My Adler decade

adler-tippa-shopped

In the autumn of 1984 I was broke and in between things when I drafted a couple of entries for an essay competition sponsored by the Sunday Times in Perth, Western Australia.

The entries were to be typed or ‘neatly handwritten’. My submissions were in longhand!

Shortly later I moved on and became distracted by other things. Months later I ran into my old neighbour, who had some dead mail she’d saved for me. In the slim package of envelopes was a letter from the Sunday Times, telling me I had won the competition, with a cheque enclosed.

My winning entry was a comment on the set topic of George Orwell’s inevitably tempting dystopian vision for 1984. I don’t even have a copy of the essay anymore, but I dimly remember that I was as disturbed by the intrusion of Stalinist themes into Western social and political discourses as I remain to this day. In other words, it’s likely to have been an impassioned rant.

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People YOU are BORING!!!

[An unintended delusional conversation with Joanna Weiss.]

You say such sweet things to me first up on a Sunday, Joanna, while I’m still ungluing my eyes and cranking up my pulse rate to resemble life. Moah coaaaarrfeeee!

Your interactions were fake: hand-picked, overglossed, idealised personal statements that were bound to make your friends feel insecure, and vice versa.

Damn. Sprung! Wait. You weren’t talking about me?

Luke Pearson
Image credit: Luke Pearson.

Inspired by the song Ennui Go by rap group Magnolius for their art contest. An enormous, bored demon/god is morosely torching a town and half heartedly doing away with it’s defenders because he can’t think of anything more fun to do.


… posting photos of depressingly minor life events – Attention, world! My child went to the dentist! – or scrolling down the news feed and “liking” 15 items in one sitting. I’m marking my presence, like a dog. If I lay off the site for a few days, I invariably miss six birthdays and feel like a jerk. If I stay away for longer, I worry I’ll miss big news.

So you were talking about yourself? Hmmm. Yeah, we all do that. Talk about ourselves, I mean. Is that a bad thing? I suppose it does depend on the level of triviality and repetition attached to the details. Personally I don’t give a fuck about your food and coffee pics, but I won’t tell you that.

Continue readingPeople YOU are BORING!!!”

People YOU are BORING!!!

[An unintended delusional conversation with Joanna Weiss.]

You say such sweet things to me first up on a Sunday, Joanna, while I’m still ungluing my eyes and cranking up my pulse rate to resemble life. Moah coaaaarrfeeee!

Your interactions were fake: hand-picked, overglossed, idealised personal statements that were bound to make your friends feel insecure, and vice versa.

Damn. Sprung! Wait. You weren’t talking about me?

Luke Pearson
Image credit: Luke Pearson.

Inspired by the song Ennui Go by rap group Magnolius for their art contest. An enormous, bored demon/god is morosely torching a town and half heartedly doing away with it’s defenders because he can’t think of anything more fun to do.


… posting photos of depressingly minor life events – Attention, world! My child went to the dentist! – or scrolling down the news feed and “liking” 15 items in one sitting. I’m marking my presence, like a dog. If I lay off the site for a few days, I invariably miss six birthdays and feel like a jerk. If I stay away for longer, I worry I’ll miss big news.

So you were talking about yourself? Hmmm. Yeah, we all do that. Talk about ourselves, I mean. Is that a bad thing? I suppose it does depend on the level of triviality and repetition attached to the details. Personally I don’t give a fuck about your food and coffee pics, but I won’t tell you that.

Continue reading “People YOU are BORING!!!”

Nostalgic pulp fiction photoplay

In an insomniac moment Yonatan ‘Dr Zed’ Zunger of Google pointed me (and others) to Pulp-O-Mizer, a nifty little nostalgia automation.

Below is the result of some play with the page, but also a bit of my own ‘mit fingern gepoke’ graphic editing.

mutan-t-girl-dr-strempelgrump-75pc

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The crazed gunman building card

In response to the sentiments made known by American law enforcement about what can be done when confronted by a batshit crazy lunatic with firearms, and in the best traditions of bad taste (or ripping off the Fight Club flight card), Paranoia Studios, in collaboration with Pointing Finger Productions, and Bad Collage Arts, bring you an NRA approved safety card suitable for display in all public buildings where firearm attacks are likely.

crazed-gunman-safety-card

 

The Big Breastfeeding Boo-Hoo

David Koch: former father of the year.

There’s an irritatingly self-righteous morning sort-of-news show host in Australia, David Koch, whose unrelenting and unexamined bourgeois prejudices are regularly asserted as some standard of normality on his show. It is the reason why I prefer having teeth pulled or shaving with a blunt razor rather than watch his show.

It seems he made an error of judgement when he disparaged women breastfeeding in public. Not that the very same women who were upset with him about those comments don’t normally share his witless pronouncements on public standards and morality in other areas.

However, the real story here is that the reportage of this storm in a teacup did nothing to illuminate the issue (See, for example, Ninemsn’s coverage).

The whole thing started about censure of a woman breastfeeding her baby at a public swimming pool. She was obviously invited to cease and desist, but we are none the wiser for what specific reason. An absence in the reporting that implies we must know the reason intuitively because we, too, would have wanted her to stop.

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The strategy to fund Armstrong’s retirement

Amid debate about the increasing immiseration of Australia’s poor, a bloody civil war in Mali, shenanigans on Washington’s Capitol Hill, and David Cameron’s cretinous flirtation with exiting the EU, the news media never ceases to bombard its audience with non-stories about some Texan nonentity, Lance Armstrong.

I first came across that name in the early 2000s, when I made the mistake of questioning some work acquaintances about the little girl rubber bands they wore around their writs. Turns out these were some marketing scam designed to promote a cyclist.

I couldn’t quite work out the apparent nexus between testicular cancer and rubber bracelets. I did however make the connection between five year old girls and grown men shaving their legs, wearing these bracelets, and getting around in screamingly loud, obscenely expensive cycling gear that resembles advertising billboards; they were all just getting in touch with the little girls inside them.

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Journalling

My pens.
My pens.

It is very encouraging that I am far from alone when it comes to keeping journals.

My recent post to Google Plus unearthed a whole slew of people who love to write as much as I do. That gives me hope and makes me happy.

My journals.
My journals.

I started that post with a photo of my pens. Unfortunately you cannot post more pictures on Google Plus threads. A strange oversight by people as obsessed with cat gifs as the Gundroons.

So I had to post here with the second pic, which is of one of my archive boxes filled with my journals.

Before the great Brisbane flood of 2010/11 I might have had three hundred journals. Now I have five of these archive boxes, each holding around eight books. I am jealous of M Sinclair Stevens’ Leuchtturm acquisition, but my books tend to be whatever I can get my hands on.

In the left foreground is a current journal, topped with my reading glasses and my Parker Jotter. In those boxes is laughter, heartbreak, despair and exhultation. In the journals lost to me now are lives begun and ended, wars and murder, and all the things that make a man what he is.

This post is for Sinkers and Giselle.

Sorry the photos are so crappy. but I don’t have a camera at the moment.