Confrontations…the country needs more baddies.

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“There’s no way to rule innocent men. The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren’t enough criminals one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws.

Ayn Rand,“Atlas Shrugged”,1957

Crikey’s queensland-election-thread/

Ceremonies such as the Australia Awards, an aftermath of yesterday’s amusement was a minor fracas involving the PM, are essentially elitist shows rewarding the most intensely self-interest groups like sports, the arts and politicians, if not with the presentation of a parchment then by making a jolly good day of it.

More enlightened Australians look on bemused and understand and sympathise with a people, like other put-down groups including the aged, hopeless poker-machine addicts, substance abusers and the homeless who meet confrontational police in every turn their life makes. The purpose of government is to protect the individual rights of its citizens. Since rights can be assaulted both within a country or outside of it, the government must deal with either threat. This requires an army for defence of the country, and a police system to protect the individual citizens from other individuals within the country

Astute photography can make a bloodbath out of a splintered finger.

People With Principle And Guts.

“Infamy! Infamy! They’ve Got It In For Me.”

The acropolis is one of the most recognisable icons of Greece and is a good representation of Classical Greek culture and a well-heeled consortium would probably hand over three or four billion for it which could be used wisely like restoring Greek pensions; shipped to the States to join the Queen Mary at Long Beach, or more appropriately, London Bridge in Arizona. Entire castles have been bought from tottering estates, cut into numbered pieces and reassembled to become homes for the well-to-do and tourist venues.

The nanny-state mentality is stuffing this and every country locked into its practice. Greece is today’s model of Australia twenty years hence. Much sooner if primary exports fall over. Mandatory, State-enforced helplessness; compulsive compliance of nannyism is not helping the independence of unconscionable oldies like me in conflict with a State Government which throws millions into ‘aren’t we caring and considerate’ look-good, anti-smoking advertising, but behind the bull-dust, an entirely different scenario. Throughout life I’ve striven to sort-out my own problems, an early manifestation of the ‘trust no one’ philosophy, I expect. Being extraordinarily perceptive which means my excreta detector was well-honed, I quickly learned that deceit was the template of health and similar industries and I regard their practitioners as poxed and avoid them as I would the plague.

The above letter was used by a New York paper; the under, a follow-up to crits of my terminology:

I applaud the positive aspects a welfare state offers. Students know that Australia’s equivalent to the Democrats introduced assistance to those in need and the aged in the late 1800′s, a vote winner that the rest of the world had to embrace. My discontent stems from the state’s inability to differentiate between assistance and sheet-sniffing. I identified and made known without infringing Orwellian libel laws, two operatives assigned to discredit and move-on out-spoken public-housing tenants and forty posts later an uniformed policeman called to advise a mental evaluation test should shut me up. An ambulance or mortuary van await us all, and until either is summoned to me, all I want from the government is the fortnightly drop into my account and their absence.

“He neither walks with the multitude nor cheers with them. The observer-writer who is a real writer is a rebel who never stops.

Einstein on Solitude:

Solitude is painful
when one is young,
but delightful
when one is more mature.
I live in that solitude
which was painful in youth,
but seems delicious now,
in the years of maturity.

It has really all been said before and I’ve been one of the lazy, else occupied, ennui-tied bulk whose been only too happy to have others bat for him at the cost of self-respect, yet I never was of studious bent reasoning that poring over the writings and discoveries of my antecedents to rearrange them in such a way as to get praise and degrees, constituted plagiarism, so I amuse myself by using the wisdom, with acknowledgements, of others who generally presented it well.

In her defence of capitalism, Rand’s philosophies made huge books and huge readership. As with the Bible we pick bits to suit the occasion, and though the opening paragraph of this post was used in a compilation recently, “Good People…” the determination that drove good and decent people, much like you and me, to be arrested the other day at Kerry, near Beaudesert for defending their country, is true gut and I would like to believe their actions have been officially noted with recommendations for exceptional bravery in the face of adversity.

“Give me six lines…”

The urgency shown by top-level bureaucrats in the Queensland system to allow land and environment desecration at Kerry, near Beaudesert with back-up police presence to intimidate decent citizens shows how the genuine, well-meaning ardour of young police cadets is quickly corrupted and moulded to suit the nefarious back-door manipulations of State. In quite a short time after enlisting, their zestful guile exits the alimentary as programmed zombies. Late night viewers of the quirky 1960′s Avengers would have seen the suave Steed and Mrs Peel vie with replicas of these wacko Oxley automations. Latter-day Cromwellian zealots have had ample ego polishing, some training or understanding of the ways of good people can’t be in the curriculum except for the bit that Cardinal Richelieu shared with his reformer soul-friend that went something like,”Give me six lines written by the most honourable of men, and I will find an excuse in them to hang him.”

Man dies in custody, Blue Mountains The Daily Telegraph,

Man dies in NT police custody The Australian,

Man dies after police speeding caution Adelaide.

Man dies after speeding caution Courier Mail,

This is Queensland, Australia, 2012.

Related articles

• Record gathering of zombies in Queensland. (johnstheword.wordpress.com)

Welcome To The Future… feel free to walk on my face.

“You are a slow learner, Winston.”
“How can I help it? How can I help but see what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.”
“Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.”

George Orwell, 1984 foreseeing a repressive, anti-people Bligh Government.
 
 
“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer, poet and pioneering aviator, wrote a book that was translated into over 230 languages and dialects after his death in 1944. This book, titled The Little Prince maintains worldwide sales of over one million copies per year, making it one of the best-selling books ever published. It is this charming book we get this inspiring quote from.

Cute kid stuff, appeals to generous souls of all ages. James Dean adherents lapped it up.

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—for ever.”
― George Orwell, 1984

Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.”

“Men can only be happy when they do not assume that the object of life is happiness.”
― George Orwell

“A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: 1. What am I trying to say? 2. What words will express it? 3. What image or idiom will make it clearer? 4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?”
― George Orwell, Politics and the English Language

If the CMC had spivs as well oiled as Labor’s sheet sniffers who don’t operate any-more, (insert ‘haha’) they would have an active, full time office in Beaudesert. Am I the only one to see the irony in a Government Union representative tell me cigarette smoke complaints are not within her agenda, while advice on electricity economy is, and a week later an opposition power company is hammering on Housing Commission doors seeking new accounts?

An intrusive person representing herself as a Housing employee, phoned me on Tuesday, June 23, 2009, at 1445, introducing herself as Kym and addressed me in the familiar Christian name format. Extremely rude and pushy, but the public servant’s handbook claims this approach sets the scene to appear to the assumed mug as a trustworthy matey-buddy.

Remember the Oakey lady, the Croat incident? Why would you? Their mental incarceration by Labor’s thought police occurred more than three weeks ago. A Government engineered three week memory limit looms.

Her message of Tuesday, 23 April, 2009 at 1445 hours of the accusation that I will next be slashing tyres would be better recorded on paper; as would her retort at my observation that being allied to a tenant’s fifth column might have its advantages to when she suggested that generating my own network would definitely have its merits. Considering the department pesters its ‘clients’ ruthlessly with myriad useless, unwanted self-promotional, money-wasting clap-trap via the post, it is through the print medium that I want our dealings be conducted and on which your agents threats be recorded.

Of Ghosts And Gingerzilla. Keep the home fires burning.

(thegingerzilla) replies to “A Letter To Gingerzilla… Staying Optimistic Despite Adversity.”

Apologies for my lax reply Les, I’ve been a busy bee with Crimbo and plotting to take over the world by revealing the truth about the Kraken. Been going through a mad writing spell. I can see you have the same issue in churning out so much.

Massive thank you for this post and of course the link. For days I had much Auz traffic all originating from the state of Bligh

I forgot I have written about Auz 3 1/2 years back. Worth reading towards the end as you will find a revelation about my origins

http://gingerzilla.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-couldn-give-xxxx-for-fosters.html

Will be in touch v. soon as I’ve been reading your exploits and will return the favour of enshrining your struggles in FutureHistory. The fake CCTV was utter genius.

Take care Les

Craig Mitchell (the less unhinged part attached to the alter ego)

Hullo again, Craig,

The best asset of being young is that it doesn’t take brains. It’s difficult even, to detect unabashed ugliness amongst this group and I think it takes extraordinary perception of one so affected to go forth and get all he can before the “little boxes” mentality mashes his individuality as he strives to become his neighbour. One is expected to “put away childish thoughts” but my attitude so gets up many noses that I know I’m right. A thirty year friendship tottered after my frivolous use of ‘punkum’ shitted her despite being privy to the story.

To get familiar with doco file usage and the pc in general, I worked on noting my earliest memories, one of which included a rare occasion of my father wearing a smile. As a mere baby he would give me piggy-back rides securely ensconced in the crook of his foot/leg holding my minute hands as I looked up at him pleased when he smiled broadly down at me. Not to last as my increasing weight and his varicose legs stopped the games.

Not to last from the angle of ones later misdeeds either. Got to about age four or five for my first haircut. Grim looking old men sat on forms lining the wall intently absorbing that morning’s broadsheet, reading about war happenings I expect. Out the back the baker’s delivery horse moored on shitty straw. A board was placed across the barber chair’s armrests to raise me. I leapt out of that chair and hit the toe coming to a stop a few suburbs distant.

Showed my unfinished pre-pubescent memoirs to a younger sibling who readily rubbished the style as “childish and embarrassing.” The frankness was welcome but its delivery a worry. The view as from a child had to be retained. I had no options.

There is a slim thread connecting these meanderings, not to the opening paragraphs which somehow intruded, but to the dire importance that Tyler Durden had of scaling a barbed fence to obtain fat-farm extracted blubber with which to manufacture soap for his fighters was wasted on me, what with bar soap a very cheap commodity. He might have been going through a do-it-your-self phase. I feel obliged to run that movie yet again. And I know all about Hitler’s idea of recycling.

Top script writing that era! I borrowed the fascinating, “Picnic At Hanging Rock,” from Townsville library in the late sixties and the movie that followed a few years later so fitted the mind-picture I had as I read the story that time passed before I grudgingly accepted it as fiction. The follow-up books attempt at a denouement was badly handled according to reviews at the time so I had to come back to ground in any case.

Orwell’s vision of a skewed democracy with its double-speak twenty-eight years late. The fear of detention camps firstly zips the mind, and then the lips. The likes of The Avengers and Number 96 can only bob-up today if written clandestinely. Initiative is a controlling policeman’s “dark duck.” The fat-spill no match for the Trainspotting suppository dive into the world’s most poxed shit-house. That stuff appeals to my base, gutter-bred mongrel instinct. Robert Caryle approaches 51.

The fat burning analogy surfaces and haha. Immediate post-war Australian do-gooders sent raw hen eggs to the food-short British, encased in animal fat as a preservative measure. It worked, with the fat blocking oxygen entry through shell pores. You are welcome to my fat Craig to fuel your basement furnaces, but its disdainfulness in life puts it into the eek basket.

The under bit was meant to go elsewhere, but url lost in that dirty Scot dunny:

The purpose of government is to protect the individual rights of its citizens. Since rights can be assaulted both within a country or outside of it, the government must deal with either threat. This requires an army for defense of the country, and a police system to protect the individual citizens from other individuals within the country

Ahead are spook stories from places I know:

BABINDA

This town owes its name to three Aboriginal words: bana (water) jindi (rain) and bunda (mountain), and each of these elements town’s tragic ghost story. A few kilometres west of the town in the foothills of the Bellenden Ker Ranges is a popular picnic spot called The Boulders- where Babinda Creek forms a chain of spectacular cascades as it rushes between large boulders

Local legend has it that a young Aboriginal girl named Oolana who was betrothed to an elder fell in love with a handsome young warrior from another tribe. They eloped but were captured and punished. Oolana committed suicide by throwing herself into the stream at The Boulders. The ghost of the dead girl is said to haunt the cascades, and some claim she draws innocent victims into the water like the legendary lorelei on the Rhine in Germany.

All of the above belongs to the realm of folklore but one fact is indisputable- no less than sixteen young, single men have died tragically by drowning at The Boulders during the past fifty years.

EINASLEIGH

On a sweltering hot night in January 1872, dark crimes were committed on Carpentaria Downs Station near Einasleigh, west of Ingham. Ellen Mary Imelda Duffy, aged thirty-seven, the station’s bookkeeper, was attacked in her bedroom in the homestead. Miss Duffy’s screams for help were heard by a Chinese gardener, who ran to the house. When the murderer finished off Miss Duffy (by slitting her throat) he turned on the gardener, who ran for his life but was shot in the back. To the surprise of the whole district, the manager of Carpentaria Downs was arrested for the double murder.

Details of the affair are sketchy, but many people believed that Miss Duffy had been sent to the station by the owners to spy on the manager whom they suspected of selling ‘missing’ cattle and pocketing the proceeds. Subscribers to this theory believed the guilty manager discovered the ploy, panicked and killed Miss Duffy then, fearing the gardener would testify against him, killed him as well.

Ellen Duffy is buried in a small graveyard on the property along with twenty-six others, not one of whom died a natural death. The grave of the gardener is some distance away, marked with a single post. Stockmen on Carpentaria Downs believe that the ghost of Ellen Duffy haunts their quarters, moving softly from room to room as if searching for something. Many have wakened at night to find the spectre, dressed in a white dressing-gown, peering down at them with a puzzled expression on her sallow face.

Why the ghost should choose to haunt the stockmen’s quarters rather than the homestead where Miss Duffy met her death is a mystery. ‘Maybe the old girl likes us blokes,’ the stockmen suggest with nervous grins, ‘but we’re not too keen on ‘er.’

MOUNT GARNETT

On Gunnawarra Station, south of the old mining town of Mount Garnett, another of those startling lights occasionally appears. According to head stockman Banjo Palmer and others who have gotten within 30 metres of this light, described as a luminous, empty sphere, it swoops down on herds of cattle causing them to break and stampede.

Crikey, Mateys and Cobbers of Queensland ! It’s almost turd rotation time again.

Image via Wikipedia

After becoming familiar with the Ruler’s lurks and perks handbook, Newman won’t want to upset his new chums and tutors, the long entrenched Bureaucrats, owners of their domains and to retain and encourage a working compatibility, will be unable to delve comprehensively into QBuild quangos or care much about the character assassination of some tenants by retributive Sister Ratcheds of the Housing Dept. Anyway, the NLP chief won top-level favour by declaring their patch excluded from the playing field.

The exposed workings of Qld Labor Government have hurt so many of us in different ways that polling day for thinkers has becomes a festive occasion with, for me, a void vote the days major thrill. The CM’s inner sanctum less favourable to Bligh lately suggests the big fellas dropped her. Queenslanders though, are still part of the Great Southern land whose occupants, in the main, have a three-week memory recall and a State/newspaper sponsored fun-run or firework show held within that time-frame will favour the incumbent.

A daily declaration of a new martyr seems to have a similar purpose, a variation of the days when a garbage worker knocked back a knighthood offer which was then eagerly accepted by the infamous turncoat unionist, Jack Egerton.

So long as the Nanny-state thinking rules, we will all wear the Dumbded-down Australians tag.

IdiotsQueensland.com.au/ not martyrs but dickheads!

Even though most Australians try to bust the,”she’ll be right” barrier which the Qld Govt. promotes as acceptance of an ordered society, sociopath parents rape and torture their children, depraved women eat body parts, and that was de rigueur in Queensland before Hannibal, Lambs and Anthony Hopkins popularised the practice. A consideration for fellow drivers no longer a mantra. A road-safety piece on this indifference, hate almost, of fellow motorists strongly hinted that a confrontational police attitude is returned to them in spades and this aspect could do with an official look.

The world-wide matriarchal experience is clearly not working and in Queensland, Bligh is a prime example of behind the scenes, sneaky (smug) ? bureaucrats rorting and running the system to suit. These white-collar suspects must be brought to account by putting them on show where their public antics can be transparent. I try forlornly, to bring the deeds of these miscreants to the attention of interested parties through this website, http://lesjohns.wordpress.com.

 
Crass people should be reminded often of their repulsiveness. mobile motor-mouths head the list:

Megatroid Mania wrote: “There’s nothing wrong with using your cell in any other car. I don’t see a difference between talking to a person sitting next to you, and talking on your cell phone.”

Would that there were, in fact, no such difference. Alas, both scientific research and nearly universal anecdotal evidence confirm that not only do a great many people who insist on inflicting others with their endless cell phone prattle, in fact, do so more loudly than they would converse with someone seated next to them, but the mere fact that only half of the conversational information is available to those so put upon is sufficient to make such annoyances far more difficult to ignore. (The brain is evolved to try to piece together the missing information, which it infers from the cadence and emotiveness of the singular conversant. It does not react the same way, for instance, to someone reciting a monologue.)
My personal opinion is that those who pretend that their extended cell phone use in such situations “ain’t no thang” are likely to be borderline narcissists, at the very least. Personally, I’d have given serious consideration to throwing her bodily out a window. On the general principle that her rudeness disproved her humanity.
Lakeysha Beard ended up being escorted off the train by friendly Oregon police officers and charged with disorderly conduct.
It seems that several announcements from the train staff didn’t quite do the trick of tearing her away from her cell phone. It seems that then she became embroiled in what was described by the police as a “verbal altercation” with other passengers, whose Sudoku games she had, perhaps, disturbed.
I haven’t been on an Amtrak train for a while, but apparently they have cell phone charging stations, as well as no official policy on cell phone use.
Still, don’t most humans know when they’re getting on someone’s nerves? Perhaps not in every case. As MSNBC reported, Beard herself felt “disrespected.”
Can someone please invent a phone that drowns out the speaker’s voice for everyone except the person at the other end of the call? That would surely be easier than social engineering.
Chris Matyszczyk

Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today. James Dean

Good people don’t heed or need the direction of dunces.

The calibre of a man is found in his ability to meet disappointment successfully, enriched rather than narrowed by it. — Thomas Kelley.

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This little stanza comes from The Mahabharata, some writings from a sub-continent sect.

What is the greatest wonder?

Each day strikes and yet

we live if we were immortal.

This is the greatest wonder.

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I do not have tangible evidence to support the rumour that the following answers to examination questions emanated from Rudd Street, Oxley.

 

* “The body consists of three parts – the brainium, the borax and
the abominable cavity. The brainium contains the brain, the
borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abominable cavity
contains the bowels, of which there are five – a, e, i, o and u.”

* “Vacuum: A large, empty space where the pope lives.”

* “The alimentary canal is located in the northern part of Indiana.”

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“What luck for rulers that men do not think.”…Adolf Hitler.

 

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Here are examples of psychological roles that associate narcissism and authority, Children of Narcissus

An evolutionary analysis of narcissism.

Copyright © 2008, Paul Lutus — Message Page
The Policeman | The Preacher | The Teacher
The Expert | References

The Policeman

First, please excuse my not using the P.C. expression “Police officer.” It’s too cumbersome.

Not all narcissistic “policemen” are duly authorized officers of the law. Many are narcissists who focus an inordinate amount of attention on rules that, apart from them, no one cares about. Some invent rules of their own, then try to enforce them. This narcissistic role is complicated by the fact that many of its members are both narcissists and OCD sufferers.

In normal life, regardless of how many rules there are, most are not enforced unless their violation represents an injury or inconvenience to someone. In ordinary circumstances, unless there is a victim no one cares, and this pragmatic outlook extends (or should extend) to courts of law. In evaluating legal issues, justices are expected to ask themselves a series of practical questions, including, “where’s the harm?” An example might be an unofficial nude beach — a group of people want to sunbathe in the nude, they’ve chosen an unused, secluded area, where’s the harm? Obviously someone could make the argument that they are technically breaking a law against public indecency, but normally in a case like this, there’s no enforcement unless a citizen files a complaint.

Enter the narcissistic policeman, whose motive is not public order or justice but control and domination. In our hypothetical nude beach example, it doesn’t matter whether the “policeman” is a duly authorized officer of the law or a busybody narcissist — if he chooses and is inclined, the “policeman” can make a lot of trouble for the sunbathers, regardless of how careful they are not to irritate public sensibilities.

One can usually distinguish a narcissistic policeman from the ordinary kind. A narcissistic policeman will harass you based on the letter of the law, asking only “is it legal?”, while a normal one will only bother you if your behavior violates someone’s rights — before taking an action, the latter will always ask the justice’s question, “where’s the harm?”

“Is it legal?” is important in some contexts, but no one expects all laws to be enforced in all circumstances, except possibly a narcissist. “Where’s the harm?” is a more pragmatic approach, and it is the standard most likely to be applied by a seasoned, non-pathological policeman. Therefore if you meet a policeman who seems to care more that a law has been broken than whether any harm is done, chances are you are in the company of a narcissist, whose agenda is control and domination. By the way — if you are confronted by a uniformed policeman, and if you believe he is a narcissist intent on harassing you for no perceptible reason, for God’s sake don’t share your conclusion with him. The danger is that you may be right — ever hear of “narcissistic rage”?

Philosopher Ayn Rand wrote that a government could achieve total domination by passing laws so numerous and contradictory that every citizen becomes a lawbreaker, allowed to walk around free only through the forbearance of the authorities. That is a perfect description of the narcissistic policeman role, as well as an approximate description of modern times.

“There’s no way to rule innocent men. The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren’t enough criminals one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws.”

— Ayn Rand, “Atlas Shrugged”, 1957

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…and all you wanted to know about Fanta.

In 1940 Fanta was created by the German Nazi chemist Schetelig during World War II in Germany, for the German Coca-Cola bottling company in Essen. Due to wartime restrictions on shipping between Nazi Germany and the United States, the Nazi bottling plant could not get Coca-Cola syrup. The CEO of the plant, Max Keith, needed a product to keep the plant in operation and devised a fruit flavored drink made from available ingredients.

Using apple fiber remaining from cider pressing and whey, a byproduct from cheese manufacture, Fanta was created and became quite popular. The original German Fanta had a yellow color and a different flavor from that of Fanta Orange. The flavor varied throughout the war, depending on the ingredients used.

The name ‘Fanta’ was coined during an employee contest to name the new beverage[citation needed]. Keith told them to let their Fantasie (German for “imagination”) run wild. On hearing that, salesman Joe Knipp spontaneously arrived upon the name Fanta.

After World War II, Fanta was introduced to the United States by Coca-Cola, and in 1960 they bought the trademark. What had been known as Fanta Klare Zitrone (“Clear Lemon Fanta”) in Germany, was introduced to the United States as Sprite in 1961 to compete against 7-Up. Fanta Orange is the most popular Fanta flavor, available in 180 countries. In terms of volume, Brazil is the largest consumer of Fanta in the world, followed by India[citation needed]. Fanta remains more popular in Europe and South America than in the United States.

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Griff Rhys Jones and his bantering with the locals whose fishing is disturbed as he propels his canoe through shallow, narrow river-ways with a sturdy pole. This chap is an accomplished narrator. I enjoy.

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“Infamy! Infamy! They’ve Got It In For Me.”

The acropolis is one of the most recognisable icons of Greece and is a good representation of Classical Greek culture and a well heeled consortium would probably hand over three or four billion for it which could be used wisely like restoring Greek pensions; shipped to the States to join the Queen Mary at Long Beach, or more appropriately, London Bridge in Arizona, the State that prompted Beattie and Bligh to introduce pull over edicts embarrassing older people and inducing health break-downs. Entire castles have been bought from tottering estates, cut into numbered pieces and rebuilt to become homes for the well-to-do and tourist venues.

The nanny-state mentality is stuffing this and every country locked into its practice. Greece is today’s model of Australia twenty years hence. Much sooner if primary exports fall over. Mandatory, State-enforced helplessness; compulsive compliance of nannyism is not helping the independence of conscionable oldies like me in conflict with a State Government which throws millions into ‘aren’t we caring and considerate’ look-good, anti-smoking advertising, but behind the bull-shit, an entirely different scenario. Throughout life I’ve striven to sort-out my own problems, an early manifestation of the ‘trust no one’ philosophy, I expect. Being extraordinarily perceptive which means my shit detector was well-honed, I quickly learned that deceit was the template of health and similar industries and I regard their practitioners as poxed and avoid their company.

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Other People’s Musings:

Not all entries will feel momentous. If they are epiphanies, they might well be trivial ones, such as this one from Maugham’s notebook from 1941: “I often think how much easier life would have been for me and how much time I should have saved if I had known the alphabet. I can never tell where I and J stand without saying G, H to myself first. I don’t know whether P comes before R or after, and where T comes in has to this day remained something that I have never been able to get into my head.”

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Beware Thugs In Parks:

Below is a grab from my market day experience at the Labor Party tent when I idly remarked how the NLP has three or four anti-Labor themes in every issue of the Courier Mail that could be picked-up and run with:

Now while I had become acquainted with this lot by mutual, initially Labor-favoured  small talk well before Raguse made his seat runs, my comment so startled the boy Jason,  that he produced an apparently ever-ready camera and asked me to pose with his lady-friend for a “matey” shot. I did so without qualm, having  nothing to fear or hide and the Labor Party mind games began, a fruitful  mental exercise replacing crosswords. Once an avid Labor voter, I seek now to support the candidate most likely to damage Queensland Labor hoodlums.

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The Mark Twain Literary Award most probably came about by a favourite:
“All you need in this world is ignorance and confidence, and your success is assured.”

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Daltonism: Michael Rowland mentioned his Daltonism a few weeks back.

Marcus_Aurelius.” How much more grievous the consequences of anger than the cause of it.”

A Letter To Gingerzilla… Staying Optimistic Despite Adversity.

I’ve been slack as all get-out lately with few posts made, so to jazz-up this month’s numbers I run this comment used on gingerzilla:

“Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man.” And the Russian revolutionary wore the ice-axe at a relatively youthful 60. It’s only lately that I’ve quit wondering what I should do for a quid when (if) I grow up. Mangling Wilde, every old bastard has earned the hatred he gets. I’ve got unfinished files spread all over the place, a meaningless mess like a madman’s excreta, yet I’m finishing off bio stuff that if put to screen would delight my detractors, for shooting my foot is a way of life, and would disadvantage my anti-Government tilts, an impossible task, in any case, for an aging novice.

I have no criminal form and daily bank jobs in this area commonplace, and a depraved pair who raped and tortured their child makes p. 18 in the Courier Mail, yet a copper is dispatched to threaten the fear of insanity for dissident blog comments. The site’s blogroll has photo shots purportedly of a Gold Coast, Queensland internment camp. Even mature adults seem to have no care for the future.

I am pleased as Punch that you acknowledged my email Craig. Most bloggers forget or are too busy to reply. Esp. liked the ‘offending’ advert and your style in general. We have similar tastes, if you’ll pardon the presumption. I admit to my brain-dead status of late and attribute the condition to shifting house, an emotional trauma equaling that of a divorce or of a death in the family, according to a time-wasting expert.In my case,not strictly true, yet I hesitate to write it up. This is not capitulation to political thuggery, but I would rather speculate on why yesterday, 600 grams of choice Tasmanian salmon and a red onion should disappear from my shopping bags between the shop and unpacking at home.

Above this line is the message the postmaster couldn’t transmit and you were coy about names so I searched by putting your failed email name into the bar; revealed many entities which will necessitate a few visits to better understand the subject. Earlier I claimed StumbleUpon was the medium through which I found your site, but must retract. Pretty sure now your discovery came about by putting Anti-Qld Govt blogs into the search bar.

I felt a need to keep the following quoted bit handy:

“The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is a form of synchronicity.
The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon occurs when a person, after having learned some (usually obscure) fact, word, phrase, or other item for the first time, encounters that item again, perhaps several times, shortly after having learned it.”

And wonder about shared, recurring interests like age, salmon and pheromones and even the Gadfly Suite, theme music two decades back to a British TV spy agent and his exploits, which was playing even as I found its tag on your site. The unpublishable stuff obliquely referred to which my foes would love to have for backup ammunition include the delirious effect well tuned pheromones have on the loins.

I voluntarily submit now to night infirmary. All the best, Les Johns.

An Old Gonzo Bastard Has His Say…while officious bastards put a pox on him.

Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first-person narrative. The word “gonzo” is believed to be first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.

Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over fact to achieve accuracy—if accuracy is in fact meant to be achieved at all—and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the “polished”, edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for a more gritty, personable approach—the personality of a piece is just as important as the event the piece is on. Use of quotations, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and profanity is common.

Among the forefathers of the new journalism movement, Thompson said in the February 15th, 1973 issue of Rolling Stone, “If I’d written the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people—including me—would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.”[1]

The Gonzo explanation was provided by the invaluable wikipedia whose pages invite donations from grateful users.
The below quoted piece is reproduced, without comment, from NewScientist.

From the first voice box transplant ever to reversing the symptoms of Alzheimer’s by zapping the brain, it has been a fascinating, and on occasion downright weird, year in biomedicine. Who can forget the discovery that faecal transplants ease the symptoms of Parkinson’s? We’ve also reported pills that could prevent cancer, warned of the five small steps to a potentially lethal flu pandemic, and even had a reporter perform intimate acts inside an fMRI scanner to unlock the secrets of consciousness. Here are our top 10 favourite stories of the year.

Don’t know about other people who are interested in Queensland State politics, but my prescience doesn’t need to be engaged to pick up a decisive anti-Bligh swing at Bowen Hills. Their former mild admonishment of the George Street cabal is generally too cosy and apologetic for mine, so formatted to be forgotten after 24 hours, but Saturday’s Courier Mail of 17 inst. showed a return to editorial independence, a mettle of sorts, suggesting Murdoch is trying far too late, to expose his human characteristics by lifting his embargo on constructive criticism of the reviled, Beattie-tainted Bligh and returned comment to the locals. The capitulation compliments his British humiliation where own sewage laps at his nostrils to the doubtful, diminishing worth of defending Bligh’s Executive Looters. The pay-off isn’t there anymore, no gain in defending fellow hoodlums with retribution knocking on his own door.

The Courier Mail rewards age-pensioner hater, pro-smoking advocates like Syvret with editorial elevation, conscientious scribes move over to Crikey. Senior writers work lamely establishing a schism between the Government and the police when the fact is each would collapse without the other.

Laying shit on the minor players collectively known as the executive bench or “yes” people won’t dislodge artful dodgers in the PS system. Backroom shakers and boss bureaucrats have the system pretty well tied-up and use former Police Commissioner Lewis’s small fish analogy to call-in favours years later; are crafty artisans playing can’t lose Monopoly perfected during pre-TAB days when police protected local SP operators for a gratis five quid on the winner of the last in Melbourne.

During the sixties, particularly nasty anti-personnel manoeuvres by East Germany’s secret police appealed to psychological misfits who make Brisbane CIB what it is when it was situated in Queen’s Park opposite the present Treasury Casino where a dour, shit-covered Victoria presides, becoming the Secret Police template. When the Special Branch puffed itself up and got legs, there wasn’t a spluttering bomb to be found so they justified their existence by keeping track of decent, every-day citizens whose remarks at the work-place and in private became, with snapshots of the occasion, their dossiers.

With last week’s IT toys becoming passé by the minute, new equipment makes for open slather by malevolent and iniquitous operatives within once worthy organisations like Police Departments who believe newspaper platitudes of their own omnipotence and status. One of these manipulators tried entrapment on me reckoning an old bastard would forget about voice recorders. By the same token, his derogatory comments putting me down are on record. Talk of mental evaluation test didn’t sway me either. On reminding him of a clean crime sheet and that I had never feared losing my driver’s license, two indicators of a person’s character, his response was “for someone like you to avoid conviction,” meant I always had good fortune. I also had parents interested in my well-being, the nature of which would be beyond his understanding, and which is being steadily dismantled by a do-good, meddlesome nanny state and bad people within the “system.”

The comical innocence of official stupidity that so amused Yes Minister viewers has an element of truth about it but it would be a dread error to mistake amusing TV nonsense for the real thing where a crossed Department head can, with an ever-ready pool of eager perversity awaiting orders, inflict continuing torment on a dissident. I was forced out of a comfortable flat when vendetta-driven little girls, cigarette-smoking Queensland Housing staff condoned the lighting of multiple mosquito coils 24 hours a day by up-wind tenants, the previously mentioned ‘eviction tenants’ especially imported by manipulators to do a a specific job. It was successfully enacted. I departed, but when I ridiculed the two antagonists via this blog, Queensland Labor had their censor police visit me with a ‘shut-up or else’ ultimatum, also mentioned early on.

The next bit was lifted from a recent story:

In mid-November, 2010, the unusual activity and pointed theatrical asides of two relatively recent arrivals aroused my interest and their unpleasantness was noted to become posts on this site. After some nine months and many postings later, I hadn’t let up and my revelations apparently embarrassing Kaiser and his closet cadres enough for an uniformed police person to call on me with the threat to invoke the mental evaluation act to silence my comments on this pair of spivs. My decision-making, my freewill and my liberties were reined-in by a Labor endorsed thug. I had to quit referring to the two bullying Labor deviates. I’ve had my say on this subject and would rather reflect on why only baleen whales eat krill than have the tits bored off me in a revived interest of two confirmed stasi.

May The Gonzo Fraternity Grow And Help Dump(On)Complacent Government Nanny-Bludgers.

Cheers, Les Johns.

Going To See Jesus…a la N. Q. Those of us who are about to die!

 

In Queensland, we’ve got a lot of “great blokes” and “good guys.” All dead and all beaut Aussie battlers, and much loved, of course, “Never hurt nobody.” Pig’s arse! In North Queensland, as in the N.T. they’re tagged larrikins whose idiotic, drunken ego earned a premature despatch to Jesus. Witness the latest recipient of the wanker superlatives. To date, the drunk who fell prey to a “marine animal,” and here we mustn’t remind connections how a crocodile mauls its catch, has been only gently honoured by the mildest of glowing terms but standby, this lapse will be atoned by tonight’s news when praise will thicken. Bah…This must be humbug season.

 

The under quote was used by a major Australian news-site Monday last.

With Australian officialdom seeking to gee-up the peasantry by creating new martyrs at any opportunity, today’s arrival from Indonesia of a protected young criminal should fit the bill. This hoodlum’s “gruelling ordeal” started with  contempt of his host country’s laws and was given a token sentence when the six years on offer was appropriate. Shame on Indonesia.

Lots of love, Les.

“You have enemies? Good…! That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”

 
The Monty Python skit on oldies is under rabid walloper end para 2. Appreciation to Gingerzilla for that. Tongue-in-cheek is an invaluable commodity. Yanks, I understand, are irony-blank.

And no, Laze and Gen of Queensland, before Bligh’s thought police return with reinforcements to cuckoo nest me for the heading of this story, I hasten to add the title came not from my disturbed, excessively introverted “black duck” mind, but from master tactician Winston Churchill a sufferer, with Stephen Fry, of a mental condition known as manic depression who, because his rarefied, untouchable pecking order offered some protection from Government nannies and do-gooders. Public housing tenants like the writer live in constant fear of impending mental incarceration for blog comments too close to the mark. The possibility of electric shock treatment and its permanent memory loss lie before me if authoritative Queensland threats are followed through. So, for the time being; I know nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, and hear nothing, so would you please pass the mushroom and forget the convulsions.

Earlier in the year, an unnaturally high number of ready to publish material went to cyber heaven minutes before it was to be edited. I have theories, imagined of course, which will get some attention later on. I suppose my mental retardation and general stupidity, blessed and normal in a non-public housing society, but condemned as dangerously reactionary in dissenters, caused my doco file to repeatedly crash. (Oh, really?) I urge other similarly affected people with vanishing text to use their email or dashboard draft folder for all writing. I’ve not lost a word since I had the idea. A reluctant doctor visitor, I went to an MD recently and left without an intro letter to a shrink, but this fellow lacks the confidence a two-week introductory course in psychiatry imparts on a rabid walloper in nutter recognition.

Medics diagnose and heal by numbers, or how many visits (bucks) their deep patient concerns can suck out of the gullible. Each and every one of Bligh’s commendable script-writers insist oldies are nuts who are tired and need help. If that’s the case, then I’m presuming the Federal Department for Mental Jobs reward States for their diligence in apprehending these hereto undisclosed potential axe slayers, especially those unpleasant thinking oldies given to using the internet to expose turds and their effect in Queensland Housing.

Remnants of Queensland’s notorious Special Branch tagged me a dark duck for maintaining blog attacks on two particularly accomplished and obnoxious stasi deployed for the time being with the Housing Department to displace an unwanted tenant. Bring down the opponent any which way is the whole deal and I will try to explain the system next post. A uniformed stasi inquisitor presented a convincing argument to quit printing anti-Housing thoughts. The generally accepted freedoms are passe in this State and those young marchers having picnic rallies really have no idea the depth of the devil.

I’d dearly like to hear what my 1960′s mates might have to say about the removal of hard-fought for freedoms. Throughout my blogs, I’ve stressed a 1984 emergence with Bligh’s mind-control methods of retaining the Treasury too extreme. You won’t hear a word of dissent from me though, the denouement of compulsory containment predicted in my story is like, ” Ah, Mr. Doppleganger, at last we meet.” Freedom Lost! The alternative to freedom is shame. My words have been my imagination. Following an enlightened conversation, I am now convinced that I should submit to stupidity for the present. Conspiracy Theory m.s. I can’t use names, or it’s, “Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it’s off to the zap factory you go.” my kicking-boy status frowns on thoughtful observations.

Mike Kaiser retaliates.

A Letter To An American Blog-site.

I am aging, meaning in Queensland Government speak, my opinions and feelings are horse-shit and always have been, a one-celled ignorant cretin who abruptly got the message. In conflict with biased Queensland Housing staff for wanting controls on cigarette smoke drift into downwind flats, and a consideration for public housing tenants beset by ignorant cell-phone users. My blog-site was set up as a hobby, an inoffensive, quiet and unobtrusive toy, mainly to compliment the brain exercising that crosswords offer.  It soon became a shaky soap-box of sorts, ready to be kicked from under me at any moment, my sparse  audience absent from the Let Les Johns Be Free rally to attend Brisbane’s March For  Democratic Rights.

Queensland Labor Governments usually ignore and dismiss the opinions of a pipsqueak individual, but Labor’s reborn paranoia, with its updated tapping equipment, spook chasing has expanded into a vast stasi-like organization with snooping cadres recording comments for future use, as common-place as traffic cops bobbing-up in the most unlikeliest of places. After my hand-written letter to a relevant Government minister was given the flick, I learned enough about computers, as I did about the crooked cogs within bureaucracy to irritate these devious, holier than thou confidence tricksters, frauds  who have all the forces imaginable to have their demands obeyed.

Stand-over relics of Queensland’s Special Squad made unexpected and unsettling visits to my flat explaining I am to cease public ridicule of two protagonists, encouraged to release toxin at will. It is my fired-up imagination that three lit mosquito coils on a spring day is to annoy me, considering their use is unnecessary mid summer. Too close to the truth, it seems! A thinker of the old order didn’t need  Hemingway’s famous shit-detector, which is in fact a natural prescience, to ascertain that these two working in tandem, are Judas tenants, planted and especially honed to create self-doubt in a stubborn tenant who the authorities want removed but who won’t budge. I am that person of course. A police officer called and insisted I take an immediate rest.  This is censorship, a la Bligh Queensland Government and it says a lot about how a Government so reviled and despised with half its Cabinet under suspicion for deception and thuggery has repeatedly won the polls for 15 years.

Without engaging the shit detector, I foresee an immediate and dramatic reduction in my driving skills coming up. My wordpress site, if OK. is  site:lesjohns.wordpress.com  or http://wp.me/pReYN-Ji

Dear Julien Assuage.

When Assuage got in a similar poo to mine, I had the presumption to compare my imagined predicament with his and offered puny encouragement, all I had, with the pitiful few paragraphs reproduced from Sept 24..

Dear Julian Assuage,

I was indifferent to gay rights and still regard gay marriage as an inexpedient nonsense. There are legalities available to solidify or publicise relationships or to finger an authority no longer a threat to their choice. Revive the practice of issuing banns perhaps? Had same-sex relations continued to be outlawed a la the olden days you, my dear Julian would have been charged with man sex or any charge by which Sweden would amuse the USA. Its all about appeasing the emotional money master.

You are confronted by the long odds these stasi operatives need to succeed in their on-going quest against fair play and justice for the individual, but you’ll emerge triumphant and the absolute joy will sustain you to the last day. I do hope the euphoria that must equal the childlike satisfaction of a new Christmas bicycle restores your hair color. Post Christmas, I’d like you to do a Wiki-job on a band of artless crooks who, without the umbrella of the Woodridge division of the Queensland Housing Department would despair for mummy and daddy in a Wacol goal.

At least Jules, you had access to tangible readable documents. Crooked Queensland Housing employees who have arcane reservations make threats by telephone, and when I closed that avenue the uneducated and ignorant Kymberley despatched a boy Terry, to quote tenancy provisions, which I’m sure don’t include the stipulation that I must accept calls from a boofy Housing serial phone pest or that a recent obstreperous, trouble-making arrival shouldn’t be asked to tone down her very audible mobile phone calls.

 

Major characters in the 1949 novel. 1984.

Winston Smith – The novel’s protagonist
Julia – Winston’s lover
Big Brother – The dictator of Oceania in the year 1984
O’Brien – A government agent who deceives Winston and Julia into believing that he is a member of the resistance.
Emmanuel Goldstein – A former top member and now opposer of the ruling Party

Keep in mind writer’s prisons, Julien. Bligh, with the Feds are rumored to have ready a special complex to house dissidents. There is a resurgence in Manipulators and malevolence, but you would have been elsewhere detained to notice how unaffected persons don’t really give a rats.

Lament for a lost Australia. Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me.    Les Johns

We’re In Queensland, And Nanny Ratched Called On Me.

In Queensland, Nanny Ratched Called On Me.”

I had had an amiable relationship with the R.E. agent and out of decency gave me 4/5 months advisement of sale of rented house. Applied for and got a place. After procrastinating for three months and paying two rents, I ignored the strong premonition of disquiet that engulfed me whenever I drove past the State accommodation precinct at 220-226 Brisbane Street, Beaudesert and moved in. The denigration is immediate with the official description of the residence that most new arrivals want to make a home. They haven’t come to a flat or unit, they’ve come to “accommodation.” And who made this directive? Why, none other than the Ministry Of The Homeless. Is that title in itself not a grand piece of bureaucratic importance? Their motto; Be Contrite or Be Homeless. Companies spend good dollars on a logo that befits the projected image. The implication is you are there by their grace, to dry-out or to recover from a bad dose of crack, then move on. It’s part of the put-down.

Shortly after my induction to this place, residents were issued instructions to use flowery terminology like apartment when referring to their digs. Back then, few people were drawn back to the place and the bullshit supposed to be a lure. I soon discovered that dismissing one’s prescience can have an unpleasant and long-lasting consequence, that public renters like me who query arbitrary decisions have become the new kicking boy displacing the aboriginal race, formerly the favored target of a copper’s tongue and boot. A disgraced redemption of sorts is won by selling your soul to mendacious and venomous Station Road harridans. I.Q.numbers on tenants are elastic but with Google showing 62 for the average aboriginal, white renters and staff should be happy with a 55 rating.

“Intellectual activity is a danger to the building of character.” Goebbels.

On Tuesday 25, October, I had a caller supposedly representing a sub-agent of a Queensland Government Department. My imagination-inspired ver batim report later. Cryptic bits; the writer, “With age I find my own company much more enlightening and preferable.” Response…”Dark duck.” Meaning? Googling not much help–but coming from his type of person, it wouldn’t be complimentary. The tag most likely applies to an abnormally introverted person, ie in police parlance, not a beer swigging yob to detain later for drunk driving; not one of the herd? Then definitely a potential axe killer in preparation, should get a martyr medal for picking this bastard. Explains his hesitant approach… These amateur, two week experts must fuck the lives of lots of good people. I’ve had a few nutty acquaintances over the years who took up various areas of psychiatry,” Why not capitalize on what you know a fair bit about,” was their collective attitude. A mature chap of brief acquaintanceship surprised me a couple of weeks ago me with that very same admission.

Went on another Google search for the current police logo. Found the wording to a site that had “To Harass And Collect” shut down–embargoed. We Must Be In Queensland. The Q&A went something like… Why …??? Self replied “So and so…” and on adding,” but I would need the best Conspiracy Theorist in the word to collude with me to explain it convincingly.” This comment followed… “We will go to your doctor immediately and organise a mental assessment.” His voice recorder has my words. His message encapsulated what this blog has been about; of my life since becoming a Queensland Public Housing tenant and its descent into an alien, unnatural, open prison type of existence. Add humiliation and despair. My indifference and ennui was soon replaced by a curiosity and a wish to confirm that the exposed vindictiveness and manipulation were not one-off, rare act of retribution, but on-going deeds of Machiavellian revenge.

Few academic Australians under fifty years of age would remember Hitler’s infamous propaganda minister, Goebbels, and how his name was as reviled as his Fuhrer, yet all Labor backroom propagandists a la Mike Kaiser, would have short stasi lives if they didn’t follow his dictum of repetition, “Tell the people a lie often enough and they’ll come to believe it.” The Bligh organization the most rapacious user of this less than subliminal message of reminding poor starving pensioners of their everlasting plight. I would like to believe she would win more general voting support if she opened these popular appeals by reminding welfare recipients that, despite the machinations of some rabid Queensland Housing operatives whose bias has led to bad deeds, it is not yet a criminal offence to think for themselves, that using common-sense is possible if the motives of Labor Government public servants can be monitored and corrected. The present Queensland Labor Party threatens obliquely if their mind-control fails. Click on Germany in the thirties.While the Welfare State has commendable attributes, the Nanny State is double talk for brain-washing and intrusion of suspected opponents.

The nanny-state mentality is stuffing Australia. It has stuffed the economies of those countries whose unctuous legislators have corrupted a once grand welfare concept for the false, feel-good theorem of instant gratification, not unlike the laziness that follows an acceptance of masturbation over the real thing or being satisfied with a rare poker-machine win. While the subject of aging and its consequences is anathema to commercial TV broadcasting, ABC TV conversation programmes like Q&A et al often feature the views and opinions of widely accepted interviewees who all stress the need, indeed the necessity of keeping the brain as stimulated and as tuned as the body should be. Active older minds are induced into a state ordered comatose condition, and working, still active minds of self-reliant oldies like the writer spits on Bligh’s rhetoric picture of life’s,”…hard done-by pensioners suffering deprivation,” surviving on cat-food, pitifully attired in rags seeking alms by rattling a rusty jam tin. Melodramatic violin straining heartstrings in the bare, cold attic where our poor little hands stay cold until summer’s zenith when the air-conditioner breaks down on cue. Don more socks or remove them to suit the climate. It works for me. I keep a late model Falcon in better than legal and safe condition, get regularly ripped-off by computer parasites, eat too well by utilizing the major retailers to my own advantage, won’t recognize fast-food establishments, last partaking of their overpriced and overblown product post-funeral in 1997.

Less resolute people capitulate to the never-ending mantra of Australian politicians. The rhetorical asks what is more repugnant or depressing than our Premier’s constant reminder to all welfare recipient of their gullibility. Will they ever get the message to get off their fat butts and help themselves? Greece is today’s model of Australia five years hence. Much sooner if primary exports fall over. Mandatory, State-enforced helplessness; compulsive compliance of nannyism is not helping the independence of conscionable oldies like me in conflict with a State Government which throws millions more into self-promotion. Throughout life Ive striven to sort-out my own problems, an early manifestation of the ‘trust no one’ philosophy. Being extraordinarily perceptive which means my shit detector was well-honed, that the bland acceptance of deceit as the template of the health industry easily persuaded me to avoid their practices and their practitioners. Savor freedom while it still exists. The word tyranny rings a bell. Is it Queensland-centric, I wonder?

Goebbels Was There, But Nanny Ratched Called On Me.”

Those Who The Queensland Housing Department Wish To Destroy, They First Discredit.

In Queensland, Nanny Ratched Called On Me.”

After procrastinating for three months and paying two rents, I ignored the strong premonition of disquiet that engulfed me whenever I drove past the State accommodation precinct at 220-226 Brisbane Street, Beaudesert and moved in. The denigration process starts immediately with the official description  of the residence that most new arrivals want to make a home. They haven’t come to a flat or unit, they’ve come to “accommodation.” And who made this directive? Why, none other than the Ministry Of The Homeless. Is that title in itself not a grand piece of bureaucratic nonsense?  Their motto; Be Contrite or Be Homeless. Companies spend good dollars on a logo that befits the projected image. The implication is you are there by their grace, to dry-out ot to recover from a bad dose of crack. It’s part of the put-down.  I soon discovered that dismissing one’s prescience can have an unpleasant and long-lasting outcome, that public renters like me who query arbitrary decisions have become the new kicking boy displacing the aboriginal race, formerly a favoured target of a copper’s tongue and boot. A disgraced redemption of sorts is won by selling your soul to mendacious and venomous Station Road harridans. I.Q.numbers on tenants are elastic but with Google showing 62 for the average aboriginal, white renters with their exposed cretin heads, a 55 rating seems fair.

On Tuesday 25, October, I had a caller supposedly representing a sub-agent of a Queensland Government Department. My imagination-inspired ver batim report later. Cryptic bits; the writer, “With age I find my own company much more enlightening and preferable.” Response, “Dark duck.” Meaning? Googling not much help–presumably current lingo of his culture.Went on another search for a logo. Found the wording to a site that had “To Harass And Collect” shut down–embargoed. We Must Be In Queensland. The Q&A went something like… Why …??? Self replied  “So and so…” and on adding,” but I would need the best  Conspiracy Theorist in the word to collude with me to explain it convincingly.”  This comment followed. “We will go to your doctor immediately and organise a mental assessment.” His message encapsulated what this blog has been about; of my life since becoming a Queensland Public Housing tenant and its descent into an alien, unnatural, open prison type of existence. Add humiliation and despair. My indifference and ennui was soon replaced by a curiosity and a wish to confirm that the exposed vindictiveness and manipulation were not one-off, rare act of retribution,  but continuing acts of  Machiavellian revenge.

Few academic Australians under fifty years of age would remember Hitler’s infamous propaganda minister, Goebbels, and how his name was as reviled as his Fuhrer, yet all Labor backroom propagandists a la Mike Kaiser, would have short stasi lives if they didn’t follow his dictum of repetition, “Tell the people a lie often enough and they’ll come to believe it.” The Bligh organization  the most rapacious user of this less than subliminal message of reminding poor starving pensioners of their everlasting plight. I would like to believe she would win more general voting support if she opened these popular appeals by reminding welfare recipients that, despite the machinations of some rabid Queensland Housing operatives whose bias has led to bad deeds, it is not yet a criminal offence to think for themselves, that using common-sense is possible if the motives of Labor Government public servants can be monitored and corrected.

The nanny-state mentality is stuffing Australia. It has stuffed the economies of those countries whose unctuous legislators have corrupted a once grand welfare concept for the false, feel-good theorem of instant gratification, not unlike the laziness that follows an acceptance of masturbation over the real thing or being satisfied with a rare poker-machine win. While the subject of aging and its consequences is anathema to commercial TV broadcasting, ABC TV conversation programmes like Q&A et al often feature the views and opinions of widely accepted interviewees who all stress the need, indeed the necessity of keeping the brain as stimulated and as tuned as the body should be. Active older minds are induced into a state ordered comatose condition, and working, still active minds of self-reliant oldies like the writer rejects rhetoric picture of life’s,”…hard done-by pensioners suffering deprivation,” surviving on cat-food, pitifully attired in rags seeking alms by rattling a rusty jam tin. Melodramatic violin straining heartstrings in the bare, cold attic where our poor little hands stay cold until summer’s zenith when the air-conditioner breaks down on cue. Don more socks or remove them to suit the climate. It works for me. I keep a late model Falcon in better than legal and safe condition, get regularly ripped-off by computer parasites, eat too well by utilizing the major retailers to my own advantage, won’t recognize fast-food establishments, last partaking of their overpriced and overblown product post-funeral in 1997.

Less resolute people capitulate to the never-ending mantra of Australian politicians. The rhetorical asks what is more repugnant or depressing than Gillard’s constant reminder to all welfare recipient of their gullibility. Will they ever get the message to get off their fat butts and help themselves? Greece is today’s model of Australia twenty years hence. Much sooner if primary exports fall over. Mandatory, State-enforced helplessness; compulsive compliance of nannyism is not helping the independence of conscionable oldies like me in conflict with a State Government which throws millions more into self-promotion, I am reviled by Queensland Housing because I refuse their falseness. Throughout life Ive striven to sort-out my own problems, an early manifestation of the ‘trust no one’ philosophy. Being extraordinarily perceptive which means my shit detector was well-honed, that the bland acceptance of deceit as the template of the health industry easily persuaded me to avoid their practices and their practitioners.