Bowie;’Did I die so that pollies and radio announcers could wallow in the bathos of their own fart derived sense of self’?’

Dear reader, we usually don’t like publishing disrespectful letters, but we recently received this one from a Mr Choken-Vomitron Destiny. And although not quite cogent, gives an insight into how some members of the listening community may feel about the recent demise of David Bowie. In the interests of journalistic integrity we have kept the transcript in its original form and must apologise to readers and children for the profane and bellicose language.

‘Dear PCbyCP I write to you after listening to a week of ABC Bowie Broadcast.

Christ what if Macartney died! Or even worse Andrew fucking Lloyd Webber.

John Lennon was so lucky!! It’s the Phil Hughes death industry at work again.

And leading the triumphalist, maudlin, pack are the cheerleaders within our national broadcaster. And why I ask? Bowie stopped being creative in 1980. You do the math. It’s now thirty six years ago, since then. Macartney, (arguably) last did good stuff during the White Album, that’s 68. Do the math, that’s 48 years ago. Ever since, Pure shite. All this should’ve happened in 1983. We should’ve been mourning the death of Bowie’s creative nerve then. It happens in the arts. ‘Let’s Dance’(1983), played ad-nauseam cos of the “ Australian connection’ was pure shite!!.. What is it with these people? I can’t talk. Haven’t had a number one hit nor written anything, and been a complete and utter nonentity. In music terms I’m a self described non person. An abject non person. A failure. A compete Zero. But if I Had… If I had’ve done something as brilliant as ‘Young Americans’, I’d say; ‘That’s a bloody good day’s work, cant better that, and like Nick Drake, go off and kill myself’. That’s what Mozart said as he was composing his last movement, “ Fick mir todt, Ich habe genug”, (Fuck me dead, i’ve had enough) and he karked it, simple. Pure as art can be. Or what Hendrix said as he was choking on his vomit. What Jim Morrison did when he forgot to pull the plug, and what Ian Curtis did when he thought about critics praise for Joy Division. Kill yourself now and avoid the rush.

But it’s just not on being a ‘late-deader’. You can’t become a rock god if you die years after. Jeff Buckley knew how to do it, took a plunge in the Mississippi and ol man river called in his debts. It’s pop. Pure and simple, it’s only meant to last a moment. These days with facebook, twitter and the whole metadata fundament of easy access, information overload, ‘look what I had for breakfast’ pseudo-celebrity shite, it’s all just so much hyperbolic drivel under the bridge.

And we have our memories, if we’re really egregious it’s ‘hits and memories’, and you get played to death. Yet the ABC is interviewing a public art artist about his Bowie street mural. A MURAL!!

This is not music. I HATE, detest and loathe murals. (excepting some of the very attractive ones in the city). Murals are public art. Public art, as Masaccio said to Alberti ‘is fucking crap’. Graffiti is vibrant and in your face. It’s Now!!! It’s exhilarating just like Pop Music.

Long-term Princess Di mourners ‘confused’ at the Bowie Mural in Brixton

Public art is dead, morose and pure shit. Public Art is like canning a fart derived from the great madras curry you had at an exotic trendoid restaurant, and every year, you open the lid and savour the thing that was. Pure self indulgent twaddle. That’s why we have records, so we can wallow in self absorption any tick of the clock. Which gets me off to the ABC. Cos radio national has junked thoughtful insightful challenging programs for talkback, the ‘spirit of things’ and pure shite. They’ve gone into a Bowie induced hiatus, playing his stuff, getting reverential, and doing what I HATE even more, the trite, drawn out funeral parade, of “ and what did Bowie do for you”?  To whit Bowie is unable to answer; ‘Did I die so that pollies and radio announcers could wallow in the bathos of their own fart derived sense of self importance’.

Bowie on the ABC has been made ‘Anzac’.

Dear reader another grippng instalment. Hold on to your hats, this is quite a tale. ( or so I’ve been told)

Fl Lt. William Cranfield “Dices with death” above the Western front in his Mk. 11 Bristol Boxbiter. April 1915.

The Bristol Box Biter

The Bristol Company is famous for developing one of the very first functioning fighter and reconnisance aircraft, the now legendary Bristol Box Kite. Developed as a trainer and obsolete, it was nonetheless rushed onto the Western Front and made an Important contribution to artillery observation. The type was immediately recognisable for its unusual engine sound, described as ‘slurping’ due to the sleeve valve pistons and wet sump lubrication. As a reconnisance aircraft it achieved some success in observing enemy deployment and troop dispositions in those important days following the stemming of the Hun onslaught, immediately after the battle of the Marne in 1914. However the utility of this aeroplane was short lived. The appearance of the eminent german fighter aces Oswald Boelke and Max Immelmann spelt DOOM for the sturdy but vulnerable Box kite. Unable to respond to the volley of Spandaus equipping the Focker and Albatross fighters, the Box Kites in the words of Immelmann, ‘vere easy prey’.

In an effort to maintain an offensive edge Box kites were adapted unsuccessfully with the then trusty Lee Enfield, and then in desperation a Stokes mortar mounted on the upper wing in an effort to blast the Hun from the sky. In a famous engagement, The Fighter Ace Oswald Boelke surprised a RFC officer above the trenches at Lille when he swooped down in his Focker eindecke. Flt. Lieut. William Cranfield RFC, fired his Stokes Mortar in frustration only to find the concussion blew a hole in the wing which allowed the Enfield to fall harmlessly through. Unarmed and slightly wounded he succeeded in countering the german attack by shouting in schoolboy german, “VE HAF VAYS OF MAKING YOU BAULK’, and ‘FOR YOU THE WAR IS OVER’, and when that failed, he pretended to suffer an epileptic fit before pretending to be dead. He knew that a German Officer would not condescend to shooting an unarmed lunatic English Officer, as such behaviour demonstrated the likelihood of nobility in his adversary. The wily but chivalrous german pilot circled round the unarmed stricken aircraft before performing a couple of Immelman’s and returning to base. Later in the day he returned and dropped a bottle of Bollinger addressed to “my gallant foe” Ft Lieut Cranfield RFC in appreciation’, Cranfield opened the bottle to find it was full of flat champagne. Inside a note in german, “Our recent encounter has left me flat, in tribute I share with you in the anticipation we meet again. Yours Oswald’. Such were the rights of chivalry.

Undaunted Cranfield set about upgrading his aircraft. This ambitious project became nothing short of an obsession, as he completely reconfigured the wings and fuselage, adding a reinforced cupola and strengthening of the Box Kite configuration. Famously he requested of the armourer; ‘I want to give this Box kite more bite’. The Armourer proceeded to upgrade the engine and installed ‘real bite’ with a brace of triple mounted Vickers guns attached to a ring mount above the engine. Adapted with a special flight control lever, the pilot was required to climb up onto the upper wing and maintain flight by strapping the lever to either right or left foot, whilst giving play with the machine guns. The act though requiring considerable skill and nicknames, “Toe in the Hole” was mastered by the pugnacious Cranfield.

Thus the ‘Bristol Box Biter’ was ready for service, nicknamed the ‘Lunging Licker’, with flames painted to the sides of the fuselage and the inclusion of red marker flags as the ‘Red River’ or in reference to the large engine air intakes, ‘The Flying Flange” it was truly a Box with Bite! With other conversions to the Box Kite the Box Biter squadron formed late October 1914 coined the motto; ’Will give the Hun a good lickin’!. Cranfield waited for the return, this time determined to settle the score for the honour of his squadron.

In due course Boelke returned in an Albatross. An immeasurably superior aircraft. Cranfield waited, fired and surprised himself when the weight of fire and subsequent recoil from his triple mounted vickers plunged him through the wings and to a heroic flyers death. In tribute Boelke dropped upon his rivals airfield a real bottle of Bollinger and the note, inscribed to my gallant foe, Flt. Lt. Cranfield RFC who whose bark, though feared was worse than his bite.

Bristol Boxbiter Specifications General Characteristics Crew: 2. Range: 150 miles Powerplant: 1 x Gnome Omega rotary piston engine, 50 hp (37kw) Performance Maximum speed: 86 mph,

Range: 150 miles Service ceiling; 4,500 ft

Rate of climb; 100 ft

Armament 1 x .303 Lee Enfield through wing 1 x Stokes Mortar 3 x .303 Vickers Gun on traversable mount

Operators RAAF, RAF

More often now, when young women walk past I hear older men comment thus: Aha The Dragon awakes!  –  no, he just yawned and went back to sleep. (This poem was first published here in May 2015)

Imperfect Enjoyment

A poem by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester(1647-1680) in which he admonishes his Dishonourable Member for twice failing a lady in her hour of need.  Comments by Ira Maine, Poetry Editor after the poem

Comments:
To begin with Wilmot and Corinna are in bed where her nakedness, her arms, lips, legs, her nimble tongue all combine to bring John Wilmot to the point where, he is now rigidly resolved-

‘…to throw the all-dissolving thunderbolt below…’

[does this adequately describe a chap’s entry to the Promised Land?]

And then, as is usual to the etiquette in these matters;

‘…her busy hand would guide that part…’

It would indeed were it not for young Wilmot’s over eager acquiesence to the demands of her softly guiding fingers.

Alas and alack, he is undone…

Before even the portals of the Promised Land are breached he confesses;

‘..in liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,

Melt into sperm and spend at every pore…’

Come, come, Mr Wilmot…

Then, having survived this little death, this little disaster, not unreasonably, the young and sexually aroused lady, noticing Wilmot’s failure to produce a second ‘thunderbolt’, asks the question;

‘…is there then no more?… all this to love and rapture’s due,’

[The intensity of his love caused premature ejaculation the first time, but now?]

‘Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?…’

Surely, Rochester, you can raise another thunderbolt?  Surely we can have another crack at it?

A not unreasonable request, and one a chap of Wilmot’s young age might easily supply, but then the point of the poem would be lost.  The point being that Wilmot finds,on this occasion at least, that he cannot, like Zeus or Thor, produce thunderbolts at will.

I sigh, alas! And kiss, but cannot swive…’ [swive; perform sexual intercourse]

Wilmot’s analysis of the situation;

‘…eager desires [ejaculatio praecox] confound my first intent.

Succeeding shame does more success prevent,

And rage at last, confirms me impotent…’

Embarrassment, shame and rage all combine to render him impotent.

Pitifully, hilariously the poet tells us that despite having conquered countless ‘…balmy brinks of bliss…’  in the past, right now, at this very moment;

‘..a wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie…’

Thus far, dear reader, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, has confessed to both premature ejaculation and impotence. What else might be in store?

Well, whilst talking of his Honourable Member and of where it has found itself in the past, he does say that;

‘…stiffly resolved, ‘twould carelessly invade

Woman or man, nor ought it’s fury stayed:

Where’er it pierced, a cunt it found, or made-…’

But now it is;

‘…shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower…’

Well, lah-de-dah, bless my soul and sundry other breathless expressions…

We now become aware that Prem. Ejac. And Impotence were simple appetizers. The Earl of Rochester also enjoyed a stroll on both sides of the street.

‘…woman or man…a cunt it found, or made…’

Finally, the poet sets about wishing all the pains of hell on his Dishonourable Member in return for this awful betrayal.

Why he asks of his old fellow, are you so eager and upright a citizen when it comes to ‘stews’ [brothels] and yet, when love is involved, do you fail me utterly?

‘…so true to lewdness, so untrue to love?

What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore (17th century parlance for ladies of easy virtue in whose company his Honourable Member has never in the past failed to stand for re-erection)

Did’st thou e’er fail in all thy life before?…’

He compares his member to an unprincipled swine who is always the first to volunteer;

‘…when vice, disease or scandal lead the way…but if his King or Country claim his aid, the rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head…’

Wilmot in the end wishes on his deflated companion all of the painful horrors it deserves for failing him in love.

‘…mayst thou to ravenous chancres be a prey…’[ulcers]

Or in consuming weepings waste away…’ [ unstaunchable weeping sores…]

‘…may stranguary and stone thy days attend…’ [painful urination and gallstones]

May urination itself be denied you because you failed absolutely when I most needed you.

Then the dismissive insult that;

‘…ten thousand abler pricks agree

To do the wronged Corinna right for thee…’

That other more able members would be infinitely better able to satisfy Corinna than you, you;

‘…treacherous, base deserter of my flame, 

false to my passion, fatal to my fame…’

The Restoration in England threw off the bonds of Cromwellian Puritanism and celebrated the pleasures of the flesh in no uncertain manner. What Rochester was doing in verse, Congreve, Wycherley, and a host of others were doing on stage with plays like ‘The Country Wife’ and ‘The Way of the World’.  People flocked to the theatre in great numbers to celebrate the loosening of restrictions. Respectability and ‘seriousness’ crept back in the early 18th century but not before some of the most splendidly rude Restoration comedys were written and performed. They are still being celebrated today.

Sadly, John Wilmot contracted syphilis, a then incurable disease, where blindness, madness and unbearable pain must be endured before death.He was 33 years old.

His work is well worth hunting out and reading. I commend him to you.

First Dispatched 2 December 2013

Egun on nire lagunak

My family arrived in Australia in 1958 . As I’ve mentioned before, we were part of the first post-WWII wave of boat people. We initially lived in Moe, pronounced Mah-oo-wee, in Gippsland (Victoria). Not far from Moe there was a chicken farm said to be “the biggest chicken farm in the Southern Hemisphere”. A plethora of “ best, biggest, longest, thickest, weirdest and so on, in the Southern Hemisphere” kept being referred to in newspapers and discussions. In a humorous book on post war Australia that I can’t recall the title of, there was a chapter titled “The Southern Hemisphere” illustrated by a George Molnar cartoon of a fellow sitting in a large halved globe (the bottom half in case you’re wondering). The book was published around the same time as Nino Culotta’s ‘They’re a Weird Mob’. Having arrived in Australia from another Southern Hemisphere country (via my Northern Hemisphere country of birth), I had my serious doubts about these claims , I would not have been at all surprised if Argentina or South Africa for that matter boasted an even larger chicken farm. The Great Australian Cringe was alive and well. We ‘New Australians’, as long as we retained a trace of a wog accent, were forever being asked how we liked Australia and any hint of criticism in our response, however well intended or naively delivered was not very graciously received. I soon learned not to argue with such unproven boasts: If Australians wanted to feel good about having the largest chicken farm in the Southern Hemisphere, who was I to deflate their supercilious  pride? It’s not good to be a wet blanket. It earns you no gratitude. The ‘go back to where you came from’, or its less polite form ‘If you don’t like it… fuck off’ mentality were much in evidence then and sadly remain with us today. A bit problematic and somewhat ironic when many want to apply the same sentiment to those that have been here all along.

Some years ago on the RFDS (Royal Flying Doctor Service) radio network, after 5 p.m. when normal ‘traffic’ ceased, there was what was known as the ‘Galah Session’. People on cattle stations used to socialize on their short wave radio, whenever there were no occasional medical emergencies being dealt with. During the period of self determination suddenly a large number of radio licences were obtained by Aborigines who joined the Galah sessions (mostly in Pitjatjantjarra). On occasions radio conditions were such that you’d hear those people whose boats were going to be purchased by the present Australian Government. A large number of Indonesian fishermen could be heard talking to each other in Bahasa Indonesia. Their signals were rather weak. The Pitjatjantjarra signals on the other hand were loud and clear. A ‘cow-cockie’ was famously overheard to say to his friend on another station: “Geez Bob, can you hear them foreigners?”

When we returned to Australia from our much enjoyed two year sojourn in Canada in 1971, as Wendy was walking down the ship’s gangplank carrying a guitar, a wharfie sang out “Gissa chune on ya banjo luv”. That’s when we knew we were back home. Many Australians have experienced a return from exotic and amazing places overseas to feel that they’re back home and that Australia isn’t so bad and really a great place and that there is absolutely no need to claim the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere in order to be a proud Australian. It’s a nice a place…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFacWGBJ_cs

Mind you in 1970 the Canadian Government paid for a television advertising campaign promoting tolerance and multiculturalism. The advertisements featured Canadian singer Buffy Saint Marie….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqaEdk4Jsko

In Australia the mining industry spent around $20million to convince a majority of Australians that taxing the super profits of large multinational mining companies was a bad idea
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CREUOpaVYJQ

Fair enough I say, how could we ever expect foreign investors to invest in the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere, if their super profits are liable to be subjected to extra taxes? As for multiculturalism and tolerance, we’ve got to get our priorities right, we certainly don’t want to see a reason for the revival of the Great Australian Cringe. Nah, what we want the most is the largest chook farms in the Southern Hemisphere, then truly will we be The Lucky Country, The Country of the Fair Go, The Clever Country. The greatest country in the Southern Hemisphere, the land down under…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYR4rM6Y4v4

Australia often ‘punches above its weight’. In sport, in medicine and many other fields.
Some great music has emanated from this sunburnt country….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWwVRxixrXw …Pigram Brothers ‘Saltwater Cowboy’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRdl60MfTBY … Powderfinger ‘These Days’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZGQd1KR8xY … Billy Thorpe ‘Rock me Baby’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbqH4FjiXac ….Black Sorrows ‘Chained to the Wheel’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxteU1qWLDA ….Buddy Knox Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kpc1tlZlGg …. Lajamanu Teenage Band ‘Wiyarpa Wanti Jalu’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmLVxRS_Sxs ….Wildflower ‘Galiwn’ku’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhgDqY7_RGs ….Gurrumul ‘Gopuru’

We have much to embrace, much to celebrate. Why can’t we extend this to include the first Australians? And not by Closing the Gap, but Bridging the Gap.

How much richer we’d all be? How much less likely our cause to cringe? How much lesser the need to invoke the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere to be proud to be Australians?

Zergatik egin behar da, beraz, esan nahi dugu?
Hurrengoan arte,

Frank

(won’t keep you in the dark…. Google translate from Basque…. Just tried it, is never quite the same when you translate anything back)

Serious reading for summer.

Dear Monthly, We at Cockburn and Poole would like to most sincerely congratulate you on your perseverance, consistency and diligence in putting together this fine magazine. Without your input this journalistic landscape in this country would be barren. We applaud your indefatigable thoroughness in searching and upholding a counter to the mainstream. And we cheer in unified chorus when we read from your stable the thoughts and words of our luminaries, deep thinkers and commentary. Without you, the conversation in this country would be moribund, monochromatic and motionless. Each month we yearn for further input from the cleverest, the most incisive and thought provoking. You are more than a thought bubble upon the subconsciousness of australians, you are a thought dirigible. And you fly above us with correctitude and unswerving deliberation towards the target of moral ethical and spiritual authority. Without you we are directionless, cut asunder, lost and impoverished. You sustain and enlighten us. Speak to us and we shall listen. Enlighten us so that we may grow. And direct us so that our inner selves are nourished. Oh monthly, you are all these things and yet, we feel just mildly disconnected. There is just one other thing that we ask of you so that we may be complete. Could you have a ‘funnies’ section? Though having ‘First Dog on the Moon’s’ beautifully incisive description of Karen Silkwood and her death from radiation was most thought provoking on the back of the Summer Issue, it was not FUNNY!!

Imagining the ‘thought dirigible’

Being astute, socially conscious and instructive is all very well, but we need to laugh just occasionally. Indeed wasn’t it the Cardinal who said to the actress ‘trust me , I’m working for God, and I won’t tell provided you don’t either’. All good magazines have a cartoon, or at the very least a light fragment of comedic input. ‘Smith’s Weekly’ was a tremendously good read, (so I’ve been told) and in Archibald’s time the top tier of cartoonists graced the pages. The ‘New Yorker’ is not a bad read, and even, the Womens’ Weekly had ‘Mandrake the Magician’ to adorn its middle section.

Perhaps incorporate the Mad Magazine back page fold-out section?

Mad Magazine. An exemplar in combining wit with erudition.

We could elaborate and list all the papers, magazines and periodicals that have prospered and flourished over the last century as a consequence of light-heartedness. Indeed even Pravda, and its namesake in Australia, ‘The Truth’ excelled in illuminating their pages with ‘funnies’. Now you may think that a ‘funnies’ section may not be weighty enough, but we have it on good authority that the very authors you employ would be exceedingly gratified to have the odd cartoon appended. We have it on good authority that Robert Manne is an ardent enthusiast of Mad Magazine, and we also have it on good authority that ‘the Don’ himself Don Watson is crazy bout Tintin. And there is a rumour that Richard Flanagan is a rusted on Vampirella fan. Don’t think that such levity devalues the stature of these celebrated thinkers, the New Yorker is brimming full of them, and besides, we believe circulation would go stratospheric if you adopt the Mad Magazine foldable back cover. Flicker cartoons in the tradition of the cinematograph and posters for things other than worthy but dull exhibitions would make the magazine a visual pleasure as well as an intellectual one, and you‘ll find these well-meant suggestions may represent a turning point in your publications fortunes.

Yours most enthusiastically; one of the editors, Cockburn and Poole.

Dear Reader as part of our Holiday Summer Series we bring you this one for the children. To demonstrate once and for all that Passive Complicity is socially, ethically and edcatively responsible, in a post-Gonski sort of way

Rosemary the Mud Crab.

Once upon a time there was a mud- crab
The name of the mud-crab was Rosemary. You probably don’t know much about mud crabs But I’ll tell you this much, they live in mud.

Rosemary, (the mud-crab) liked living in the mud It was isolating and It made her feel secure, Because of this, she knew everything!!

But as you and I know she didn’t really, but that’s not the point either because being up to your eyes in mud is very comforting. In a muddy sort of way.

Rosemary had a tune which she hummed It went like this:

‘So safe, secure in a muddy sort of way

Keeps me happy from day to day

Stuck in the mud is the best-est place to be

Makes me feel happy, safe, muddy and free’

Rosemary also had two friends, Pebble and Sponge.

She would spend all day talking to Pebble and Sponge.

On other days she’d just not talk to anyone.

Pebble and Sponge never said anything,

Rosemary found that comforting,

Till one day something amazing happened.

I wont tell you until you turn the page.

Rosemary’s aunt Floris Fossilthwaite arrived

Floris was a Sand crab , a Sand-crab with exotic taste,

This was a disaster for……

Rosemary, Her home was threatened And why?

Cos Floris talked of other places, she’d been. Other people and suggested of the things that she’d seen. Exotic locations that boggled the mind. Of people she met and things that you find. Floris talked of parties on the costa del Sol. She talked of the cod fish “Errol’ and Bikini Atoll. She talked of the people she lived with, and those that she knew. She talked and she talked with gusto anew, She’d tell of the scandals ,the gossip the tension, When Oscar the oarfish, and Whynett the whale-shark were mentioned. And the more that she talked, and the more she described, The more that poor Rosemary began to despise. And harbouring a grudge that gnawed like a ship at its mooring, she knew deep down that her life had been utterly boring. But she couldn’t admit it and with unduly haste, She demanded Floris leave her at once from her place. So…what did Rosemary do? She enquired to an travel agent on gummy shark reef, of exotic locations that existed beneath. And with eye-wide astoundment and

trembling claws she thought of the things she’d never done before. She almost got packed, and that made her worry. She made her plans quickly, and the agent said ‘hurry’. ‘This price is a bargain, it’s the best of the season. No need to hesitate to falter or reason’.

Till she almost departed and with considerable relief

She got wind of a fracas past Tingaloo Reef. A holiday package, and quite similar plans, Went down in the arctic ‘lost with all hands’. And then as she gleaned and with worrying face, She’d discovered calamitous disasters all over the place. A whole school of fish were consumed by a whale, The more she discovered it made her grow pale. The world was a terrible, forbidding, dangerous disaster, with no turning back and no thought of hereafter. She cashed in her tickets and breathlessly got home. Safe in the security of being all alone. And happy in the knowledge that beyond the mud bank. The world was too frightful and it sizzled and stank. So that weekend she resolved on a much safer tour. Of the edge of the mudbank, where with measured ardour. She had her own little holiday underneath the old mooring. And was happy and smug and content in being boring.

Fire Plan for Summer. Have you got your fire plan ready??

Will Burnem, being congratulated on his appointment to FIRE-SAFE AUSTRALIA by Former P.M.

That is the question asked of many of us over this year’s fire season. One can’t be too careful and in this exclusive we talk to the General Manager of Fire-Safe Australia to get the latest on what you ought to do in order to make us feel safe. We include, for the benefit of the reader some simple illustrations that may assist with developing your very own fire plan. And we know from the recent Bushfires Royal Commission that the terrible destruction wrought by these devastating fires had nothing to do with the unfettered rise of real estate across the fringes, and inappropriate development in very burnable places. What it proved once and for all, was that Christine Nixon was solely to blame. Another victory for vested interests, misogyny and the legal profession, who understandably quite like Royal Commission’s.

But first a note from Will Burnem-Freeley, the Firesafe CEO.

‘It is with some anticipation I offer these words of advice to the readership of PCbyCP. In the event of Summer one cannot be too careful. Living in the bush is axiomatic with death and destruction. The bush you may consider as your friend, but it will get up and move to KILL YOU!! Learn to FEAR the bush and understand this one simple principle, one can never ever be certain, that in spite of the best preparations the bush will KILL YOU! So live in fear. And when your hear ‘on the wireless’ of a Total Fire Ban Day know that you should be very afraid. And if you don’t flee, and grab whatever you can, you will be immolated in a cauldron of death delivered HELL!! Furnished with this advice I have illustrated these basic points to protect yourself, and hope these simple illustrations will help you survive’.

Well designed FIRE-SAFE HOME. Note Water cannon, and FIRE-SAFE Trench access system.

1 A fire proof house. Though one can never be safe, This is a fire proof house. It is made from steel and concrete. The periscope is to allow visual analysis before, during and after fire. It comes complete with bunker, backup bunker, and backup backup bunker.

2 Prepare for fire. Only once a property has been cleared of all vegetation will it be accredited FIRE-SAFE!. All vegetation must been cleared to a distance of one kilometre, and coated in non flammable concrete.

Approved FIRE-SAFE outdoor gear.

Award Winning FIRE-SAFE Adventure Playground. Recently Installed at Wye River.

3 Dress sensibly. This is the latest approved dress or fire protection and fighting. Approved and endorse by Border Force it offers all round protection.

Schematic Section. ‘Code Maginot’ FIRE-SAFE Communications system. For SAFER COMMUNITIES!!

4 Be organised. A communications system is very important, our network, ‘codeword Maginot’ provides a fail proof answer. The integrated community system of tunnels ensures a fail safe ‘whole community’ plan.

5 Have an evacuation plan. The recommended Gallipoli model is tried and tested. Leave at dawn and don’t let the bushfire know you’re leaving.

6 Establish fire breaks, ensure fire breaks are kept free of vegetation. No fire break can ever be wide enough, but several kilometres may ensure a measure of safety.

7 Is your fire pump up to the task? get a bigger one.

8 Water storages are all important, divert natural systems.

9 Fire spotting. Build a fire tower. Several hundred metres high for long term fire behaviour prediction.

10 Organise a panic button. When all else fails this will do wonders for morale. Will generate hysteria, start sirens, flashing lights, road blocks, fear and alarm amongst the entire community.

11 Have a woman handy. If all of the above precautions fail, BLAME HER!!

12 If you fear fire, don’t live in the bush. Simple advice but not often heeded.

Fire Safe Australia Award Winning Contemporary Home. Combines comfortable living with augmented observation / spotting tower and SAFE Concrete and Steel.

A recommended holiday reading list

Dear reader, some input to keep ourselves nourished over the holiday period. We at PCbyCP are constantly being asked by our readership as to what we would recommend as engaging holiday reading material. It is burdensome responsibility, but nonetheless we feel honour bound in the interests of furthering the public consciousness with the complexities of weighty philosophical issues. Indeed, just the other day we were rung by none other than an individual purporting to be Rupert Murdoch who suggested we include ‘Mein Kampf’ in the top ten, and we politefully suggested, though ‘readable’ was not the kind of material that would inspire a generosity of spirit and humanistic thought. Similarly, we are grateful that someone purporting to be Gerard Henderson suggested we read ‘Fifty shades of Red’, the unauthorised biography of Cardinal Pell, but we humbly submitted that we already had one and its very nice. So as you can see there’s lots of pressure each year to get the reading list right, and for this reason we’ve gone to some length to ensure that the selected texts furnish our readership with the full measure of social, political and philosophical input commensurate with the highest level of thinking. So whether your on the beach, by the pool or listening to the cricket, we hope these’ll keep you up to date (finger on the pulse)…. And In the picture. Here therefore, The top twelve (Bakers dozen) reads for the summer of 2015 -16

1   ‘Donald Trump Mr One Percent’. A big book with lots of pages all about himself, and his singular vision for the American People.

2   ‘Who’s ‘disappearing‘ all the journalists in Hong Kong’. A riveting account by Hong Kong investigative Journalist Hui Wat Wei. Read about his stirring accounts of the disappearances, and his own. (presumedly printed posthumously)

3 The Abbott Diaries. Compelling reading. Insightful personal diaries, effortless, insightful, engaging. Each sentence comprises three short words. (3 pages)

4   ‘Peter Slipper, ‘Boots and All’. All you ever wanted to know about the Ashby Incident, the former Minister for State, Mr Mal Practise, and fine wine.

5   ‘Dick Smith, ‘Dickless’. What happened to the Dick Smith store chain. A warts and all account of private equity, asset stripping, greed, stupidity and the devaluation of the legacy of a decent person.

6  ‘Malcolm on Malcolm’. Compelling reading from the man who made it to the top, fell, got to the top again, and is really really keen on innovation, private equity, asset stripping, banking, and maintaining the staus quo.

7  ‘Bill Shorten ‘Curlies’. Bill Shorten interviewed. His unique perspective on life, his mother in law, the union movement and his real persona revealed. (cardboard cut out pop up) for the children.

8  ‘Double agent Dutton’ the unauthorised biography’. No Boats, no Borders, no Shelia’s. From the man who re- invented the three line slogan post Abbott; ‘Fucking Bitch Witch’!!

9  ‘Bronnie raw prawn check mate tango charlie foxtrot helicopter’! This is the ‘Zen and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ for helicopter pilots. How to get the most out of taxpayer funded helicopter flying.

10  ‘Dicin’ with Heydon “ Strictly bipartisan” An unbiased account of the Royal Commission into the union movement, Tony Abbott’s Rhodes Scholarship, and ‘legitimate’ Liberal party Fundraisers. Foreword by Lynton Crosbie.

11  ‘Not Just another Guy, the Mathew Guy Story’. How a little man from nowhere changed the face of Melbourne, made a few mates rich and told us all to get stuffed. Forward by Donald Trump.

12  ‘Rent seeker, design and demand infrastructure in the Twenty First century’. ( foreword by MalcolmTurnbull). Private public partnerships and how the 1 percent takes all!. With graphs, pie charts and projections for a de-funded health and education system.

13   ‘Real Estate.The only thing that counts’. The true story of Australia. Foreword by the REIV and UDIA.

Another poem from Inside Black Australia (1988) edited by Kevin Gilbert.  This by W. Les Russell, in the voice of a former Queensland Premier, Joh Bjelke-Petersen

God Gave Us Trees to Cut Down

My Goodness;
if I was to have a say in the way things should be done in Victoria:
like we run them and have them here in Queensland,
then by crikey;
those forests – rain forests and what they have they – in Gippsland there;
and let me tell you,
we have been down that road with conservationists too:
and, by golly, we gave them what for.

And why should they cut down their trees?
what use are they? well I’ll tell you:
the Japanese – I know they’re a funny mob of people –
but they make paper out of trees, see,
and we all need paper.
You know this – what a stupid question to ask.
What would you do without paper and cardboard and –
goodness, I ask you.
Of course we must cut down trees;
golly, what did God give them to us for?

And look at the other States, and all of them and what have you;
they have taken a leaf out of our Queensland way of doing things.
Just look at Mr Grey in Tasmania; he cuts down many trees,
now; unfortunately they don’t seem to have the courage
to stand up to the Federal Government and sit firmly on their position
– but let me tell you, they cut down many trees in Tasmania.
And in Western Australia
– Just look at them – well –
they cut down their Jarra, and all their other sorts there.
And in New South Wales previous governments,
and even the present government sells their trees to the Japanese,

and my goodness, so they should.
Don’t worry about South Australia, they don’t have any trees.
Unfortunately the Northern Territory has been given to the Aboriginals,
and we all know they worship trees and sticks and plants and things
and what have you
and all sorts of things so we all know where that place is going;
and what a pity:
minerals and the casino and Ayers Rock
– as they now call it: Uluru; and what a shame – don’t you think it a shame?
And you see? they worship rocks too.  All the minerals will go down the drain.

But here in Queensland we don’t let the Federal Government
Down there in Canberra tell us what to do
– and why should we?
If they come up here we soon give them short shrift and short change.
We send them running back down south with their tails between their legs
and their hats behind their backs like little schoolboys.
That’s the way to do it – you’ve got to show them who’s boss.
And so I would tell Mr Cain* not to worry about those conservationists,
just run right over them:
cut right through the lot of them as if they weren’t there.
Golly, that’s the way we do it in Queensland.

My goodness, you should know
God gave us those rain forests to cut down . . . .

(*Mr Cain, the then premier of Victoria.)

First Dispatched 6 October 2013

शुभ दिन अपने दोस्तों और अन्य लोगों

Unlike many of my Aboriginal friends, neighbours and family, my father lived to a ripe old age (91). He grew up as a Dutch child in pre-war Germany. His ‘native’ command of the German language stood him in good stead and on several occasions saved his life in occupied Holland.

I remember asking him (in Dutch) what he thought of the (first) Iraq war, which had just broken out. He answered me in German:

“Wie man in den Wald hineinschreit, so schallt es wieder heraus” (As you shout into the forest, so it echoes back out)

A favourite German expression of dad’s was ‘Man muss dass können begreifen’ (an imperative: one ought to/should be able to understand that)

Before babies can walk and talk they will ‘bob’ to music. No matter what their skin colour or the language spoken by their families, they dance to music, any music, before they can speak and sing.

Music and dancing transcends race and culture.

I remember old man Granites doing a very graceful dance with a spear in our lounge room at my birthday party. Emanating from our record player were the Rolling Stones. His mates were clicking boomerangs.

Even if not a single word is understood music can ‘speak’ to you, it can make you get up and dance.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBCytQZvOMo

For my birthday Jon Altman gave me a copy of his latest book: ‘Arguing the Intervention’.The front cover painting is by Chips Mackinolty. He painted it in 2007 as his response to the Intervention. It is titled ‘…and there will be NO dancing’ Ich begreife dass.

Recently on ABC TV the film ‘Big Name No Blankets’ was shown, it is  a documentary on the all too brief life of George Rrurrampu. George came from Elcho Island. His mother tongue was Gumatj. It is not well known that before joining Sammy Butcher and Neil Murray and others as lead singer in the newly formed Warumpi Band in 1980 he lived in Yuendumu. He learnt Warlpiri and rendered a number of ‘Top End’ stories into Warlpiri readers for the bilingual programme. These booklets are much liked by Warlpiri children even today on the few occasions they get to see them.

George sang with the Poor Boys, one of several bands that had sprung up in Yuendumu. Our open garage with its extension lead power hosted a large number of young musicians (mostly men). Wendy at school staff meetings was often urged to tell the musicians to turn down the volume, or to turn off the power. She suggested they should ask them themselves. “But it is your power!” she was told. Schoolkids would surround our garage and dance. The volume remained. Wendy did not feel the urge to abuse her power. The garage is no more, the Department of Education replaced it with a security cage to lock your vehicle in.

In the Big Name No Blankets film, Rachel Perkins said “I saw George and the Warumpi band play to thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands of people all around Australia, and I saw how George could reach out and touch people, open their hearts to make them celebrate and embrace Aboriginality, and just DANCE with us and sing our song…” We in Yuendumu got to see that too, we got to sing and dance.

In 1986 the blackfella/whitefella tour came to Yuendumu. 1986 was also the year in which what was to become the most successful Aboriginal Band ever (Yothu Yindi) was formed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BSAqjtSbkw

Peter Garrett’s unique dancing style both intrigued and amused us. When musician Peter Garrett became a politician, he no longer danced. He couldn’t because his bed was burning.

Are you the one that’s ready with a helping hand,
Are you the one der begreift these family plans?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GULW1sOpzo

In 1992 a group of us drove all night to go to the inaugural Broome Stompen Ground Festival.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHYbwHTGOv4

Scrap Metal and Yothu Yindi were there. The Warumpi band had reformed to be there. ABC TV was there and Australia got to celebrate and embrace Aboriginality. And we were there and we got to sing and dance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3RAPV7p-nc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XH3E22JAQo

Micah and myself used to drive into Alice Springs to take part in the Monday night jam-session at the Riverside Hotel featuring the Booze Brothers. We’d run into other Aboriginal musicians such as Sammy Butcher and Frank Yamma that would travel large distances to be there. We’d fire up the mostly white audiences and get them to get up and dance. On one occasion I walked in and the bouncer made a gesture acknowledging my naked (I didn’t have a case) trumpet. When I looked back I saw Micah held up at the door. By coincidence my entry had resulted in “a full house”. My offer to swap places with Micah as he was “a far better musician” bounced. I insisted on talking to Herman (the Booze Brothers musician in charge) and we somehow managed to squeeze Micah into the full house. Micah didn’t play or dance that evening.

Some years later our son Joseph went to an Alice Springs music venue. His friend Grant was refused entry on the basis of the clothes he was wearing. They retreated to their car and swapped clothes. To no avail, Grant was again refused entry.  When Mark Twain said: “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society”, he left out skin colour!

I forget exactly when but in Yuendumu we were treated to a concert that featured both Slim Dusty and Yothu Yindi. A veritable musical smorgasbord.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUi2Ae0ksxE

Before you object to the last verse “ his skin was black but his heart was white” keep in mind Louis Armstrong’s Black and Blue “I’m white inside…”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSjH1h7-m5E

It is all a matter of context and sentiment.

A state funeral was held for Slim Dusty in 2003. He was 76.

A state funeral was held for Yothu Yindi’s lead singer, Mandawuy Yunupingu in 2013. He was 56.

In the film No Name No Blankets Rachel Perkins tells of when George Rrurrampu died in 2007 (he was 50) a phone call to the responsible minister suggesting a state funeral was responded with “We don’t hold State Funerals for musicians”

The ethnocentric assimilationist interventionists that are intent on Closing the Gap (instead of Bridging it), don’t dance. They don’t begreif much.

If they have their way, …there will be NO dancing.

नृत्य पर रखें

Frank

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-eqrc_jVVA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWYUsKCYPLg