david griffith - saucepanbach: News

The war on terror becomes terrorism itself.

In honour of truth -

David,

This is one of the more shocking documentaries made about the
attacks of 9/11. Shocking because it's NOT full of 'conspiracy
theories'. There is no guess work here as to how or why,
911 IN PLANE SITE simply revisits the news broadcasts of that day
and points out how much of the story simply disappeared as the
'Official Story' took shape. It reviews 'forgotten' video evidence
of that day and points out how much of it contradicts the present
view of events.

If you've seen this one before it's a perfect time to watch it
again and refresh your memory. It's also a good time to watch it
with someone who hasn't. If you haven't seen this one before...
you're in for a helluva surprise.

Video:

http://www.brasschecktv.com/page/4960.html

My friend, who has endured enough sickness to support a small hospital, might as well be working in a Group Home for the disabled for the consistent energy and effort she puts into her extended and largely dysfunctional family.

She doesn’t have time to be wracked with depression and despair. Too busy meeting the needs of others, she and I both wonder what place cause and effect have in those who cannot find their way out of a pit of low self esteem and high expectation.

Disappointment - a constant companion.

Her ‘problem child’ - like my ‘problem child’ - has a life story you wouldn’t want but they’re not children any more.

What they have in common is self absorption. It’s all about them. How they feel, what injustices they’ve endured and, all the while, - in a profound way - they take.

So it’s a question of filling the emptiness inside.

You fill yourself up by constantly giving. It’s a paradox and not as simple as it seems. The well runs dry unless it’s fed by a deep spring.

There are ‘right and wrong’ approaches to life. To align yourself with the ‘greater good’ - which, by definition, lies outside of ourselves - allows for a redemption of sorts.

‘Know yourself.’ isn’t about what you like or dislike. It’s a revealing of character, over time, as demonstrated by the way in which we respond to changing circumstance.

Charm isn’t character, endurance is. Pretty isn’t character, perseverence is....... and so it goes.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. All of us shake our collective heads at the varieties of madness which afflict mankind and our ‘problem children’ shake their heads in unison.

Thank God for humour - grim though it sometimes be.

Just an afterthought .... if you WERE to see yourself as a waste of space then you COULD change that by making yourself useful.

While the Magnolia greets my eyes as a source of wonder - a changing, gray sculptured candelabra with creamy white and purple blooms - ‘she’ sees herself as a waste of space.

‘She’ is part of extended family. She lives a reality of depression and despair. It’s a long time since I’ve felt ‘not comfortable in my own skin.’.... but I remember it.

I don’t know how to get across to her the long and difficult process of getting from there to here.

9/11 - the official story defies physics let alone reason. So many experts, in their various fields, have dissected this dreadful farce in minute detail as to ‘make plain’ that planes hitting buildings do not result in controlled demolition. What this implies is another matter.

So there’s a dissonance in the air.

I saw the creature, Donald Rumsfeld , parade for the cameras in the ‘official’ version of ‘Remembering 9/11' and just as the ‘official’ stories of Kennedy’s assassination have not stood up to the test of time so 9/11 will be revealed as threadbare.

It’s the small insights and revelations which bring me from there to here. No great enlightenment.

‘She’ doesn’t look for ‘happy’ - ‘contentment’ would be wonderful.

‘Someone’ decided that the Twin Towers and all that they contained were a ‘waste of space’. Turned to dust. Great profit made and a war on terror perpetuated.

It’s early Spring. The surge of energy affecting all of nature is stirring, manifesting. Already the separate petals of the Magnolia fall and carpet the grass in white. It looks beautiful and will not last. Doesn’t induce melancholy.... more a quiet rejoicing at the natural order of growth and decay.... and how it applies to life and our expectations of the moment.

It’s how the Magnolia, ‘She’ in her misery - and 9/11 are intertwined that has me puzzled. Perhaps the common link is understanding.

I know that they’re literally all in my face

How do you tell someone that they’re like a Magnolia - beautiful or bare - according to season. Subject to harsh or bountiful conditions over which they hold no sway..... and that those conditions either shape you completely or you participate in that creative process and grow.

Or - that you’re like 9/11 - that you’re not only the ‘official’ story but that there is an inner truth - totally different - which is difficult to come by and perhaps unpleasant to digest.

Still - if it makes you ‘better’.

That’s the point.

‘She’ is not happy in her despair. Why would you be.

Notwithstanding earthquakes elsewhere and hurricanes a-hurrying, it’s a glorious and very still, early Spring day here - a mile up and a world away.

The Magnolia blooms three weeks late and if the only certainty is change then it’s the rate of change which tugs at the skirts of our attention.

“Hands up” those who expect a not too eventful life - apart from ‘nice’ holidays - with twilight years spent dozing pleasantly in the sun..... hmm ..... sounds a bit boring when put like that but, no doubt, you get the drift.

“Now is the winter of our discontent.” is closer to the cry of the grimly desperate as the slowly disintegrating financial system reveals - nothing left to take.

Plenty left to take and just as well that evil can only exist by corrupting that which already exists.

Satan is a twit. Seventy two virgins in Paradise makes one wonder at the silliness and empty imagination of whoever dreamt that up.

Seventy two virgins and no questions asked? What if they don’t like you? What if you have no desire? What happens after seventy two nights? Do you get a new lot or are you left with the responsibility of feeding and clothing a tribe of women and ... grin ..... what about the children?

Love is a constant although that’s not the obvious experience of many.

BLUFM - our local community radio station - and The Gearins hotel are putting on their yearly songwriter contest.

BLUFM are very supportive of local talent as is the Gearing hotel. I enter each year because it’s ‘good’ to be supportive and ‘winning’ isn’t everything or the only thing.

I’d entered and then pulled out of this competition because August was too full to give this positive attention.

And then, turning away from the ATM machine on the main street, the other day, and there’s Ken from BLUFM, looking at me a bit quizzically.

Could I play this Thursday? Early start?

‘Yes’ say I.

Funny how the Universe works. An opportunity presents and it really isn’t about winning. It’s about taking part, joining in - all the ‘things’ that I don’t find easy.

So ..... I did it and a young girl with a splendid voice won and that brings me to the awesome amount of talent bubbling away within every community.

The monthly songwriter night approaches and it will be a relief to play a few songs with Bruno and, hopefully, with Adrian on sax.

It’s remarkable how much we cease to pay attention to that which makes us uneasy. Fukushima disappears from the news but turns up in our food. The Gulf of Mexico spews more oil and not a mention.

Libya - and a ‘horrible dictator’ who didn’t ‘buy in’ to the central bank charade which passes as a sound basis for life. I don’t know how much of a bastard he was but he couldn’t be as odious as Mugabe who ruined a country and still clings to power. Our leaders are silent on this and worse.

I have no faith left except to hold to what is eternal......... and enjoy some rugby union and rugby league ‘vital’ games on T.V. .... and also to keep playing.

“Hey mum - there’s an elephant in that tree.”

“Can’t see the wood for the trees let alone an elephant.” sighs mum and returns to washing the Emperor’s new clothes.

It’s not often that I entertain the idea of buying a place in France...... never .... now I come to think about it. I can’t afford it. Not the idea nor the place.

It was a conversation, over lunch, which makes me wonder.

Wonder about the beliefs which weave through societies and colour perception....... our wildly differing views about ‘what’s going on’ in the world.

Eruptions of disorder - either because of ‘just cause’ or otherwise - encourage a martial response by the status quo...... and if you have a vested interest in the continuance of ‘your life as you know it’..... you’ll, perhaps, uneasily acquiesce to the new reality.

I don’t live in a society rife with racial tension or religious intolerance.... not too much and not as yet .... and while a very few of those that I care about are in a position to live both here AND there, I wouldn’t have seen this decade as good for being a foreigner in a foreign land.

Be that as it may and life goes on regardless - neatly including all the elephants in the room and without missing a beat.

The sweaty end of music continues and singing songs isn’t part of the process. Four notes and a bend continue to engage me in rhythm and I’m in no rush to perform.

‘Duddly umpty dum dum’ with variation and looking for clarity.

Aren't we all.

An ocean of notes cascade and learning is discovery.

Discovery is fun.

Sculpting what is already inherent.

Off to do some concreting, a bit of design and - if I get it right - the work will look self evident when complete.

Meanwhile, little groups of notes run through my head and clumsily out of my fingers. The synapses fire and connections are made. Yippee for a drum machine, four notes and a bend.

That was awhile ago but actually only a week or so in days.

Invariably the Magnolia flowers in the first ten days of August. Cream and purple blooms on a bare and beautifully shaped tree and then the cold August winds strip it bare again - perhaps before the leaves arrive - perhaps not.

Seven days of unseasonably warm weather allows for bits of building to ‘move right along.’ The Magnolia is late.

Had the rare pleasure, at the now monthly songwriter night, of having Adrian - who played saxophone earlier in the night - join Bruno and I for my set.

So much happening as lives get rearranged by changing circumstance and the days of wine and roses are brief.

So many elephants in the room which defines our world ........ and that’s the backdrop on a material level. You could find reason to be disheartened if you expected a life protected from rude shock.

On a spiritual level - by which I mean a Divine creativity - I can only trust in the process and take heart.

I have a naive and lovely relative who has been a luke-warm to fairly enthusiastic recipient of my cds over the years.

“Is it going to be on the radio?”

“ Probably not.” say I, and explain that it doesn’t work like that.

Thousands of ‘bright sparkly’ cds pour from hosts of songwriters across the world on a weekly basis.

Most - like mine - appear to disappear without leaving a trace.

Why would you bother? ... is an unspoken question and the answer takes awhile.

Every journey starts with one step and the continuance requires a second and a third step.

Funny thing .... journeys of the mind and heart, journeys of creative endeavour ..... you don’t know the destination even if you have a rough idea of the goal.

Step after step and a darkly humoured universe often allows you to go round in circles which begs the question.

Is it the taking of the journey itself which is a ‘success’ in its own right?

‘That clean release’ isn’t only a song and the name of this latest cd but, for me, a statement of fact.

I feel like I’ve finished with the way in which I’ve written songs and that it’s time to improve my guitar playing....... which is a clumsy way of saying I want to play music.

It’s a cool grey day - middle of winter - and all is still within the garden.

Snowdrops and daffodils herald a Spring which the brightly coloured Polyanthus have blithely disregarded as they flower on through the cold.

The Tree-ferns are bedded in and, apart from a partly destroyed fence, all is surprisingly well after the lacerations of our recent storms.

Almost everything here, myself included, is a refugee. Twenty years ago there was pretty much only a gum tree - still existing - shaped with a wind blown trunk from which it takes no imagination to see a dryad, draped in wood, leaning forward as if to embrace. She is a friend, an ancient witness.

The garden is now home to a tribe of slow growing tree-ferns, a group of fruit trees and an undergrowth which smells of Daphne, produces tiger lilies and many other wonders.

This land has supported these refugees and they’ve thrived but not without bringing in soil and not without continuous effort...... and, of course, I’m just assisting nature.

Much easier to manage a refugee situation here in a garden than in the wider world.

Rather than feel secure within society, many feel as though they’re refugees within their own country. I don’t know what the answer is but you’d think that most would just like a future let alone a future with a silver lining.

A patch of blue within the grey and ‘I gotta move’

We had our monthly songwriter concert on July 4th .

There’s a camaraderie which builds between those who regularly get up and have a go. You don’t have to be brilliant in order to be rivetting to watch..... and I mean that in the best possible way.

People bring themselves onto a stage and while we all ‘play a part’, poets and singer-songwriters express themselves in a most vulnerable way. This can produce poignant and very moving performances which have little to do with technique or vocal range.

It’s in the telling of the story. The individual, sometimes searing experiences and perceptions which prompt the song.

Sarah Anthill springs to mind - and the quiet wonder I felt as she sang a song about her father and his untimely death while tears sprang unbidden. Sarah has moved away which is our loss - someone’s gain.

Profound? Doesn’t need to be ..... but if you write, you’d want your words to make sense.

Having said that - for three of the four intellectually disabled guys with whom I work - music is vital to their well being and it’s not the meaning of the words but the overall musical experience that matters.

If I needed confirmation of the power of music to inspire, I need look no further than the Down’s Syndrome guy - let’s change his name to John - with whom I work in my ‘normal’ job.

He sings - when the spirit moves him - and swears very loudly and for no obvious reason.....a bit like me. At any other conversational level, it’s a whisper and only a word or two at a time.

He carries with him the patterns of behaviour ingrained by years of living in institutions where survival of the fittest put him at the back of the line.

Not a great deal is asked of him. He potters about in his middle age and is still very cautious. I’ve worked with him for ten years and figure that if he goes to bed ‘content’, then we’re doing a wonderful job.

He likes my songs and will hover nearby, without ever sitting down, while I play through a few songs.

Slight digression.

The ladies from the Rosewood restaurant caught up with me at the last songwriter night and asked if I’d like to play at a ‘Christmas in July’ function which are very popular here in the mountains.

‘Yes’ say I - as you would after a few wines - and later realised that I don’t know any Christmas carols so ‘googled’ free guitar chords and lyrics to Christmas carols.

Long story short and I arrive at my workplace - the Group Home - with a sheaf of songs for which the chords don’t often work. This was cause for huge merriment for ‘Sid’ ( names changed ) who will cheerfully play Christmas carols on his cd player all year long and knows a wrong chord when he hears one. Meanwhile John hovers nearby.

I don’t get much time to play and John’s routines take precedence as he readies for bed. John invariably doesn’t then get up except for toilet.

I go about my work and John appears in the doorway, walks over and loudly says ‘Guitar.’ This is unprecedented.

He sat on the couch - again unprecedented for John - and listened to an hour of songs before the shift changed and I went home.

So I didn’t have any Christmas carols to offer except ‘Good King Wenceslas’ which is a remarkable story in itself, and ‘The little drummer boy.’ which I found was beautiful to sing and apt to my situation.

Spent the day prior to performance with ‘grandson’. We made a tea towel holder using a marble and two pieces of wood and had a chat about power.

Fortunately carols weren’t a requirement at the restaurant which was filled with two groups who were having their monthly meeting and dinner.

Found a spot in which to play by removing a tea trolley from a corner and using not much more than that space.

It was more fun than I anticipated. That’s not saying much as I wondered what the hell I was doing....... but, as the evening unfolds, I find that I’m only expected to provide a background and that my ballads have enough variety to help an atmosphere which is cheerful to start with.

As most of the people present were middle aged and up, it was good to be well received.

Off to the Family ‘plug an’ play’ tonight which WILL be fun and that’s partly because I’ll have other musicians to lift the song.

November 5th 1605 ..... do you remember? Probably not. There was a conspiracy. Back then no-one added the word ‘theory’ to conspiracy. It was either a conspiracy or it was not.

One shred of evidence takes it out of the realm of theory. One shred and you have facts. In 1605, the most obvious fact was thirty six barrels of gunpowder placed in a cellar under the House of Lords.

One of the conspirators, realising that innocent people would be in danger, had written to warn one of the Lords not to go to the Parliament building on that fateful day. The letter made its way to the king and the plot was foiled...... echoes of that on 9/11.

Some of my warmest childhood memories conjure up the field at the end of our Welsh village street where, in late October, a giant bonfire would slowly take shape in preparation for the fireworks and the lighting of the bonfire - complete with a dummy - and representing Guy Fawkes himself, sitting atop the fire.

When you’re the Power of the Land, you expect plots and conspiracy. You enter into them yourself and use the full authority of your command to attain your objective....... often the foiling of plots but often plots against other powers.

‘You can’t have it both ways.’ The reason you can’t have it both ways is because you can’t go in two directions at once and if the facts don’t stack up in one direction, you must follow the other.

When the dust settled, where did the Twin Towers go?

September 11th 2001 .......we know that this plot wasn’t foiled because the events actually occurred however - just like the Guy Fawkes debacle - mistakes were made by the perpetrators which modern media makes available for the closest, frame by frame analysis of those events.

Deny the message. Discredit the messenger but the truth will come out...... horrible though it is.

Bin Laden was either a CIA asset or an idiot for not understanding the huge trump card that he held in the days after 9//11.

Had he vehemently denied all knowledge of 9/11 and made the point that a band of - what ..... Superheros in a cave? - masterminded an event which required capacity to control events only available to Government and that the USA and Israel, themselves had hijacked the US government itself in order to perpetuate power......... would not that have made the world pause?

I love synchronicity. It’s another way in which the Divine makes connection. I’d forgotten that it’s July 4th , here in Australia, and the background radio has a reading of the American ‘ Bill of Rights.’ and that this happens just as I had deleted my last sentence - about these events not impacting upon my personal activities for this day.

They do. It matters that the ‘Powers that Be’ be exposed. Doesn’t matter that my voice is small.

Now that I’ve separated out the groups of tree-ferns in the front bed and done this in order to give them more space, I look up to see, framed through the window, a four foot tall fern with a three foot crown of fronds and with another fern growing half way up the trunk.

It looks pregnant and slightly surprised.

Each tree- fern grows differently. Some are solitary and stay that way while others throw off side ferns and even ferns growing off the main trunk.

A pregnant tee-fern posing for a family group photo.......there's a picture..... and everything is somehow connected.

What makes a man - a man?

My ‘grandson’ passes eleven years old and hasn’t thought about it. He has no idea that getter older doesn’t make you a man. He practises being rude and insolent to his mother while the mostly absent father thinks it funny.

Most of the women that I know make far better ‘men’ than their male partners.

So if it’s not about passing puberty then what makes a man?

Of the variety of men available to use as a role model, not one has made it into lasting history because of sexual prowess. That same history makes little reference to men who happened to be good looking or well built so all the superficial aspects have little meaning when it comes to the bigger picture.

Bigger picture?

Power is in short supply when you’re a child...... or so it seems.

‘Powerful’ is what boys aspire to be. They don’t want to be afraid. They want to be respected and have no idea that respect born out of fear is no respect at all.

The jails are full of little boys in big bodies. Some of them would now understand that everyone has power and that it’s about how you use that power that matters.

It’s valuable to observe how toddlers are happy to be involved in any activity. How eager they are, as small children, to imitate and ‘help’.
It’s a delightful age because they don’t differentiate between work and play.

That gets lost as we gain awareness as to the things that we have to do and the things that we want to do. Conflict arises and we learn to use our power to avoid what are - essentially - our responsibilities.

What makes a man?

Perhaps it’s something to do with exercising power with responsibility.

A child can do this. It starts within the home. It requires the intelligence to grasp the fact that we are part of a family unit whether we like it or not and that we are responsible for the mess we make in the process of living.

It starts on the floor of that home. This is the literal foundation upon which we tread. It makes sense to keep it clean. If a reason is needed to keep it clean and tidy then tripping over clutter is a real danger that we can avoid by action. This is a daily and continuous activity and it’s very simple.

It’s the training of the awareness of a spiritual warrior.

If you want to be an ordinary man then just get older, more clever, more cunning and more miserly as to how you use your energy.

This is within your power.

If you want to be a man worthy of the name then you use your power to help. You do this voluntarily and you do it daily without complaint and without bitterness.

You do this because this is what the situation requires to bring order out of chaos.

A child can do this. My ‘daughters’ and sisters do this daily and it is their grief which prompts me to write this.

I hope my 'grandson' .... 'get's it '

“ You put your left leg in - you put your left leg out.” .... and the slightly manic words to the hokey pokey song run through my mind as a shimmering image of life itself.

The recent time away allows for no phone or internet. The energy required to complete the tasks presented is huge and the tasks themselves are beset by obstacle after obstacle. Perseverence, dedication and resources are needed. The job is done.

That’s one of the odd aspects of life. Many of those I know go the extra mile in everything that they undertake. Much of humanity will not put themselves out and, thus, just don’t ‘get it ’ and can’t comprehend those who do put themselves out.

Sent the completed cd off to cdbaby where they’ll put it up on itunes and the like...... and that’s about it musically.

Discovered how to take my recorded songs - for which I have no video - and add some photos, then put it up on youtube. I don’t know how useful this is but saw it used via a link from TAXI regarding the style of music required for an advertising/film opportunity.

‘Wow.’ thought I, ‘ I can do that.’ and promptly googled ‘how to make mp4's on Windows.’ which led, in turn, to a gem of a woman who’d kindly gone to the trouble of making a video showing exactly how to do that task.

Meanwhile nuclear reactors compete with Greek bailouts, riots in the streets and ominous rumblings from a groaning earth.

There’s a grim logic in our approach to climate change. If we do nothing because there’s no problem and that turns out to be true..... lucky us. Does anyone accept that this is just part of the normal cycle of weather?

If there is a problem then our lack of action is catastrophic for the future.

Logically, it makes sense to assume the problem is real and, if our actions have little consequence, we were at least heading in a positive direction.

‘An accident waiting to happen.’ is how my departed dad would survey and then describe a scene, as life went on with a blithe disregard for the obvious dangers.

Off course, as a child the dangers weren’t obvious to me and, to his credit, dad would point out where and why the dangers existed. If it was appropriate, he’d do something about it. Such lessons increase awareness.

Snow landed on the tree-ferns whilst I was away. This is almost as delightfully odd as seeing snow on palm trees. I’ve given the transplanted ferns a bit of a haircut as they don’t have the wherewithall, as yet, to maintain a luxuriant crown. They look very content and attract the satin bower birds. Yippee for life and back to work today.

Like most of the world, I’m deep in debt. Let me find my moments of joy in simple realities.

It’s the shortest day of the year here in the South. A full moon breaks the cloud cover of the last few weeks and the transplanting of the ferns - as of today - is complete.

Away for awhile with a trip to the farm, through the draining floods of the North Coast, and to music with some hard work. A sense of completion which wont last long but it’s welcome nonetheless.

That’s it.

“What day is it?” he said to himself as he looked at the thermometer. Good enough day to turn off the heat and move into the garden.

It’s early winter ‘ proper’ now. Between five to ten degrees but surprisingly pleasant in which to work with the community of tree-ferns within the garden.

I’ve not been well and it’s great to be able to bend and stretch, shovel and dig...... and do it all again.

Apart from standing alone, tree-ferns will also decide to grow other tree-ferns from both the trunk and the base...... so after ten years, there can be three or four smaller plants which can be separated from the parent. This involves sawing down into the earth and lots of levering. Eventually - after an hour or so - you have another tree-fern looking for a space of its own.

I don’t know where my love for tree-ferns springs but it’s a two way empathy and they thrive here - a mile high in the mountains. Graceful, utterly beautiful and very slow growing, they’ve witnessed the Jurassic and are as tough as old barbarians.

I work through two days of mist and drizzle to create the garden bed and then enjoy the labour of the third day - moving tree-ferns, in a light rain, and then, spending the time, washing away the excess mud. I’ll add some daffodils and give the bed a coat of sugar cane mulch and then they’ll have the rest of winter to settle in.

The songwriter night has moved from weekly to monthly due to ... lack of public interest basically. I haven’t touched ‘music’ for days.

All my creative energy has moved from music to garden and I relish that all consuming passion...... do the task at hand and move on..... I have to grin to myself as I recognise that I used seventy seven of the ninety blocks that I bought, in oder to build the walls of the bed, and had to take fifty per cent of it apart to get the level right.

Our local community radio station, BLUFM, is running their annual ‘songwriter contest’ into which I’ve entered, as I’ve done in previous years, but - as my instinct is to ‘go quiet’ - I’m doing it without actually knowing if I’ve much to offer.

I’m not an ‘emerging talent’. My latest group of songs is done and is what it is. I don’t know that I’ve anything left to say so if I go quiet here you’ll understand why.

Off to the north coast shortly, for a week or so, of ...‘ now - for something completely different.’

..... meanwhile, back in the ‘other world’, .... it’s another story.

Rain sweeps in. The windows are painted. The seasons change.

The rain settles down and into a mist filled drizzle. The painting could do with another coat but that will wait.

Magnolia tree, three metres high and beautifully shaped, has lost its final leaf revealing the small buds of flowers yet to bloom. At the beginning of the third month of winter the tree transforms into blooms of cream and purple which usually last ten days or so before the prevailing winds strip the tree bare but then carpet the ground with fading glory.

Flourescent green stripe along the wing of a king parrot catches my eye as it sits, solitary and seemingly unconcerned by the rain. What goes through a parrot’s mind in those circumstances.... and I actually do wonder that as I make a cup of coffee.

I don’t know if ‘ relationships are all that endure’ but it’s a great thing to see effort put into troubled extended family members show promising signs.

I worked in the generally regarded humble position of school cleaner for five years and in another age.

I painted “Please care” onto the garbage bins in an effort to draw attention to the fact that ‘it all matters.’....... but ‘caring at all’ is the heart of the matter.

Why anyone ‘should’ care is not so easy to establish.

Those five years were my education on what it means to take full responsibility. It’s within the nature of that job to clean up the mess created by - primarily - lack of awareness and lack of care but in the process, you also witness the changing behaviour, over a period of time, of those around you who are growing all the while.

To have any lasting effect requires consistent energy for exactly as long as it takes.

Some people ‘get it’ early in life. They see the way in which things are interconnected. I wasn’t one of them......in fact, I don’t think I had a clue until thirty or so.

I met hundreds of teenagers while working at the school. I took care of the grounds, the flower beds, planted trees and knew every inch of the place....... so, after a few years, most respected my effort.

The Principal sent kids to work with me. I think it was a ‘last ditch’ attempt to ... not ‘set them straight’ exactly ... that’s asking a lot from a cleaner...... but to actually physically work and also connect in that process.

Horrendous life situations are common for all of us at some time or another so how you approach your individual situation is critical.

Impatience with the apparent slow rate of change is cause for conflict.

It’s a ‘vicious cycle’ and not a ‘vicious circle’ - or so I’ve always read that phrase. It’s vicious because, at the end of the cycle of time, you’re worse off than when you began.

The period of time that you spend in a school is usually fixed. Whether you’re in conflict with that situation impacts on your experience of the time served.

Most of the kids who worked with me could ‘get’ that concept and how getting through this time with minimum conflict is actually a good idea.

The idea that situations - say of advance and retreat, progress and stagnation - are identical in essence for all people throughout time is an eye opener for many. Add the idea that - though the overall situation may be the same, your position within the situation will differ, one from another, depending upon factors such as being at the beginning, the middle or the end of that situation.

So, I guess it’s our approach - coloured by our understanding of the situation - that allows for ‘time served’ being conflict ridden or otherwise.

I’ll stop here. I can’t put into words, the subtleties of a moment, working in the sun - with others.

Goodee goodee, the sun IS out, the breeze is stilled and the garden reaches out.

Winter bites and I’ve no inclination today to paint the last few windows..... but I do one of the three anyway.

It’s awe inspiring to go through the NASA/JPL/Caltech/Hubble collections of images of the Universe.

I’ll use some of these images for the artwork surrounding this next cd which will be ‘done and dusted’ shortly.

Poetic is the language of astronomy..... ‘light echoes’ describes some distant galaxy.

Low grey cloud blankets the mountains, raising the temperature to very cool. It’s the next day and two windows left to paint.

I’m getting a huge amount of pleasure and discovery in playing notes across my recently recorded songs. Nothing fast but discovering where to play along the neck of the guitar is a wonder akin to the wonder I revisited regarding fractals........ so here’s a link to fractals and I’ll go paint.

http://www.forbiddenknowledgetv.com/page/1741.html

It’s not often that the Catholic church and Israel have much in common at a public level.

Both institutions are wriggling to name white black and vice versa.

Israel’s response to the U.S.A’s call for the State of Israel to recognise the 1967 borders are met with Israel’s statement that this doesn’t recognise ‘realities on the ground.’......hmm....... hundreds of thousands of fundamentalist ‘settlers’ who have stolen land, beyond those borders, in the belief that it’s all theirs anyway.

This is the only country in the world which keeps increasing the size of its borders. The fact that it’s done by stealth and skullduggery allows for Israel to now talk about ‘realities on the ground.’

Surely, where land is concerned - what is done can be undone.

Voila! A new ‘reality on the ground.’

You don’t need to be a magician to change reality.

If it were my neighbour who was acting thus then it’s beyond a joke and time for the police and mental health initiatives.

The Catholic church, recognising ‘realities on the ground’ - which, as in the case of Israel, they’ve helped cause in the first place - ‘sort of’ blames paedophilia in the church partly on prevailing social trends over the last few decades.

Enforced celibacy is a poorly constructed dam.

Theatrics, weight of Ceremony and a premise that both the church and Israel can play with a partial truth in order to avoid facing the wider reality is all a bit self defeating.

Those on the receiving end of the largesse displayed by both church and Israel towards their victims must wonder when duplicitous dealing will end.


Winter is on the doorstep and this an errant train of thought before climbing the ladder to paint..... and in some places it’s painting, quite cheerfully, into and over the cracks.

Oh glorious day with a taste of late afternoon warm summer.

The filming of a few songs at the Gearin’s songwriter night, a couple of weeks back was pretty good but my rendition of the songs just wasn’t very good and so I won’t put them up on youtube.

It’s quite sobering to watch yourself . I’m not being overly critical but no voice is pretty when out of tune.

I joined TAXI recently. This is a avenue through which an artist can submit songs for specific situations with film and T.V., or to publishers and much more. It costs to join and to put forward your work but TAXI also give critiques when songs are rejected. This is really valuable to me.

The focus of the music supervisors is sharp. Lyrics are closely examined and I already feel like revisiting earlier recorded songs where I don’t necessarily make any sense.

‘Contemporary’ is often a requirement - musically - which sort of flummoxed me as - if I’m still breathing then I’m contemporary - but, of course, I’m not...... contemporary that is ... I am still breathing.

Anyway, the quality of the song is paramount and that flummoxes me too. My vocal range diminishes over time so ‘taking it to another level’ in terms of vocal delivery just isn’t likely.

If there were a genre named folk/blues/roots/pop/alternative/easylistening then that would suit me.

Eliot and I are a whisker or two away from the mastered fourth cd and then perhaps a month or so to manufacture.

It’s not the most cheerful group of songs but I was able to rescue a twenty five year old recording of an exuberantly happy song and add it to the mix.

Months ago I came across Griff Hamlin and his youtube video on ‘how to play blues with four notes.’ Apart from immediately noting that I have four fingers, this was an eye opener for me and the undercurrent to the present ‘self doubt froth and bubble’ is the flowing positive musical world which opens up as I keep playing the scales which Griff’s video inspired me to learn.

Well, as yet, it’s a trickle rather than a stream and - critical to the process - it’s something that I can do without singing....... and scales turn into melodies.

It’s the most glorious autumn morning. Yellow, gold, crimson leaves decorate the garden as the flowers open on the Camellia’s, the late flowering purple Tibuchina and the magnificently cheerful reds, yellows and blues of the Polyanthus.

Polyanthus are a child’s painting of what flowers should look like. Vivid red and yellow with impossible blue, all sitting on small rough versions of cabbage leaves. They flower through the bitter cold of winter and look so bedraggled for the rest of the year that most probably get pulled out by fledgling gardeners who aren’t aware that they’ll keep going for years.

It’s been a perfect autumn day. No rain and the lightest of high cloud
against a pale blue sky holding a daylight crescent moon.

I finish the afternoon painting and established that the odd dizzy moment, which hasn’t manifested for awhile, doesn’t prevent me from climbing a ladder to reach those spots which require balance, nerve and a long handled paintbrush.

Played at the Rosewood restaurant for a mother’s day lunch. Few people but appreciative nonetheless. This is both a good opportunity and a challenge for me. Many songs to sing. It’s close to home and if there are few people then I can charge less - after all, the patrons don’t know me at all and have come for a meal and an experience.

Tomorrow is the Gearin’s songwriter night ..... after some more painting and before the weather turns.

So ......all pretty good locally.

Kentucky Fried Chicken had an advertisement recently which I found disturbing as it presented lying as perfectly acceptable if the desired meal was the end result. Not their first advertisement taking this approach.

I complained to the advertising standards board and to KFC. The commercial went of the air which may be coincidental as commercials do have a limited shelf life however it was the response from the Board which raised my eyebrows as they attempted to justify the commercial in terms of ‘prevailing community standards’ and their own code of ethics.

The following is my email response to the board’s determination and I don’t put up here because I think that you’ll find it interesting but so that it pops up in google if KFC are looking for feedback about their products on the web.

............................................................................................................

I will put the gist of your response online..... in particular .... lying is not an issue covered by the code of ethics ....and ..... the advertisement is targeted at adults.
What? You think children don't notice.


THE DETERMINATION
The Advertising Standards Board ("Board") considered whether this advertisement breaches Section2 of the Advertiser Code of Ethics (the "Code").
The Board noted the complainants concerns that the advertisement justifies lying and inappropriately depicts a child overhearing the lying.
The Board considered that the advertisement was intended to portray in a comical and humorous manner a person telling a lie to justify bringing home a dinner choice other than what was requested. The Board considered that the advertisement was not inappropriate in this depiction as the advertisement is targeted to adults and the lie is one which the family ends up quite happy with.
The Board considered that the depiction of the father behaving inappropriately was not a suggestion that all men tell lies and that the advertisement did not discriminate against or vilify men.
The Board considered that the depiction of the child overhearing the man telling the lie was not inappropriate as the advertisement was directed to adults and unlikely to be attractive to children.
The Board determined the advertisement was not in breach of the Code as most members of the community would be able to discern that the advertisement was a light hearted attempt at depicting the lengths that a father will go to to get the advertised product for dinner.
The Board noted that lying is not an issue covered by the Code of Ethics and finding that the advertisement did not breach the Code on other grounds, the Board dismissed the complaint.

Played later than I usually do. Met more lovely women than I've connected with for ... who knows ... and got a response regarding my complaint to the advertising standards board regarding Kentucky Fried Chicken t.v. advertisements - 'dismissed' - which can wait 'til the morrow.

A really good time had at the Gearins songwriter night with ‘Mad Cowboy Disease’ phoning me an hour beforehand to ask if I wanted to share the cost and be part of a filming session - a relatively cheap way of getting some youtube clips organised.

“Sure” say I, and by next week I’ll have some clips where I’m joined by Pennie and Bruno of ‘My Hearts Dezire’.

It’s the small things which can ‘stuff you up’ somewhat. Things like the microphone being placed a little too low for comfort. My responsibility and hard to do anything about it until a natural break occurs. These are the pitfalls of playing live and a learning experience.

I recently joined up with TAXI who place music with film and T.V. and, of course, publishers. Prompted by the latest bunch of songs being recorded for my next cd, this appears a reasonable and cost effective way in which to garner publicity and critiques from those in the industry.

I’ll limit the money I spend here as I did with Sonicbids. It’s quite sobering to hear the degree of detail with which music supervisors approach a piece of music or a song and I really don’t know if my songs will hit the mark ...... I don’t fit into ‘contemporary.’

On being ‘contemporary’ ....... I google saucepanbach every year or so and found a very nice review of ‘Whose say so’ dated April 2009, in which the author observes that he or she doesn’t know who buys this sort of music but that they should.

Anyway, you have to put it out there to find out if it works and connecting and resonating with those around you isn’t a matter of being contemporary but being timeless - or so it seems to me.

I’ve organised time off work and after the cd is mastered and safely off to be manufactured, I’m going walkabout for awhile.

Two words for which I have to check the spelling...... Blasphemy and paedophilia.

Religion is a vehicle. That’s all it is. If it doesn’t serve the purpose of aiding in the transport of the believer into a relationship with the Divine then it fails.

It’s the dogma attached to religions which leaves me worse than cold and the idea of Blasphemy could only have been conceived by someone with no sense of the Divine.

This wouldn’t matter if it weren’t for the fact that people die today for the sake of this ill conceived belief.

If the Universe is created then the real possibility of insulting the Creator is a nonsense - a mosquito piss within an ocean of galaxies - and yet man takes it upon himself to interfere with a freely ordained relationship with the Divine by thinking that the Divine needs protection from insult...... that very notion is the only blasphemy that exists.

Being rude, of course, is commonplace but people generally don’t die because of that human failing.

Homosexuality is not something with which I have any problem. The consenting adults - of both sexes - whom I’ve met have the same frailties and delightful aspects as heterosexuals. In other words, they are no more or less human than the rest of mankind.

Homosexuality gets a thumbs down - as does the eating of shellfish - in Leviticus but then again, the present day Bible was put together under the stern eye of Constantine who needed a state religion which wouldn’t threaten the status quo.

The eating of shellfish - which tend to grow close to the shore - is dangerous to health if sewage flows directly into the sea. Homosexuality threatens the survival of the tribe and, of course, this matters when tribes are small in number.

Sodom and Gomorrah weren’t destroyed because of homosexual behaviour but because the inhabitants of those cities regarded any traveller as fair game and were debased enough to force themselves on anyone who entered the city.

Paedophilia doesn’t get a mention in the Bible and yet, my own experience as a child gives me the knowledge which allows me to clearly state that this practice does huge harm. The damage caused isn’t reflected necessarily in the warping of a child’s sexuality but rather in the destruction of trust, the hesitation in the forming of relationships and in burdens of shame and guilt which properly belong solely to the adult and not the child.

‘Honour’ is a concept like ‘respect’ which disturbs my sensibilities but that can wait...... after all, neither can be demanded.

200 kilometre round trip for an hour in the studio of Skidrow radio with TJ, Chrisilla and Natasha-Elouise. What fun.

Radio IS fun. It’s a lounge room with a microphone up your nose.

Natasha is TJ’s ‘apprentice’ behind the desk and it was an unexpected wonder and delight to hear a recorded song of hers - written when she was twelve - and then to realise that I’d seen her play and been moved to write about her talent when the Songwriters had their day of fun at Darling Harbour last November.

I still remember sitting on the boardwalk, next to another songwriter, as she moved effortlessly from keyboard to guitar while we glanced at each other and remarked that we were glad we weren’t following her as ‘the next act.’

It’s great being sixty and your eyes see in a gentle, misty way. There’s fifteen years between Natasha and Chrisilla and they look the same age to me.

TJ - South Sea Island Princess that she is - presented me with a short video which she’s made and I presented her with the latest half dozen recorded songs. Played a few songs and we talked about the state of the world and interviewed each other.

It’s been a full week of music and the Rosewood restaurant staff like my songs enough to invite me back. The lovely woman behind the bar at the Family hotel tells me that ‘Can this be love’ gets stuck in her head so I’ll burn her off a copy to ensure that it’s really stuck.

The rain continues to fall and a break away from the ‘everyday’ is calling with a growing insistence. My health is not brilliant.

I arrange some days off from work and will go walkabout soon.

The last two songs of the next cd now have the vocal tracks done and it wont be long before the manufacturing stage.

Do I expect to make money? Not really but that isn’t the point. It’s about connecting with those around me and as I’m not very sociable, it’s the songs which become the vehicle .... or not.

Either way - I look to the literal stars for my inspiration as perhaps you do and, then, put one foot in front of the other and move forward with faith as a companion and no great plan in mind.

Raining through Easter and a quiet night at the songwriter sessions.

Anzac Day - remembrance of the dead who fought in wars - always moves me deeply. The fact that war is an abomination doesn’t escape me but, nonetheless, soldiers die and many believe it was for a just cause. It’s the old diggers straining to stand up straight who bring the tears forth and, yet, a songwriter I respect sees Anzac Day as an opportunity for a drink and a holiday. I don’t know if that’s all he sees it as, but that was the focus for him.

Kawther Salam writes about Palestine and does so in a powerful way. It’s odd - the short video that she presented of a small child trying to reach his home and being stopped by locked iron gates guarded by Israeli soldiers enraged me more that the phosphorus bombs so casually dropped over the Gaza Strip.

As to why this should be so, I think that it’s the indifferent inhumanity displayed by Israel - not only to the Palestinians but also to their own soldiers who have to deal with the debasing effect of such petty cruelty on their own souls which then inflames my own spirit.

I’ll play again tonight at a local restaurant. My fingers know that I’ve played after a few hours but it’s all a positive experience and as it’s a new experience, it’s also opportunity for growth. It also helps that the last session there was well received...... if my songs don’t resonate then there’s not much point in writing them.

There is an insanity prevailing in the world that goes beyond the greed with which corporations operate.

The Gulf of Mexico ‘remediation’ efforts using dispersants considered too poisonous to use elsewhere and using genetically modified bacteria to eat the sludge which settled across the sea bed have failed - except to temporarily take the problem below the surface.

You have to look below the surface - about everything we’ve been told - to make ‘sense’ of the machinations of ‘the powers that be.’

Greed doesn’t explain the utter disregard for humanity with which corporate governments and the financial system - under which we all labour - continue to operate.

If there were an ‘elite’ in existence then it’s an elite of dubious claim to intelligence.

Of what value is money when the air, water and food are poisoned.

Of what value is a palace when your servants cease to arrive for work because they’re too sick to move.

Evil ceases to exist - by virtue of consuming itself - when the ‘good’ on which it depends is exhausted.

‘Money for nothing’ is the jam with which the so called elite within the financial system have corrupted society. It sets up share markets into which superannuation funds invest so that everyone has a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. It sets up central banks - privately owned - in order to print money out of thin air and charge interest immediately.

It’s all a nonsense and shrugging our collective shoulders wont make it go away.
What to do? Be educated. The blows of fate remain blows but a prepared mind has more chance of enduring through these troubled times than those who blithely believe that our governments have our collective interest at heart.

Not every politician is corrupt but they’ve all bought the official line that the system itself is not to blame and that, somehow, human error and mild incompetence rather than evil intent is the root cause of our discontent.