to work for me? How would you – ‘
.. ‘into an observing place, a sanctuary. It’s mine, I can make what I like of it. And you’d be just the man.’
The author
What went before-after above-below (Quantum-superposition gag there} – was the 2nd chunk of ‘Fly Away Peter’ published on ‘Monkeys,’ David Malouf’s writing, this first ‘out’ 43yrs ago when Paul Keating, who had volunteered at ex Premier Lang – the Big Fella’s – office as a student, found his feet as federal Treasurer. My thanks are extended to the writer.. with more than a few thoughts as to the place and part of revitalising textual literary product about public participation, aegis, authority, autonomy, agency, ownership, authenticity, clarity, decision & relationships: in sum the new humanising or collaborative project that hoves into imaginary macro view as global institututions render themselves utterly irrelevant if not obscenely dysoperational.
The other side of the .. it’s been micro-rewarding to let most excellent Australian mid 20th century fiction ‘roll,’ be read and transcribed. This kind of work-as-fun is dead-set contributory to a culture, society and economy in lethal (deadly) trouble communicating anything but gruntiness and customer service patter to other adults and kids, bless their increasingly dizzy trending dozy bewildered Sam Altman, Jensen Huang, AWS Oceania Auckland, McKinsey & Company Australia & New Zealand, Nickelodeon, Wiggles, Bluey & Jarjums comprehensively falsely equivalenced Fake-science heads ..and ahmm hearts.
John Blundell
Adeal-lide, Addled-laid damn, the Palermo of the Sthrn Hmsphr (except Italy’s done some work to fix theirs) Adelaide
Speshull zoo animals & stuff
Alpha-profits fish & chip shops
Have those accountants got a deal for you – cheerio to Merv Nancarrow and Adelaide Rotary
❝The phrase ‘mists of time’ refers to the natural decay and interference that causes short-term memories to be lost over time, especially when not actively rehearsed or maintained. Short-term memory ‘lasts only about 15-30 seconds’! and its content can be displaced by new information or weaken due to a lack of attention. To combat this ‘mist,’ people use techniques like chunking, repeating information, or using memory aids [like the Platonic mnemonic] to move memories into more permanent long-term storage^ [but these behaviours are to little avail without good nutrition, bodily exercise, uninterrupted sleep, mutually emotionally rewarding relationships and shared-interest projects with other adults]❞
If Ashley discovered Jim, it was Jim who discovered Miss Harcourt. Miss Imogen Harcourt.
He was on his belly again, with a note-pad in his pocket, a stub of pencil behind his ear and the field glasses Ashley had provided screwed firmly into his head – they might have been a fixture.
He was watching a sandpiper in a patch of marshy bank, one of the little wood sandpipers that appear each summer, and come, most of them, from Northern Asia and Scandinavia, nesting away at the top of the world on the tundras or in the Norwegian snows and making their long way south.
It amazed him, this. That her could be watching, on a warm day in November, with the sun scorching his back, the earth pricking below and the whole landscape dazzling and shrilling, a creature that only weeks ago had been on the other side of the earth and had found its way here across all the cities of Asia, across lakes, deserts, valleys between high mountain ranges, across oceans without a single guiding mark, to light on just this bank and enter the round frame of his binoculars; completely contained there in its small life – striped breast and sides, white belly, yellow legs, the long beak investigating a pool for food, occasionally lifting its head to make that peculiar three-note whistle -and completely containing, somewhere invisibly within, that blank white world of the northern ice-cap and the knowledge, laid down deep in the tiny brain, of the air-routes and courses that had brought it here. Did it know where it had arrived on the earth’s surface? Did it retain, in that small eye, some image of There I was so many darknesses ago and now I am here, and will stay a time, and then go back; seeing clearly the space between the two points, and knowing that the distance, however great, could quite certainly be covered a second time in the opposite direction because the further side was still visible, [EITHER THERE IN ITS HEAD OR IN THE LONG MEMORY OF ITS KIND]
.. He shifted the glasses and found a black box on a tripod. The face ducked down behind it. The composite figure that now filled the frame was of a grey skirt, voluminous and rather bedraggled, topped by the black box wearing a sun-bonnet. The black box was pointing directly towards him. Could it be him that he was photographing?
It was only after a minute that he realized the truth. What the woman had in her sights was [THE SAME SANDPIPER HE HAD BEEN HOLDING, JUST A FEW SECONDS AGO, IN HIS BINOCULARS]. For some time, without either of them being aware of it, they had, in all this landscape, and among all its creatures, been fixing their attention from different sides on the same spot and on the same small white-breasted body.
I think the essay’s OK, particulary the Nobel Prize for Physics ‘gear’ in that sub-penultimate pararagraph theyaah.
Kevin will you just stop thun-blahing on ?
John Blundell
Meat-pies, kangaroos and 10 Toyotas
Three times a member of the Australian Labor Party, three times quit, who knows what the fut… uh-oh holdz
~ We are the cartoon heroes We’re the ones who are going to live forever What you see is what you just can’t do
~ Inventing the Future: Postcapitalism and a World Without Work book by Alex Williams and Nick Srnicek 2015 and on Tuesday the shadow minister for small business in the parliament of Australia interrupted attempts at debate about economic, social, educational, industrial and environmental issues to propose a public holiday for a gambling industry animal race and Inventing the Future book by Denis Gabor 1973
! that statement is grievously & for the purposes of Science-education calamitousy incorrect
ⱽ almost entirely erroneous 20th C ‘other-less,’ household-less, micro-climate-less environment-less and futureless neuroscience, psychiatry and ancient Egyptian mechanomorphist ‘Einstein’s brain in an ice-chest’ neurocognitive theory
You must leave, now take what you need You think will last But whatever you wish to keep You better grab it fast
Those clever young men and women in the raging examination of every socio-economic nook, cranny, and hidey-hole by1964 Murdoch archival, investigative journalism, nonscience @ the pub, over-wintering Mount Macedon-trained Australian Antarctic Exhibition petitions to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and earlier her uncles and grandfather-clauses and stuff of Great Britain will almost certainly look into this shit on behalf of we the doughty, disaffected and let’s face it, team, old.
I’ve two questions: if we ignore these psilocybin-reeling po-mos with money socially-engineering inclusiveness, agency, sustainability, multiple market viability, life-long education, empowerment capacity and awesome resilience into our lives because we sincerely believe they’re death on a popsicle stick for our nation and federation, do we forfeit all our civil rights we don’t give a rats’ about any more anyway like that Antony Green & Annabel Crabb carryon?
So are we then to be completely locked out of Australian society as well as the economy, may someone explain to me that’s not exactement the KPMG, McKinsey, EY, Deloitte, Goldman Sachs, Palantir, Marque Lawyers, Johnston Withers, Minter Ellison, King & Wood Mallesons, Slater & Gordon, Clayton Utz, Herbert Smith Freehillsand Amazon Web Services Oceania Auckland New Zealand program?
Hey Pension Day, man, oohwee and stuff;
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“Do not reply to this email.. [we old sads lugubriously note, don’t we, that a prime identifying characteristic of the very late Virtual (fake) communities (in the micro cognitive domain (the feminisation phase of politically organised regional human groupings or Society over 10k years) phase of commonly named civilisation (or society) is for governments and the law all over the earth to resist humanisation – essentially the very inclusivity, inclusion or “inclusiveness” they ‘bang on’ about.
“Message reference:xxx yyy
Don’t be silly of course we shall retain the services of Vanessa Hughes, ahmm, let her do her stuff, and keep you ears attuned for bangs in your neighborhood streets, team.
John Blundell
~Kangaroos, emus and galda-muhga, maybe an echidna near Port Campbell even if that was 1968, well y’know, animals schmanimals – bir.., f…, inse…, arac…, crustac…, phytopl.., myco…..
~The new Neurocognitive Health
~Quantum nextness and the inescapable but for gangsters (temporarily of course) and business crims (severely temporarilly) two to five set series Thematics Logic
~Other Stuff ( what is this, a Curriculum Vitaeᵛ or a worldwide political manifesto? )
⁹D’une manière exacte. Que vous a-t-il dit exactement ? (au juste)/ (dans une réponse) Tout à fait
^resume, or résumé, which is used interchangeably, especially in North America. Other synonyms include bio, vita, and work history, Years 9 to 12 young people particularly
You are really doin’ it for those rich people childrens’ edjummacation & world’s best phone-policing whizzo which is what they expect, and after all they’ve have worked hard all their adult lives buying gold bars and blocks of flats and shit AND PAYING TAX❗️
Learning to lie as a defence against coercion, bullying and assault beginning, not with 16 or 11-year-old girls, but with toddlers..
Let me just run this past the machine again, learning to LIE about.. Well, yes, it typed out LIVE . It typed out “live” first..
This REPORT TO GOVERNMENT WHICH IS COMPLEMENTED WITHIN 1 1/2 hours of same day leads directly to the disaster of societies that WILL NOT POLICE AV (audio-visual) publications that incite contempt, hatred, humiliation*, violation, rape, other assault & killing but will bar computer phone access to teenagers when benign (and not trite, inane or foolish though not alienating & depressing receivals it’s for kids developing mentally & in judgment & constructive Socially-contributory criticism as an essential part of day to day growing up during the magical years of adolescence social interpersonal human RELATIONS & relationship ‘building’ ( maturing, mentally & MORALLY enhancing -generating ))
So we must actively (and urgently) focus down the years from “tolled belles of 16 in mental hospitals” or 13 year-old girls in Westfield Hospital anorexia wards fir Jesus’s loving sake -(ALWAYS DEPERSONALISING DEPRESSIVE SEXUAL-SOCIAL ABUSE VICTIMS coerced and needing to LIE habitually to overpowering adults or older siblings to ESCAPE violation and penetration) to TOLD TODDLERS – from infancy repeatedly “corrected” chastised and threatened with beating, harm, pain, sexual molestation licking, tongueing & complete trashing of privacy and bodily sanctity often as a vainglorious clearly SATANIC Political- or fake-radicalised James Dean 1957 Rebellious-youth or undergraduate mid 20th century pop culture political ‘Young Turk,” publicly protestant atheist even penilely pentrative (rapist) conduct. I figure in the national interest and in the public interest I had better get these notes out tonight, so if they’re rough, tough, poppet.
YOU DEAL, whomever the giddy fuck YOU are.
Here’s the boy – Jewish dude too – 1135 to 1204. He could play a bit, team.
2-5set thematics logic
Inclusivity, sustainability and WHAT you Monkeys-in-Maseratis?
The new neurocognitive health
Humanised maths and ecologically-managed economies AOTW
no more fake Disproof-hypothecating arts & entertainment industry or ‘Culture-of-announcement-display-and-ceremony’ dork #Science
THE phase 5 human project
Smell the 🌹🌹ride on your sailboard in a 30 knots blow listen to a child CEP Worldwide 1997
John Blundell
*Those for this policy agree that the federal government should change section 18C of the Racial Discrimination Act so that the words “insult”, “offend”, “humiliate” are replaced with the word “harass”
Billionaire-🙈🙊🙉🐒s with Olivettis 