Justice For Lewis

A Year Later I'm Still Upset

Some things are just too awful to let pass. That's how I feel about the mega-fires that visited our land in the summer of 2019-2020. Combined with the unpreparedness, the wilful ignorance of the Federal Government, runaway heatwaves, under-investment in infrastructure for dealing with mega-fires, and you had a catastrophic failure of leadership that manifested as a total, unmitigated disaster. 

And it's one thing if idiot Queenslanders voted for Clive Palmer's mob as a 'hedge' and found themselves with this terrifyingly incompetent government were the ones getting burned out of their houses. Instead it was innocent wildlife was getting hurt and killed in these fires. You can blame the idiot humans who voted for the idiot government, but the wildlife is blame-free - and yet they bore the burnt of the consequence.

I'm not some Animal Liberationist nut job - but even I can see how disproportionately the piling up of bad decisions and their horrible consequences are falling upon those without the power to withstand it, or change it, move away from it, or voice their concerns. 

When you see footage of people rescuing wildlife amid the chaos and turmoil of the fires, you have to ask yourself, how exactly did we get to this point? When will the comeuppance visit themselves upon those who are ostensibly responsible for this land, the idiot politicians? Why do the animals have to lose their dwellings for the idiot politicians' bad decisions? Why can't the idiot politicians lose their houses and family and habitat? 

There's really no justice on that account. There ought to be. I'll leave it at that. 

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Screams of Burning Koalas

 Can't Express Fully How Angry I Still Am

Suffice to say the accounts of what happened last summer in Australia were harrowing as they were bewildering. Harrowing because so many lives were lost, not just humans but much wildlife as well. Some put th e figures at 1 billion. It might have been conservative. It was also bewildering because the Australian government's preparation and response to the Firesign general were all too slow, inadequate and mostly laughable if the tragedy unfolding weren't so dire. 

Mallacoota on New Years Eve sounded like Hell had landed and started dancing on everybody's heads. 

People spent the night in the waters off the pier, up to their necks in the waves as they watched the sky glow red and black embers fell and they could hear screams of burning koalas from the burning tree tops. It's not way to bring in the new year. People talk about how bad 2020 was in relation to the COVID-19 but make no mistake, from Day 1, it was a crap year. 

So yeah, I guess I had to write a song about that. One year on, I'm still livid at the Global Warming Denialism of this Federal Government. I mean yes if we changed out of fossil fuels, it would be a hit the GDP and the wallet of people like Gina and Twiggy Forrest. But honestly, they can wear that pay cut - and they won't exactly starve or lose their houses. Seriously, what price our planet? 

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Gladys The Koala Killer

Amongst Other Terrible Things She Does

Our Premier, the Hon. Premier Gladys Berejiklian is an odd duck, even in the ranks of female politicians who toil in the ranks of conservatives. She must be good at whatever it is politicians do to get ahead of the pack because let's face it, she's got the weird woggy surname, and a visage that is most unlike that of say a TV breakfast host intros country. She seems to be nice on some level, compassionate, even. You wouldn't want to be the guy wagging a finger at her telling her her policies stink, lest people think you're the bully. 

And yet her policies make you want to turn to eco-terrorism. She would countenance the building of these terrible tollways, and chopping down native forests, or putting a coal mine in the middle of a water catchment. Above all, she would name a policy that seems friendly towards the preservation of Koalas but is in fact incentivises for more environmental destruction, not less. It's crazy stuff. And somehow the voting public does not bat a mascara-ed eyelash. We keep going with this insane party in charge, with Gladys at the helm. 

Because of all that, she has earned the moniker, Gladys the Koala Killer. Is it fair? More than plenty! We live in terrible times. She is contributing her part to that terror. 

Thus it seemed appropriate to at least discuss this by writing a song about her being Gladys, the Koala Killer, destroyer of trees, water tables, and the pristine environment of our bushland, amongst other horrible deeds.  

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Lucky Country

Also, The Dumb-Luck Country

I don't want to badmouth my own country but a year on from the massive bushfires, there are days where you just draw a deep sigh.  

When one reflects on everything that happened in Australian politics in the last decade, you're left with a profound sense of lost time. It's all time that could have been spent on doing things better - certainly better than the internecine party-politic-infighting that was a feature of the decade. If the ALP burnt itself out on the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd imbroglio, the Liberal Party regaled with no less than a Turnbull-Abbott-Turnbull-Morrison turn of leadership spills. 6 Prime Minsters in the decade shows the country was in political strife, most over the issue of Climate Change. 

Needless to say the decade was punctuated by an exclamation mark in the massive bushfires last summer and still there is no indication the culture wars over Global Warming has come to an end. There were many villains in the story, but if there was one traitor to this country that deserves special mention, it must be Andrew Robb who sold out this country from his position in government and now receives a fat salary from our burgeoning enemy China. 

All that said, our country lurches on without a policy or apology. just bumbling around trying to find a fig leaf to put over the glaringly obvious absence of a credible climate policy. Again, I won't go into the idiocy of the situation we find ourselves, but it has to beside that making the future precarious through the misapplication of partisan politics is the height of stupidity. As such, it is inescapable to understand that the government we have is a execrable mess. 

So, what exactly is this luckiness we credit ourselves when we must live with such stupidity that undercuts that luck? 

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This Is The Shit You Voted For

I Hope You're Pleased As Punch

It's weird that this comes out the week after the US elections but, it wasn't planned that way. It's a happy coincidence - and honestly, I'm okay with Biden winning. If anything the shit referred to in the song is more in line with the 4 year misrule of the Trump Administration which ignored all the warnings about Climate Change. Indeed, I'm really talking about the 2019 Australian election where the Morrison Government was returned, only to promptly ignore expert warnings about the drought and the catastrophic summer weather that led to the massive fires up and down the east coast. 

I mean, what were people thinking really? In the olden days I would've come on tooth's blog and vented but of course nobody is persuaded by some blog telling them they are fuckheads for voting in a conservative government that doesn't believe in Global Warming. Instead, they pretty much need to lose their farms and houses to 40m tall walls of fire roaming the landscape, burning everything to the ground. 

As such the only thing left for me is to write a song about it and stick it out there, commemorating the abject stupidity of the electorate that opted to return this miserable, intellectually stunted, execrable government to office. For indeed they are shit and this is what they voted for. It's a sobering feeling every election to find that at least 48% of your fellow countrymen are willing to burn the planet to make a buck and think that is the most important thing, followed by cutting deficits (or some other piece of economic nonsense). It's amazing how they win more often than not and give us the shit we need not ought to have had.

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Fuck You Adani

 We're Not Kidding, Fuck You Adani

There's really no need explain this one. 

The planet's headed deeper into climate crisis and there's the Adani mine going ahead in Queensland. They're doing all kinds of shady things and they will stoop to anything to silence those who are opposed to this catastrophic mine going ahead. 

Honestly, there's really no symptom of the evil of crony capitalism in this world than the people who make excuses for this mine to go ahead. It makes no economic sense, the company gets subsidies it doesn't deserve and there's no discernible good in digging up more coal to be burnt. The best form of carbon sequestration is not to dig up the stuff to be burnt at all. 

Hence the need for this song. Seriously, fuck these people.

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Annastacia's Coal Mine

A Quick RIP Eddie Note

I feel I ought to write something briefly about the passing of Eddie Van Halen. The outpouring of grief is palpable around the world. Unlikely people have come forward to offer up their condolences - like the Cabinet Secretary of the Government of Japan who says he is the same age as Eddie and feels the loss deeply. We're all devastated by the loss, but I've felt for a long while now that this day would come, sooner or later.

Maybe it was the photo he shared from his treatment in Switzerland where he looked like a shrivelled gnome. It was sad and a horrible indicator that he was losing that battle. After all, who goes to expensive specialists in Switzerland except those in desperate straits or the incurably crazy? 

As such I find myself feeling a weird blank sorrow more than a mordant grief or gargantuan attack of sadness. He wasn't well for a long while now - we should have known it was bad. 

May he rest in peace.  

I'll try and post something a bit more detailed later in the week. 

Bad Decisions Writ Large

This is a song about the stupid decision to proceed with the Adani Mine. In times like this where forests around the world are going up in flames, it seems cavalier-stupid to want to continue digging up ever more fossil fuels to satisfy an imaginary need that won't be of use even in 5years' time. 

There's not much more to it than that. 

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Pay Your Fucking Taxes, Stupid Billionaires

Absconded Capital in the 21st Century 

When I was a kid I asked my economist father if they put all the money in the world in one place and divided it up with everybody on the planet (I must have been a nascent communist), whether would all be reasonably well off or not. My father replied there wasn't such wealth in the world to make everybody well off, let alone wealthy. We would all get about a month's pay and then the money would be spent. 

Of course, that's a long time ago and  since then we've learned through such things as the Panama Papers that global wealth locked up and hidden away from the prying eyes of tax offices of various governments is such that it would make us all rather well off, if not wealthy, if redistributed globally. Thomas Piketty's big book essentially underlined how this terrible state came to be.  

The drain of wealth out of nations via Tax Haven has got to be one of the worst injustices going around. The fact that that capital largely does not work - i.e. put to good use in building factories and towards production and instead sits around on government bonds and debt structures around the world exacerbates the various injustices threefold: once for the tax not paid, once for the misapplication of capital, and once again for the lack of debt forgiveness that condemns the third world to its third world existence. You know, those world vision starving kids and all that, is a side effect of this money sitting on all those bonds.  You gotta laugh when the charities come knocking on your door, that they expect piling up your $5 will somehow counteract the mountain of bonds.  

While I don't believe in a radical redistribution wealth like I did when I was 5, I do sort of think the least the billionaire classes can do is pay their fucking fair share of taxes. 

...and so, to this song! 

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No More Time

We Ran Out Of Time To Fix This World

It's been awhile. Apologies. 

The updated interface fro Blogger has proven to be a deterrent. It's actually quite annoying endless user-friendly than the old one. I'll try and get on top of it and come back more often but ... you know how things can get. Your out of time to do things. 

I've got this new song out. You should check it out. 

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'Liberosis of the Moon'

And Why Would The Moon Care?

It's only been staring down at us mere mortals for along as anything's been crawling or swimming or walking or flying on the face of this earth.

Liberosis 

n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

The moon, is barren. Its emotions austere. It is not surprising it has the desire to care less about things. It may even be that it has already reached the absolute zero of caring as it orbits this planet.



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'Onism and Wolves'

You Are Where You Are

Our consciousness is not that different to that of animals. We think our ability to articulate words and therefore convey meaning makes us so different from animals but this is a misconception of what our conscious mind consists. The 'I' we place as the 0 - 0 coordinate is a construct that enables to decide on fairly simple things like what one might want to eat or when one might want to go to the toilet. Most offer biological functions come through this filter and manifest themselves in our minds. And to that extent we are no different to the cat that miaows demanding to be let out of the house or the dog that barks at passing cars in annoyance and boredom.

With that said, it's wort considering this word today:

Onism 

n. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

We need to drill down deeper into what we think we are and where we think we exist. The space time we perceive is a lot more motile and defiant towards any meaning we place on it. You may be better off to strip away the abstractions and feel your way into the wind like wolves.




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'Exulansis'

Is It Me, For A Moment?

The totality of your life is impossible to communicate. I always laugh when I watch some TV show or movie where the conflict revolves around a character withholding information about themselves. The other party berates the character as being dishonest, and make the charge that such dishonesty leads to communication breakdown or worse still, a termination of trust.

What never seems to be discussed in such instances is the impossibility of conveying one's entire truth in pith dialogue that even a middle-American yokel can understand with bite-size chunks of wisdom sprinkled in. So for that purpose we have to explore this word here:

Exulansis 

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

That's some problematic stuff right there for any character on screen that has to convey their way-out-there truth. Like "I'm Batman", or "I love you" or "I eat snails for breakfast".
Sometimes, you just ca't put it into words. That's just the truth of the matter.




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'Ellipsism'

How Does It End?

If you read history, you know you experience this feeling.

Ellipsism

n. sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out, that you’ll dutifully pass on the joke of being alive without ever learning the punchline—the name of the beneficiary of all human struggle, the sum of the final payout of every investment ever made in the future—which may not suit your sense of humor anyway and will probably involve how many people it takes to change a lightbulb.

Clive James who knew he was dying of cancer let out his own ellipsis around the time of the end of season 2 of 'Game of Thrones'. His lament was that he would not live to see how it would all end on that TV series. He expressed some embarrassment that man of his age would be so caught up in the kind fiction that had dragons in it, but he needn't have worried - it's not as if his own poetry was terribly profound or deeply meaningful. Lucky for him, he outlasted the last season and saw it all end.  I don't know what he thought of the end, whether he was with all the people that complained about it, to whether maybe he was exhausted by the narrative, he accepted for what it was.

When Francis Fukuyama wrote the book 'The End of History', it seemed eminently premature to declare not just because I was still young but because there were clearly lots of people still about from whence history would be made. The end of history necessarily comes when there is a last man standing, watching the devastated horror of the extinction of all living things, with nobody to read how it all happened.

Yet if the likes of Tacitus or Suetonius or Thucydides felt ellipsism it is not surprising nor is it something to be pitied. Have great empathy for their ellipsism. There is a desire to see out how things turn out. It is what keeps us tuned in and turned on to all the events that unfold around us. Perhaps it i the first human condition that takes place when one balances one's own mortality with the absolute of time.



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'Jolly Jouska'

Talking To Yourself Is A Sign Of Madness

It's hard to get things right the first time. If you sit down to do a recording, Take 1 is never right. Take 2 sometimes is just right, but Take 1 being the golden Take is very rare. And so in conversations, where there are no opportunities to perfect the discourse, you don't quite get things out the way you want to, and this leads to this weird process of dissecting one's own thoughts in endless internal dialogue afterwards.

Jouska 

n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head—a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback—which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Which all makes it sound rather jolly. Life also has a way of eluding the jolly.

Imagine a life. A person gets out at the beginning and gets run over by a freak bus. They leave the front door one morning, and this random crazy bus rides up on to the sidewalk and takes them out.
He survives, but he is messed up - he will never be who he was going to be for the rest of his life.

Then he eventually gets up form his hospital bed and wonders what the hell is going on and what the hell just happened - but there is no answer. So they are doomed to question what the hell happened to them as they left the door to their house. Was that the wrong decision? Yet everybody else leaves home at the start of the day. Was it that the wasn't looking carefully enough? Perhaps he reacted too slowly and the bus ran him over. Or perhaps it was the driver's fault and not his own, but he feels like he needs to shoulder some of the responsibility.

And so he talks to himself endlessly, in a sad bid to unravel the mystery of how his life was altered irrevocably. That, is his jouska.

It sucks, yeah?



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'Regal Vellichor'

Mostly Musty

This COVID-19 pandemic situation has nudged me back towards reading books. So it seems appropriate that the word we're hijacking for song titles is vellichor.

vellichor 

n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

The most recent book I read is about the many diasporas of humanity out of Africa. It seems long ago - probably about 60,000 years ago that we left Africa as Homo Sapiens. Judging by how lacking in wisdom humanity is, clearly that time has not gone towards accumulating a whole wisdom.

I realise as I write this entry that my habit of reading books gave way to a habit of producing music.It is ironic somewhat that one goes from a phase of life where there is nothing one can do to produce what they want to produce and so one must spend time devouring texts to enrich one's mind; and then to a phase of life where one has the means of production so it is incumbent upon one to keep producing as much as one can using all the available time at hand.

All the same I would like to go back to reading in equal measure. It's not that I have stopped liking the producing part, it is just that I do miss spending time with books. Reading is great - even the reading of somewhat-crappy-books.



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'Blue Sonder'

You Are Not Alone

The definition of Sonder goes like this:

Sonder 

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

I am guessing that, with all this social distancing due to the COVID-19 pandemic, "other people" is starting to seem like an abstract idea. It's kind of getting that way with me. My friends are becoming voices down a phone line or messages on social media. It's a little daunting to think I won't be grabbing a bite to eat with my old buddies at our favourite haunts for at last 6 months, and god only knows if our favourite haunts would even be in business 6 months down the track.

The wider picture of course is that our ancestors survives the bubonic plague and other epidemics and pandemics. Even our grandparents and great grandparents survived the Spanish Flu of 1918-1919; although in writing that, it seems important that it did go on longer than a year with that particular pandemic. You take a moment to contemplate those lives and their losses, and their suffering and well, that's even more cause for sonder.

When I as working on this one, it didn't really occur to method I would be putting it out during a global pandemic. That is the nature of time. You only get to live the history that comes to you.
We were warned about a pandemic. We just didn't seem to factor it into our thinking, even with all the fiction that warned us of what it might be like in the 21st Century. This is not quite Bocaccio's Decameron or Albert Camus' plague, or even Love in the time of Cholera. It's more a prosaic confrontation with ethereality that toilet paper is valued more highly than most other things in the supermarket when it comes to our consumerist society.



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Nodus Tollens

Don't Know When Exactly But..

I've got an album of instrumentals coming out. It's more stuff in the vein of 'Neurotronic' where I let the synths and modulators go spastic and then figured out how to play guitars and bass and drums against it. It's not like there is any high falutin' concept beyond trying to make the seemingly atonal fold back into something that resembles guitar rock.

'Nodus Tollens' is the name the album. The term Nodus Tollens apparently means "the realisation that the plot of your life doesn't make any sense to you any more." I figure a lot of things could be said about such a statement. Maybe I'll wait until I get into it track by track once the damn thing gets its release.

Yes. When is it coming it out anyway?
This album was supposed to come out on the 29th March 2020 but there was a mix up with the Distributor and so here we are in limbo. It might take a week for it to getup.With the COVID-19 situation going, it might take even longer but you wonder how hard it could be to mount a digital release. It's not like I'm pressing these albums.

After 2 years of doing these digital releases, something wonderful happened. Somebody actually downloaded one of my tracks paying real money for it - all US$0.99 of it. Hey I'd like to encourage that here so whoever it was, kudos to you! Everybody should learn from this person's good behaviour.  If you're reading this blog, come on, you know you like this stuff well enough.


UPDATE:
 ....and here it is. Let it rip.

'Closing Time Blues'

Love in the Time Before Corona

It's certainly disorienting to be talking about hanging at bars until closing time in an era when pubs and bars are all closed by state order in a bid to stifle the Coronavirus spreading. I mean who'd a thunk it, whereby all the drinking holes in all the world are closed thanks to this damn virus. What will happen to that famous line in Casablanca wherein Rick Blaine (played by Humphrey Bogart of course) intones in a demeanour best described as glum:

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

Yup. That line doesn't feel the same in this exact day and age where you can't hang out until they throw you out.

I'm not much a drinker to begin with. My policy is one-and-done on any given night. I'm not a teetotaller because I found out Adolf Hitler was one, but I can be pretty close to being one for very long stretches. I as once pulled over for random breath testing in the mid-90s and was asked when my last drink was by the police officer. My reply was "I think 1987..."

Which is to say the periods that I did hang out 'til I was thrown out were fairly brief. And truth be told by the time I was being thrown out at closing time, I was pretty sober because I was a one-and-done guy. I was genuinely there for the drunk-and-sorry company. The best and worst of all that is to say I'm probably not cut out to be an alcoholic; but as the other songs in this series might indicate I could very well be addicted to other bad behaviours.

In closing out this series of songs, I have to say the album didn't work out the way I thought it would. I wanted to do a more reflective, slow-moving, lyric-driven, thoughtful kind of blues album. Instead I've written about stupid sex secrets of travellers and swingers and teenage nymphos. Nothing ever goes to plan and with this song, I have the feeling I've just fallen back on my natural thing where I zip along at 145bpm or so. There's a bigger gulf between the way one envisages one's music and actually how it plays out when it comes out of you. If I had a reason to be blue about closing out this album, I guess it would be just that: I wish that I'd gotten further away from my own natural inclinations than I did.




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'Zombies of Lust'

What's There To Complain About?

If a guy could magically become a Lothario, a Casanova, a Don Juan or Don Draper, would a red blooded male turn it down? I think it would take a lot of shunted libido and strange refractions in the persona before a guy could confidently say 'no'. We're all suckers for a bit of a good time.  In turn, when you get into the limerence of a new relationship and all you do is fuck, you enter a brain space where you may as well be a zombie. You become fuck-headed.

In my own moments of being fuckheaded, I've made drastically bad decisions in my life which I can only attribute to the absence of proper perspective and judgment that comes from being fuckheaded. You're like a zombie, devoid of a brain and so you make stupid decisions - but you tell yourself afterwards the fucking was great, so the losses accrued from the bad decision are worth it.

It's like your whole reality is warped by the experience of too much sex. You don't know where the line is because you cross over it ever so quietly and when you do, you're crossing it by concentrating on something else entirely. Judgments about one's own life are impaired severely at such junctures. You ask yourself afterwards why in the hell you didn't see the problems coming. You don't because pussy has a way of distorting reality. So you have to understand this: if you have a friend who is going through the limerence that comes with love and is getting laid really well, it is best not to ask them very important questions with consequences. A Lothario, a Casanova, a Don Juan or Don Draper is not a good arbiter of sane life decisions by dint of being on the wrong side of the line.

They're just Zombies of Lust.


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'One More Time Before I Die'

True Stories, Tall, and Short

The thing about life and lyrics is that you run out of things to write about your own life. I ran out of things to write about my life and love life at that, a very longtime ago. I don't mean to boast but, I've written a lot of songs my time and written a bunch of short stories in my time, and lord only knows I've written a shit tonne of blog posts over here too. It's natural that you pick the low hanging fruit of your life pretty damn clean, somewhere along in your creative life. It's just something that happens in a creative life.

You don't have to be Picasso or Paul Klee to want to re-invent the way you approach things from first principles, and unless you are Titian who never bored of painting similar kinds of portraits, you do go looking for different subjects and topics to address. You can't keep going over the same terrain repeating yourself - unless you're a bluesman. Then it's de rigeur.

One of the reasons I ran out love songs to write is because at some point I settled down and stopped lusting after the next pretty face that came along. That too is life. You can't keep riding on the testosterone, getting into romantic scraps in search of ever more love songs. Or just any old relationship-related songs for that matter. It's often better to go all Paul McCartney and pick song titles and stories out of newspapers. Not to mention the fact that love, as portrayed in pop songs is more akin to mental illness than actual love, but that is sort of another topic for another day.

All that said, you do luck out sometimes.

My musical acquaintance Paul regaled me with the story of two old blokes on a bus wherein the conversation revolved around wanting to have one last fuck before they shuffled off their portal coil. I was in a bus and this woman loudly proclaimed in a phone conversation - which she forced everybody to listen to on the bus - that she would like to get laid just one more time with the guy she slept with the night before. And then there was this teenage girl who is always talking way too loud on the bus wondering out loud if she will ever have sex again, after she dumped her boyfriend.

Sometimes life gifts you three verses, jus like that. You'd be a mug not to write it down into a song.



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