Hi 'Radio for Change',
Today I made a donation to your radiothon of $240-00.
The program that I wish to support of 'Beyond the Barricades' 'Save
Albert Park' that has been broadcast at 6pm Mondays for two decades -
and still the race usurps a Public Park at great expense, fudged
attendance statistics and with administrative secrecy.
I do not agree with all the programs on 3CR, particularly the racist,
Jew-hating, anti-Semitic, fake and false Palestinian 'cause' that denies
Israel's right to exist and reverse the re-unification of Jerusalem.
Only Israel wants a two-state solution, that the Palestinians have
repeatedly rejected when offered. Israel unilaterally left Gaza, but
instead of gratitude leading to a similar withdrawal from the West Bank,
Israel received thousands of deadly missiles from Gaza as well as most
of the International Aid to Gaza building tunnels to invade Israel
instead of helping the people of Gaza. I have been to Gaza myself and
want an end to the way the people there are kept in poverty by the
anti-Zionist Arabs, along with the fourth generation so-called
'refugees' in Jordan and elsewhere, with the claim that it is just a
matter of time before all the Jews are pushed into the sea, Israel is
wiped of the maps (it already is missing from Arab school atlases) and
everyone can finish Hitler's 'final solution'.
There are other programs as well that I consider of dubious worth, but I
also believe that people should have the right to speak out and express
opinions, even if they differ from my opinion!!
Generally, I agree with the underlying premise of Community Radio of
empowering the Community and all individual, ordinary people. While I
am more in favour of individual freedom that some of the Totalitarians I
hear on 3CR, and cannot foresee an actual end to the Free Enterprise
Economic System, but I agree with all your presenters that we need
adequate regulation and supervision. My own view on Economics is that
most people do not understand 'money', which I see as a form of Energy
(not yet recognised by Physicists) that is created as the balance to
debt, in the same way Positive and Negative Electricity and Magnetism
balance each other. The problem is Interest. It is no coincidence that
all the major religions prohibit interest. Energy is not like goods
and services that can have a price put on it; the 'price of money' that
is interest, is a fabrication that leads to problems. The Chinese a
couple of decades ago hit on how they can create interest free debt
between Government and Government owned Banks and hence create an
unlimited amount of money with which to buy up the rest of the world.
Greece as well as Australia suffers from the limitation ob the Creation
of Debt by Central Banks because they have interest added that just
grows exponentially as Governments keep having to borrow more to service
the loans. It limits the money supply and is a bottomless pit of
unproductive debt. Fees for setting up loans are a different sort of
cost, and are legitimate for banks, but any so called Socialist economic
system that still incorporates usury is doomed to fail.
Well there is my rant, to get my money's worth out of my donation. I
would love to have the chance to say it on air, if anyone wanted to
phone me any time on 0414 766 825 to chat.
I am also very keen on Reconciliation and applaud the recent Uluru
Statement. Australia still has unresolved guilt, and it is my opinion
that this is the cause of the futile and divisive campaign to become a
Republic. Despite its faults that should be addressed individually, our
Constitution is excellent and the result of hundreds of years of
revolution and dispute. We should be pleased to remain a Monarchy, and
instead of attempting Republicanism by Stealth, we should take full
advantage of the opportunities that we ignore. I would love to discuss
this too. The Uluru Statement progresses from Mabo to acknowledge than
not only is there continuing Real-Estate ownership, but there is
joint-Sovereignty in Australia sharing the Traditions of Country with
our British Rule of Law. Still, most Australians are in denial of one
or the other, and few embrace both. (I received a High Distinction in
Aboriginal Cultures through the David Unaipon College of Indigenous
Education, but I cannot claim direct ancestry, though I was conceived
and born in Wurundjeri Country.)
I would like to see Albert Park and other Melbourne Parks as well as all
our ludicrously named 'Nature Strips' permitted to return to natural,
endemic bushland, which happens at no cost if you just leave land
alone. 'Save Albert Park' is a bourgeois organisation run by
middle-class lefties who want a traditional British-style park with
lawns and cultivated shrubs, like they want mowed nature strips. Of all
Melbourne' Major Events, the Grand Prix could be a genuine 'working
class' celebration, which might justify taking over a People's Park for a
few months, but it remains an Elite Sport. I still support the basic
principles of 'Save Albert Park'/'Beyond the Barricades', especially
opposition to the secretive way it was imposed, and have not expressed
these reservations about the campaign that I think saves the wrong sort
of park and excludes the right sort of people.
Cheers,
Naum Tered
Rainbow over the minicipality
Friday 16 June 2017
Thursday 15 June 2017
A Big J Story
There was the time when Big J suggested I join a Service Club, and suggested Apex. I had heard of it but knew nothing of Service Clubs. I agreed, with some enthusiasm. And went to my first meeting, one early evening, I think from memory.
As soon as I walked in, someone recognised me and called everyone's attention to who my Father was. He praised Big J for a long time, listing a few of the many things he had done for the Community in his three decades as a Civic Councillor, and Olympic Sportsman and a Captain of Industry.
Then, he turned to me and said something like, 'Welcome! We're expecting a lot from you.'
I heard calls from a few of the faces that were all turned towards me of, 'Have a drink,' but all I could do was depart immediately and silently, never to return.
I wasn't me, whoever I was. Instead I was the son of Big J. I don't know how other people cope. Well, some live up to expectations, but then, they weren't dropped on their heads by their Big Whatevers when they were three, and blamed for being a malingerer for suffering because everyone was in denial that there had been an accident or I had been hurt at all.
Now I think about it. I don't think he told my mother what had happened, but instead carried my unconscious body to my bed and said I had a chill, or something. My Grandfather had died of Pneumonia a year before I was born, so it was a genuine concern.
I woke up and didn't know/remember anything. I had retrograde amnesia, but three year-olds aren't expected to remember much anyway. I know I had forgotten, because I remember three years later going with my Brother to the Kindergarten that I had attended myself and not remembering anything about it at all.
After that, I was genuinely sick, with every cold and flu that came our way, and measles and chicken pox. It was nearly always in mid-summer when everyone else was playing on the beach.
Even when I was well, I was confined to bed in a room without ventilation and overheated. I was over-fed starchy food. The best thing would have been for me to lie in the sun and bathe in the sea, but even when we rented a house by the beach near where cousins had also rented, and where my cousins, of whom there were many, played together, I was prevented from going out, and no one would visit me because they all thought I was a malingerer who was too timid to play sports.
I recall lying in bed at another time in the new house, and hearing children playing outside. I think I went once to meet up with them, on a rare occasion when I was deemed 'well', the weather was warm and dry, and I had all the right clothes on. They were going down the hill on a billy cart. I may have had the opportunity to try it, but declined, because I was timid. I often fell over because I was clumsy, having grown up sick in bed, and I usually hurt myself. I still wonder how sportspeople can dive for balls or tackle each other without injury.
A couple of times I was invited to a neighbor's party. One time, being in the early fifties when they were still playing war music and movies, and the lady of the house, the mother of the child I barely knew, who lived at the end of my street, asked me what my Father did in the war. I was totally confused, as I didn't know what anyone did in the War. My Mother's young brother was killed in the RAAF just before the end of the war, after seeing me once just after I was born, but of course that memory was wiped by the bump on the head.
A lot of it came back to me when I was knocked unconscious in a Motor Bike Accident. (Instead of going where the sign pointed, I rode into the sign, something a lot of people do metaphorically according to the Buddhist analogy, but I did literally.) I had retrograde amnesia, and completely lost the preceding six weeks. It was very strange as I had not long before moved into a bramble-covered cottage in the Adelaide Hills on the edge of the forest and had met lots of wonderful people. Later I kept running into people I didn't know who claimed they knew me. Eventually I started asking when I had met them, and it was always within that six weeks, so I could apologise and explain. Even my earlier life was initially forgotten, but gradually came back to me, as if drifting in from a distance, but included with the returning memories were some from the first time I was knocked unconscious. I have seen this in a couple of movies, films and videos where it can be used to comic effect or to propel the story with something remembered, but it is based on fact, because I have experienced it.
Those Apex people might have had high expectations, but none more so than my own dear Father. Big J had made it on his own, despite great adversity, or perhaps because of it. He expected me to do the same, without his help. Unless, you call throwing me into the lion's den like that Apex meeting 'help'. He was forever criticising me for not doing things that I hadn't known he expected. If he told me in advance I might have tried, but when I complained he said I had no initiative.
The more I think about it, the more I am sure he kept it a secret that he had dropped me on my head doing gymnastics in the bathroom. I must have heard some people talking about it, perhaps him and a Medico, because years later, when I was in my twenties, I asked him about it. He was a bit surprised I knew and remembered, but agreed that it had happened, but quickly added, 'It was lucky nothing permanent happened.' He was in total denial. We never spoke of it again, as we continued to have too much else to argue about. We used to shout at each other all the time. Perhaps he thought it was like verbal fencing, because I had been too feeble to learn to fence so we couldn't actually face up to each other. Pity! The arguing was very destructive and made me very depressed. If he did it deliberately, he did me a great wrong, because it totally destroyed any belief that anything I did or said could be right or worthwhile, as he argued against everything. Often he would say, 'Don't be stupid!' so I grew up thinking I was stupid, and was surprised when I was about forty to discover that I was actually vastly more intelligent than most other people and the reason I couldn't understand other people was not because I was stupid but because they all were - by comparison. I was a fool to not know, but what hope did I have?
After I did some Psychodramas I was able to stop him calling me 'Stupid!' and we became good friends for the last few years of his life till he very suddenly got sick and died. But that is a different story.
As soon as I walked in, someone recognised me and called everyone's attention to who my Father was. He praised Big J for a long time, listing a few of the many things he had done for the Community in his three decades as a Civic Councillor, and Olympic Sportsman and a Captain of Industry.
Then, he turned to me and said something like, 'Welcome! We're expecting a lot from you.'
I heard calls from a few of the faces that were all turned towards me of, 'Have a drink,' but all I could do was depart immediately and silently, never to return.
I wasn't me, whoever I was. Instead I was the son of Big J. I don't know how other people cope. Well, some live up to expectations, but then, they weren't dropped on their heads by their Big Whatevers when they were three, and blamed for being a malingerer for suffering because everyone was in denial that there had been an accident or I had been hurt at all.
Now I think about it. I don't think he told my mother what had happened, but instead carried my unconscious body to my bed and said I had a chill, or something. My Grandfather had died of Pneumonia a year before I was born, so it was a genuine concern.
I woke up and didn't know/remember anything. I had retrograde amnesia, but three year-olds aren't expected to remember much anyway. I know I had forgotten, because I remember three years later going with my Brother to the Kindergarten that I had attended myself and not remembering anything about it at all.
After that, I was genuinely sick, with every cold and flu that came our way, and measles and chicken pox. It was nearly always in mid-summer when everyone else was playing on the beach.
Even when I was well, I was confined to bed in a room without ventilation and overheated. I was over-fed starchy food. The best thing would have been for me to lie in the sun and bathe in the sea, but even when we rented a house by the beach near where cousins had also rented, and where my cousins, of whom there were many, played together, I was prevented from going out, and no one would visit me because they all thought I was a malingerer who was too timid to play sports.
I recall lying in bed at another time in the new house, and hearing children playing outside. I think I went once to meet up with them, on a rare occasion when I was deemed 'well', the weather was warm and dry, and I had all the right clothes on. They were going down the hill on a billy cart. I may have had the opportunity to try it, but declined, because I was timid. I often fell over because I was clumsy, having grown up sick in bed, and I usually hurt myself. I still wonder how sportspeople can dive for balls or tackle each other without injury.
A couple of times I was invited to a neighbor's party. One time, being in the early fifties when they were still playing war music and movies, and the lady of the house, the mother of the child I barely knew, who lived at the end of my street, asked me what my Father did in the war. I was totally confused, as I didn't know what anyone did in the War. My Mother's young brother was killed in the RAAF just before the end of the war, after seeing me once just after I was born, but of course that memory was wiped by the bump on the head.
A lot of it came back to me when I was knocked unconscious in a Motor Bike Accident. (Instead of going where the sign pointed, I rode into the sign, something a lot of people do metaphorically according to the Buddhist analogy, but I did literally.) I had retrograde amnesia, and completely lost the preceding six weeks. It was very strange as I had not long before moved into a bramble-covered cottage in the Adelaide Hills on the edge of the forest and had met lots of wonderful people. Later I kept running into people I didn't know who claimed they knew me. Eventually I started asking when I had met them, and it was always within that six weeks, so I could apologise and explain. Even my earlier life was initially forgotten, but gradually came back to me, as if drifting in from a distance, but included with the returning memories were some from the first time I was knocked unconscious. I have seen this in a couple of movies, films and videos where it can be used to comic effect or to propel the story with something remembered, but it is based on fact, because I have experienced it.
Those Apex people might have had high expectations, but none more so than my own dear Father. Big J had made it on his own, despite great adversity, or perhaps because of it. He expected me to do the same, without his help. Unless, you call throwing me into the lion's den like that Apex meeting 'help'. He was forever criticising me for not doing things that I hadn't known he expected. If he told me in advance I might have tried, but when I complained he said I had no initiative.
The more I think about it, the more I am sure he kept it a secret that he had dropped me on my head doing gymnastics in the bathroom. I must have heard some people talking about it, perhaps him and a Medico, because years later, when I was in my twenties, I asked him about it. He was a bit surprised I knew and remembered, but agreed that it had happened, but quickly added, 'It was lucky nothing permanent happened.' He was in total denial. We never spoke of it again, as we continued to have too much else to argue about. We used to shout at each other all the time. Perhaps he thought it was like verbal fencing, because I had been too feeble to learn to fence so we couldn't actually face up to each other. Pity! The arguing was very destructive and made me very depressed. If he did it deliberately, he did me a great wrong, because it totally destroyed any belief that anything I did or said could be right or worthwhile, as he argued against everything. Often he would say, 'Don't be stupid!' so I grew up thinking I was stupid, and was surprised when I was about forty to discover that I was actually vastly more intelligent than most other people and the reason I couldn't understand other people was not because I was stupid but because they all were - by comparison. I was a fool to not know, but what hope did I have?
After I did some Psychodramas I was able to stop him calling me 'Stupid!' and we became good friends for the last few years of his life till he very suddenly got sick and died. But that is a different story.
Sunday 11 June 2017
Am I alone in my musical appreciation?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RENk9PK06AQ
It is billed as the world's ugliest music.
A long lecture by a mathematician explains the principles of Harmony and then argues that it is because of what he calls 'repetition' that gives all Art, including Music its 'beauty' presumably the only interesting aspect of Art. Then he explains how something that is not just random, but even more 'dissonant' in that it avoids all repetition must be 'ugly'. The resulting succession of notes is played on a piano. No pair of notes have the same interval.
Among all the negative comments attempting to ridicule the music, presumably comparing it to Pop, I wrote:
Dare I admit that I enjoyed it very much. It was the unexpectedness of the progression that delighted me. It must be possible to generate 'harmonies' by this method so the 'music' or 'soundscape' has genuine dissonance.
It is billed as the world's ugliest music.
A long lecture by a mathematician explains the principles of Harmony and then argues that it is because of what he calls 'repetition' that gives all Art, including Music its 'beauty' presumably the only interesting aspect of Art. Then he explains how something that is not just random, but even more 'dissonant' in that it avoids all repetition must be 'ugly'. The resulting succession of notes is played on a piano. No pair of notes have the same interval.
Among all the negative comments attempting to ridicule the music, presumably comparing it to Pop, I wrote:
Dare I admit that I enjoyed it very much. It was the unexpectedness of the progression that delighted me. It must be possible to generate 'harmonies' by this method so the 'music' or 'soundscape' has genuine dissonance.
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