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DesDownunder

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Blog Entries posted by DesDownunder

  1. DesDownunder

    65. Hot Aussies

    By DesDownunder,

    It's official folks, Adelaide in the state of South Australia has endured its longest heat wave on record.
    Generally a heat wave is considered to be the number of days with the temperature reaching or exceeding 100 ?F or 37.8 ?C.
    Well, we just had 15 days over 35 ?C and believe me that was hot enough. I had to drive 22 Kilometres each day in a car with no air conditioning. I had a wet towel around my neck to survive. Yesterday I broke out into heat rash, but it has subsided with today's cooler weather.
    What was the world's longest heat wave?
    The record for the world's longest heat wave goes to Marble Bar in Western Australia. From October 31, 1923 to April 07, 1924 the temperature broke the 100 ?F mark setting the heat wave record at a scorching 160 days.
    Where is the hottest place on Earth? Temperature records from weather stations give that distinction to El Azizia, Libya, which hit a sweltering 57.8 degrees Celsius (136 F) on September 13, 1922, but there have likely been hotter locations beyond the scattered network of weather stations. (such as my bedroom in 1963 -1971.)
    Now if any of you kewl dudes want to come down here and help cool me down, please understand if I don't want to cuddle.

  2. DesDownunder
    On top of the other disasters that 2007 seemed to bring (fence falling over, cars that thought we had a pension plan, water heater that blew up and a few other major catastrophes like the computer needing replacement etc, etc, etc. I am delighted to inform you all that it hasn't finished yet!
    We are in our ninth day of 35 C heat, that's almost 100 F, with no cool change in sight till the 20th March at the earliest. Yes its a record heatwave for March in Adelaide.
    So go on, guess what broke down this time?
    Yes, you got it the -$%*)*&&^$##@% air conditioner!
    At least the computer seems okay working in the 40 C degree heat. CPU reads 55 C.
    So please excuse me if I seem a little short tempered or heated, as I am HOT and not in a good way.
    Okay, okay, was I ever that hot? Yes I was, thank you very much.
    So I am hot bothered, bewitched and bewildered as to why the air conditioner broke down. It just sits their and groans intermittently. They don't make them like they used to. It's only 35 years old. I am nearly twice its age and I don't groan do I?
    No need to answer that!

  3. DesDownunder
    Here is where the quote came from:
    Sanson: ...................Why are you poets so fascinated with madmen?
    Cervantes:................We have much in common.
    Sanson: ...................You both turn your backs on life?
    Cervantes.................We both select from life!
    Sanson:...................A man has to come to terms with life as it is.
    Cervantes:

    Life as it is.
    I have lived for over forty years, and I've seen...
    life as it is.
    Pain...
    misery...
    cruelty beyond belief.
    I've heard all the voices of God's noblest creature.
    Moans from bundles of filth in the street.
    I've been a soldier and a slave.
    I've seen my comrades fall in battle...
    or die more slowly under the lash in Africa.
    I've held them at the last moment.
    These were men who saw life as it is.
    Yet they died despairing.
    No glory, no brave last words.
    Only their eyes, filled with confusion...
    questioning why.
    I do not think they were asking why they were dying...
    but why they had ever lived.
    When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies?
    Perhaps to be too practical is madness.
    To surrender dreams, this may be madness.
    To seek treasure where there is only trash...
    too much sanity may be madness!
    And maddest of all...
    to see life as it is and not as it should be! from, Man of la Mancha. Film script.
    http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts...transcript.html
    For Man of la Mancha history of the playmusical see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_of_La_Mancha
    So you might think because the exact quote I used is not in these words, that I cheated. Yet I am not happy to claim the quote as my own, the sentiment is just so obviously what is behind the above speech.
    Thus I wrote:
    Madness is to believe that only reality is sanity
    Furthermore;
    To make it your quest, for life to be as it should be, is not an impossible dream.
    So I default because of my little subterfuge and you are all winners, everyone of you.
    But I think Rad Steven saw through it first.
    Your prize is waiting for you at my hosted page at Codey?s World, the next chapters of the Doors of Love.
    Don?t worry I won?t be sleeping alone.
  5. DesDownunder
    After ten minutes of writing and weeks of adjusting the words, I am pleased to
    announce that my new series, Doors of Love, based on my blog entries of the
    same title, has begun at my hosted pages at Codey's World.
    Chapters 1 and 2 are pretty much as they were posted in my blog.
    This week chapter 3 is up and is little more than a short bridging scene to the
    new story which begins properly (or improperly if you like) in chapter 4 due next week.
    There are 7 chapters in all and it is completed waiting only for my editor Blue to find time to work his magic.
    Please share your reactions with me. I love to know how you liked/loathed it.
    Open the Doors of Love
  6. DesDownunder
    Sometimes we just get carried away with a story or other kind of work, that makes us so pleased we lived long enough to read it or see it or hear it.
    So in a fit of rampant abandonment of all restraint I have taken down my treasured Avatar that means a great deal to me personally.
    My new avatar is probably a better description of me anyway. I certainly feel related to him.
    Anyway I would like to announce that I will now use my EnthMan symbol (my old avatar) as symbol of my appreciation of work that for me exemplifies quality and excellence in its field of artistic endeavour, including literature, visual and audio arts and anything else I feel like presenting it to.
    Why not make a symbol too and present it to people who have provided you with the pleasure of their talents.
    No No do not send sticky stamps of your symbol to your favourite film star,
    That is not what I mean.

    I am pleased to announce the first recipients are Cole Parker for Duck Duck Goose.
    Codey for From the Heart
    And Camy/Codey for the song Broken Heart.
    Please remember folks this is just me recognising my favourite meaningful works.
  7. DesDownunder
    Recently I fell into that awful trap of missing out on a daily shower.
    This sometimes happens to techie types.
    A quick sponge-over was all I could manage.
    The next day as I prepared for my shower, I looked aghast at my pubic hair.
    It had lost its curl.
    The short and curlies were long and laying quite flat.
    Perplexed and not a little unconcerned, I proceeded with the bathing ritual, showering with as much gay abandon as I could.
    After my shower I looked once more at the offending hairs only to notice that the curls had returned in all their glory.
    Once more I could be known as afro groin, or should that be aphro groin?
    Still I cannot help but wonder if I gave up showering, would the rest of me become straight too?
    Don't tell Fred Phelps
    He might picket the showers.

  8. DesDownunder

    58 Hello?

    By DesDownunder,

    So I have three days where I have to get up early...at 9am
    Okay so for most people that is not all that early, but after a lifetime of going to bed as the sun comes,
    9 am for me, is like the middle of everyone else's night.
    I am tired, very tired. It is 3.35 pm and I have just got home. I look longingly at the reason for existence
    but decide to leave the computer off and go to bed for some sleep.
    4.14 pm. Ring-ring, ring-ring. ring-ring, ring-ring, ring-ring, I pick up the phone,
    Me: "Yo!"
    silence...
    Oh No...
    Just as I am about to hang-up a voice says: How are you doing?
    Me: How am I doing, what?
    Voice: pardon?
    Me: You asked me how I am doing, but you didn't say what it was you wanted to know I was doing.
    Voice: Doing?
    Me: You must say what the doing is. I can't guess. Do you want to know how well I am doing the gardening?
    Or do you want to know how well I do the dishes?
    Or how well I do the naughty. I can tell you, I don't get too many complaints.
    I don't do the garden, by the way.
    Voice: I being polite.
    Me: Hello Polite, I being Des.
    Polite: No I am Shiram, being polite:
    Me: How nice. I am Des being annoyed.
    Polite now being Shiram: I knowing English.
    Me: Who told you that?
    Shiram: I did learning at school. I speak English. How are you doing?
    Me: How am I doing, what?
    Shiram: I don't understand.
    Me: Admitting you don't understand is the first step to wisdom.
    Shiram: This is not going right.
    Me: No I suppose it isn't.
    Shiram: I am having speech to say.
    Me: Why is someone getting married?
    Shiram: I am not married.
    Me: you're not? Then who is getting married?
    Shiram: Why is anyone marrying?
    Me: That's what I say too. See I told you, you would get wisdom, all from just admitting you don't understand.
    Shiram; Don't understand what?
    Me: That I don't like being woken up by phone calls.
    Shiram: Are you sleeping?
    Me: Not at the moment.
    Shiram: I am confused.
    Me: I am tired.
    Shiram: I am tiring too.
    Me: We should go to bed.
    CLICK!
    Okay so we never got past the "Yo"
    but I can fantasize a little can't I?

  9. DesDownunder
    Firstly I offer my condolences, respect and tears for the loss of Heath Ledger, a great bloke and a fine actor.
    That anyone, especially a man professing to be a man of God, should ridicule a man at his death for not fitting in with their concepts of religion is to me down right abhorrent. To claim knowledge that the dead person is now in Hell is irrational, illogical and deplorable.
    Who would do such a thing? Fred Phelps, who else? See the link that TR has provided here
    Fred claims to have knowledge that Heath is in Hell, complete with flames.
    During all this, Phelps also claims that Australia is a land of sodomites.
    Then we have Trab's illuminating report here that Aussies are being warned to steer clear of Canada because,
    "An Australian government website lists Canada as a country where travellers need to be cautious about terrorism, dangerous winter driving and cold weather conditions."
    Obviously the government thought because it is too cold for us practise sodomy in such weather or while driving the car, that it would be terrible for us.
    On behalf of the Australian people I would make it known that we do not concur with any ideas that Canada is so dangerous as to warrant such a statement.
    Some Australia Day this is turning out to be.
    oh yes I suppose I should tell you that January 26th is our National (booze up) Australia Day.
    Similar to our US friend's July the 4th, except we drink more than they do.
    In the light of Fred Phelps' sodomite claims, I am wondering if he got it mixed up with our national food, Vegemite?
    Just what does Fred put on his sandwiches? Inquiring minds want to know in case his mentality is diet related.
    Fred also has a go at "Faggy England" but I will leave that for Camy to comment on.
    I am asking our Government agencies that they quickly offer apologies to our Canadian brothers and sisters for any insinuation that they are are mad terrorists hellbent on killing the touring sodomites from Australia.
    I will tell them we should offer package holidays to Canadians who would like to see our national sodomy games, perhaps even take part in them.
    You will know when you have met an Australian because we always greet people by saying "G'Day"
    short for "Gay Day". Some people have thought G'day was short for a welcoming, "Good Day"
    But no. It is actually short for Gay Day, and we always say it before we sodomise anyone.
    G'day, mate?
    Which also explains why we call each other "mate."
    Australia, land of the sodomites. I guess that explains our low birth rate.
    Australia, Land of the Sodomites, we live in hope, I wish.
    It's a wonder Fred didn't claim that Australia sucks.
    And we are very good at that too.
  10. DesDownunder
    Cole has provided some advice on making contact with the boys:
    I imagine the following might be the outcome of taking Cole's advice.
    "Oh Hi. I was just walking past your garage door when I thought you might be able to help me with my phone. I don't seem to be able to get the camera thingy working on the phone and wondered if you nice muscly boys have a clue?"
    "Ahh, yeah, sure Pops, we can help," said the twinkier one of the two.
    In less time than it takes to say "What nice thighs you have," I found myself the proud owner of the only mobile phone in existence to have a footprint on its surface from where it was kick-boxed into terminating its services. The blood will probably wash off, I am sure, but there are several broken thingamy-jigs and holes in the plastic case.
    Still the boys did serve nice cake and tea, when we got back from the emergency room where the Kung-Fu expert had to have several small transistors and printed circuit board pieces removed from his foot under a local anesthetic. His friend held his hand throughout the procedure. The surgeon wasn't going to let him, until they showed him the medical power of attorney they held in each others names.
    I did think they went a bit far when they kissed and shouted "Hooray" every time the surgeon removed another bit of plastic from his foot.
    I tried to pay for the emergency room but they said they were completely covered medically as a condition that their parents had insisted on when they told them they were going to live together.
    It seems that their parents were hoping for grandchildren and didn't want them to have any unexpected hospital bills.
    Feeling somewhat defeated and quite phoneless, I decided to drive home. The boys with their arms around each other waved me farewell, while the sunset over suburbia in a blaze of innocence not seen since before apple trees grew in Eden.
    Unlike the previous entry this one is based loosely on fictitious thoughts inspired by Cole's above advice.

  11. DesDownunder
    It's Friday afternoon and I am picking up an old friend's ancient computer for which he no longer has any use. I will give it to a deserving family I know.
    At least I would if he was home. He is late. Twenty minutes late. So I am sitting in my car waiting, when I hear a door slam in the house next door.
    "Sorreeee," says a voice that I just know does not belong to an Australian outback construction worker.
    Sure enough, a young man in his early twenties appears wearing a shirt and shorts designed to show his decorator muscles he must have got for Christmas. At least I have something to look at whilst I wait.
    I immediately think that his name is probably Twinky-boy as he walks gently around the car parked in the driveway. As he turns around to get in the car I decide his name is probably Hot-bot.
    Anyway he started the car, one of those nice little 4-cylinder cars from the Far-east. Then he gets out of the car and walks up to the garage door which is one of those full-width roll-up type doors in a lovely shade of suburban beige. I watch Hot-bot as he reaches up to a ledge and takes down what is obviously a remote control.
    Now I have never had the money for such luxuries, but I am pretty sure this must be a remote control for the roll-up door. It wouldn't make a lot of sense for it to be the TV remote unless the door was particularly slow in rolling up. Then again it didn't make a lot of sense to keep the garage door remote outside where anyone could find it.
    Our hero gets back into the car and waves the remote at the door, which sure enough slowly, but not that slowly, begins its ascent into the garage ceiling space.
    When the door is half-way up, I watch as the car slowly moves forward towards the door. The bonnet of the car goes under the rising door and just when you would expect the young man to exert those delightful thigh muscles and apply the brakes, the car sped up and rammed the upper half of the now bent and stationary garage door.
    It was about now that I realised I was privileged to watch an actual urban legend occurring before my very eyes. Would I see a Darwin Award?
    The young man sat in the car with his mouth open. He seemed genuinely surprised that the door had been by hit the car. Possibly he was wondering why the car had been hit by the door.
    Slowly he backed the car away from the door, but the now hanging bottom bar of the door was caught on the front of the car just where the windscreen ends and the bonnet starts. He continued backing the car away and somehow managed to pull the roller door so it was bent in the other direction.
    The door tried to return to its previous instruction to roll up, but gave up after a another few feet, looking quite the worse for the ordeal. It looked a little like the Sydney Opera House sails would have looked if they had been made from roofing iron.
    The car bonnet seemed okay.
    Again I heard the door from inside the house slam and there suddenly appeared another young man of the tender twenty-something years wearing torn off jeans and a tight fitting T-shirt adorning his own decorator muscles. They must have bought a matching set, although this one might have paid extra for the super thighs version with golden tan.
    Twinky got out of the car and rushed up to the damaged door, touching it, caressing it as one would an injured animal. "Oh No!" he exclaimed.
    "How did that happen?" asked the other set of muscles.
    "I don't know. One moment the door was going up the next minute the door stopped as I was driving towards it," and with that he burst into tears.
    The other young man tenderly put his arms around his friend and patted his shoulder, "It's okay love, we will sort it out, come on."
    They reached up and grabbed the bottom of the bent door that was now about five feet off the ground.
    I watched as they twisted and pulled at the door. I tossed up whether I should try to help, but decided that as neither of them knew I was there and that I had forgotten to put on my own set of muscles before I left home, it was probably best for me to remain hidden in my car. Less embarrassing for us all, I thought.
    Then they gave me an insight in to their bedroom antics as they topped their previous contortions by grabbing the bottom of the door lifting their knees towards their chests and swung furiously like a pair of delicate chimpanzees.
    I placed my hands over my mouth and eyes, lest I should betray my presence with an audible sound from deep in my throat. Looking between my fingers I saw the miracle of the door slowly start to descend till it nearly reached the ground.
    "Stand back," said the torn off jeans clad super thighed one of the two, and with that he performed a flying Kung Fu leap that meant he probably worked as a stunt man. His foot landed in the middle of the dent in the door.
    He bounced off the now straightened door and fell to the ground. His friend rushed to his side, "Are you alright?"
    He knelt down and placed his friend's head in the folds of his lap, right on his very thin shorts.
    I was about to reach for my cell phone to ring emergency. Damn, I should have recorded this.
    His friend stirred and lifted his arm to pull his friends head down to him and they kissed in the drive-way.
    No, I am NOT making this up.
    For some reason I was almost expecting them to burst into song.
    "There's a place for us,
    A time and place for us...
    Somewhere..." *
    Slowly they picked themselves up off the ground and helped each other into their house. The door slammed behind them.
    A short time later my straight friend turned up. I asked if he knew the next door neighbours.
    He told me he thought they might be gay and that they were accident prone.
    "No shit!" said I.
    "Yes," he said, "they've only been there a week and last Tuesday one of them drove over the rubbish bin. I don't expect them to last the month out."
    "I don't know about that," I said, "They seem quite resourceful and very much in love."
    * Yes I know its West Side Story...again, but it did happen in an Adelaide Western Suburb.
    Edit: Tidying up the writing.
  12. DesDownunder
    So is it New year yet?
    I guess it must be. We have had our usual spate of arrests and murders and other various activities that the local peasants seem to think is necessary for the celebration of the Earth having completed yet another orbit around the sun.
    Some of them don't believe in that though, which makes me think of what it must mean to be so obsessed by a belief that others have to be subjected to it, beyond, in some cases, any semblance of validity.
    Such things were not foremost on my mind however when at 11.52 pm I crawled into bed, several hours ahead of my usual bedtime and looked at the man of my nightmares, I mean dreams, definitely my dreams, who was watching a DVD movie of no great worth except to act as nightmare fodder for someone else.
    "Whatcha doin'?" he asked.
    "Helping you watch the movie." I answered.
    "Oh." he replied. "I can stop it if you want."
    'If I want to what?"
    "It is hot!' he said
    "So it is," I confirmed for him.
    ****
    I believe we were thinking the same thing, that is, we had the same beliefs. At least they seemed similar.
    Some people do not seem to understand how important it is to allow other people to have beliefs that conflict with their own.
    They seem to be obsessed by some primitive neanderthal necessity to want others to think as they do.
    Well that might have been necessary when we lived in tribes or in caves. You know when our ancestors clubbed each other to death out of fear of the differences between one tribe and another; or over claims that cavemen from one cave were better than cavemen from another cave. It was a time when they could not explain things like lightning or wind or rain or fire. The Sun revolved around the Earth which was flat. You could be burned at the stake for saying you believed otherwise.
    Today on this the first day of a new year, actually it is the second because I was busy yesterday, it occurs to me that we no longer need to worry about what others believe, provided each of us does not try to club anyone else into submitting to their beliefs.
    It is not beliefs themselves that cause problems. What creates the problems is when we allow our beliefs to dictate what we do, without recourse to reason, common sense and human compassion.
    In short when my actions are the result of my beliefs, I should make sure that I do no harm to others or their right to believe what they will. I would ask only that they grant me the same courtesy.
    Now that for me, would be civilised.
    ***
    By 12.07 am New years day, the boyfriend and I had confirmed the compatibility of our beliefs by having them in a rather uncivilised way, but very full of human com-passion, for a whole year from 2007 to 2008. It was a great year even though it only lasted fifteen minutes.
    May you all have a splendid 2008 with many happy 15 minutes or longer.

  13. DesDownunder
    This is totally unexpected.
    I was typing away working on special things for Codey's World (please see What's New at Codey's World from Ben) when the Muse suddenly appeared and dropped a story into my poor excuse for a head.
    So here it is my Chrissy present to you all in the form of a short story called, A Christmas Cage
    May you all feel like all your Christmases have come at once.
    Merry Christmas.

  14. DesDownunder

    Aussie xmas greeting

    By DesDownunder,

    ɹǝpunuʍopsǝp ɯoɹɟ
    sɐɯʇsıɹɥɔ ʎɹɹǝɯ
    You can all thank Trab for finally being able to read what I write without standing on your heads.
    This week the car's water-pump decided to spring a leak.
    The car has proven to be a source of great amusement.
    If you hear a story of an Aussie man who took an axe to his car and chopped it up into environmentally friendly pieces, that would be me.
    Oh and the tail light fell off too.
    I think I'll get the chainsaw out.
    And please checkout Graeme's Aussie Christmas message at http://www.awesomedude.com/adboard/index.php?showtopic=2758

  15. DesDownunder
    So here I contemplate the meanings of blogging.
    Dear Diary...
    Dear Journal...
    Dear Dairy...
    I'll keep that for if and when I ever get invited to a farm again.
    Dear personal log...
    What was the name of the Captain in Star Trek?
    I will tell you, it was Captain Slog,
    because every episode started with a voice saying, "This is Captain Slog."
    Now where was I? Oh Yes,
    Dear Desmond's Log...
    Uh Oh that sounds a bit rude, doesn't it, or am I just writing things into my log?
    I suppose if I were to write to my log, I could thank it for all the good times it has given me, or I could tell it off for all the times it let me down, or even for the embarrassments it has caused in public places.
    No, You guys wouldn't want read to my logging adventures. Would you?
    I could call it "Boy's Own Log," or "Logs Long Gone."
    But then again writing on my log could be somewhat painful, might raise up some hairy memories and I might have to divulge the bones of my past. Better to avoid that I think.
    Dear Wet Log...
    "Don't I mean Web Log?"
    NO! "I'm Bloggin' in the rain."
    Dear epistle to myself... too formal. Perhaps I could use it on Sundays and while I write, I could sing "Blog of Ages,' or something.
    Dear written record of my thoughts and ramblings...you gotta be kidding me.
    Dear personal thoughts' file, posted on a website for the rest of the world to look at.. Yeah, Right!
    I know!
    Dear Blog,
    I was going to write something but I have run out of time and anyway I've forgotten what I was going to say, and I doubt anyone would comment anyway, unless they want to, Please?
    Blogging is so much fun.

  16. DesDownunder
    So my blog is 50 entries old. I never would have thought it possible.
    A Poet's Idiocy
    I was never enamoured with long-winded but truncated sentences that rhymed or not.
    Poetic pretentious philosophical ponderings in abbreviated form with obscure meanings of whatever is being described is not something I generally enjoy in poetry. (There are exceptions.)
    At our local poetry reading group,
    I must confess to being somewhat bored
    With descriptions of tangled clothes on the ironing board
    By one single word after another,
    Seemingly to state the obvious bother,
    Of ironing clothes simply to impress,
    Neighbours who could not care less.
    I have always preferred the narrative notions contained in story poems.
    But to get to the nitty gritty, it is Shakespeare, Ben Johnson, Tennyson, Taylor and their ilk that I liked as a student. I struggled with Homer's Odyssey and Shakespeare sounded nice but it took eons for me to comprehend the extraordinary richness in their work. Not a single word is unconnected to where he is taking his audience. Every poetic phrase is an insight into a human drama concealed in what almost seems to be infinite interpretation, yet is really just for holding the attention, for entertaining the audience. So simple. Yet by play's end we, the audience or readers, are more than when it started; it is cathartic, or at least it seems that way.
    The likes of Sophocles and Euripides reveal through the poetry of their plays, hidden psyches of the human being, masquerading as the imperfections of "The Gods" that would have to wait over 2000 years for Freud to begin our understanding of the depth of their statements and intuitions.
    The wandering minstrels of yore, told stories as they sang, as did that forerunner of the evening TV news, the "Town Crier." I wonder if they did commercials for the local traders? For example:
    "Hear ye, hear ye, The king fell off the throne today,
    And was assassinated by a masked woman,
    In pretence of being a man.
    She is described as looking a bit frumpy,
    Last seen dashing towards a village nearby.
    If thou hast any information regarding this woman,
    Please contact the Witch-hunt office at the olde butcher shop in High Street,
    Whence they will present a special on sausages all next week."

    Poetry is everywhere if you will but look and listen.
    "I think that I shall never see/ A poem lovely as a tree" is the first line of Joyce Kilmer's most famous poem, "Trees".
    Yet within every poem is a distillation of an idea
    Which may grow into a story of assorted love and fear.
    The poet is more than just a writer of rhymes,
    More than a chronicler who beautifies the times,
    The poet sings of what he sees, in words,
    So we will not kill them with our swords.
    The poet will reveal what we have left,
    By sharing the poetic life he has lived.
    When thoughts and feelings demand to be heard,
    Use of any old cliche seems absurd,
    For only a poet knows how to choose a word.
    Have no fear if you do not like poetry,
    All you scribes, with your tales of love and strife
    It's already in your ev'ry story,
    As you are living the poetic life.

  17. DesDownunder

    (49) Unwasted Youth

    By DesDownunder,

    Warning: Commercial Break:
    I posted a poem today in the Poetry Nook at Codey's World.
    It is called Unwasted Youth < click here
    Do let me know what you think.
    We now return you to the abnormal blog of DesDownUnder
    I'm still gay... and luvin' it.
  19. DesDownunder
    I read Cato's entry at CW on his home being robbed and thought I would comment here rather than expose the horrid tale more publicly there.
    Violence warning: The following is a grisly tale which I have endeavoured to lighten. Yes I am on my soapbox in do-gooder mode. I would say bleeding heart mode, but as you will see it wasn't my heart that was bleeding.
    In January 1998, I opened my door to a knock and received a brick to the head for my trouble.
    With what little sense I had left I shut the door. The brick-layer was so upset that I had managed to lock him out that he started throwing anything he could find at the glass patio door in the hope of shattering the glass.
    I alerted the other half who was in bed watching a movie. I swear the Empire could strike back on our front lawn and he wouldn't hear it.
    I rushed back to the kitchen where the masonry expert was still trying to master his glass shattering skills and picked up the phone to call the police direct-line phone number.
    While the phone was ringing I could see drops of blood falling from my head on to the table in a most inelegant manner.
    Finally the phone was answered, "You have reached your police department, please hold, your call is important to us."
    I hung up and dialled the all service emergency number.
    I was connected to the police immediately and gave them the details and the address, just as the glass door finally shattered and the dreaded invaders (I could now tell there were at least four of them,) yelled out for me to give them all my drugs.
    "Drugs?" They want my vitamin pills? No wait a minute they think I take drugs. They wouldn't know I am allergic to the weed and that I am a control freak who hates losing self-control to some herb or chemical concoction of illicit origin. Gee, even the doctor has to threaten me with alternative punishments to get me to take prescription medicine.
    So I shouted back at them, "We don't have any."
    I grabbed my half-dressed, better half and ran out the door on the other side of our love-nest, we call our home, into the street.
    The police and the neighbours arrived along with an ambulance.
    One of the neighbours was holding ice to my head and I watched trickling icy blood run down her hand, my blood!
    One of my big butch heterosexual male neighbours went searching for the demolition crew. He was very concerned for his little gay mates as he calls us.
    As he was returning from his search I had to stop the police from drawing their guns on him, he truly looked an image of terminator proportions, lurching down street, baseball bat at the ready in his hands. When I explained who he was, one of the police officers said, "Just as well he didn't find them."
    I could hear the police and neighbours exchanging questions about how could these people, "these scum" do these things, about how difficult it was to stop the criminal element, when I heard myself exclaim, "You are asking the wrong questions. You should be asking how come we have developed a society where individuals attack others?"
    In other words, "the system is broke and needs fixing."
    The answers of deprivation, poor education, poverty, unemployment, social injustice and inequality of opportunity as a contribution to crime seems to be furthest from some people's minds.
    Yes, I know there are criminal cartels and drug addicted crazies out there who have abandoned any sense of right and wrong, but they would be less in number if our social structure ensured large portions of the population were not deprived of their basic human rights and self-esteem for the sake of profit that amounts to no more than "legitimate" business avarice.
    These are my thoughts on such matters only, I am sure you have yours.
    I vacate the soapbox.
    PS. I am okay and you can't see any scars because of my old age wrinkles.
  20. DesDownunder
    Hi everyone,
    I finished this story a few weeks ago. Blue has since edited it for me and posted it in my hosted pages at Codey's World. It was supposed to be a contribution to the "Back to School" collection at Codey's World, but the computer crashed and had to be replaced, thus holding up the story's completion.
    With Codey being in such ill health I forgot I promised him I would put a notice here to let you all know about it.
    So I will rectify that now, here is the link:
    The Best Memories Of Their Lives
    My heart is not really in this story at the moment, but I thought it might take my mind off things if I prattle on a bit.
    This is a bit of a different story for me. It is not so much a comedy but has a kind of black humour about it.
    I have drawn from my real life experiences for many of the "memories" and then crazily mixed up the fiction with the real so that the incidents themselves are not as autobiographical as you might think, and yet some of them are.
    Perhaps you would like to guess:
    1. Which of these incidents in the story are not based on an actual experience?
    2. Which characters are pure fiction?
    If there is sufficient interest I will reveal all, some time down the track.

    All comments welcome (flames will be loved with much laughter).
    Come to think of it why do I never get flamed? I must try harder.
  21. DesDownunder
    Whatever must you all be thinking of me? I mean it is 12 days since my last blog entry.
    So to catch up, my ribs a re much better, thanks. I have a short story in editing stage and I have a new computer operating without Vista.
    I think I might have a new poem coming on, but these things can be elusive.
    I know I had worked out the opening lines just before I fell asleep last night, but I can't remember a thing about them today, but it was a great idea and I'm sure it revealed several fascinating details about the human condition.
    Talking about the human condition I always feel it should be available at the supermarket on the shelf alongside the human shampoo.
    Our local supermarket probably wouldn't stock it though, as it is run by homophobic moron managers.
    A wonderful, efficient, cheerful and intelligent young man in his early twenties has been the life of the checkouts, ever since he came to work with his hair spiked in the shape of Roman Centurion helmut.
    I of course mentioned to him how much I envied his black spiky hairdo and told him I would have something similar (but in red) if I still had all my hair. He laugh flirtatiously with me and always smiles when he sees me.
    I guess we both pretty much guessed we had a common desire in men's hairstyles, if you get my meaning?
    Anyway a couple of weeks ago he was checking me out, or was I checking him out? No he was checking out my groceries...Oh dear that sounds kinky doesn't it?
    A couple of weeks ago he was scanning my goods...errr, registering my prices, ringing up my items?
    I was at the checkout counter with my purchases when I noticed he had blonded the spikes of his hair, but left the sides of his hair jet black. It suited his dark features and I complimented him on the hair style.
    "The boss doesn't like it," he told me, "I have to have it normal by Monday or they will fire me."
    "That's outrageous," I said, "An invasion of your personal self expression."
    "That's what the union said," he said to me, "so they are going to talk to management tomorrow."
    "Well if you need someone to say they are happy with your work, I am willing to stand by you." I told him. He thanked me.
    Of course I would have been willing to stand, sit, kneel or lay down by him, but I didn't say so. I didn't want to scare the poor boy. I thought he was probably already stressed out enough.
    He thanked me again, as I gathered up the scanned goods and departed with spiky images stored for late night fantasies at my house.
    A few days later I saw him again and he said that management wasn't pleased but the union had made it clear, his hair style was not to be subject of his performance...as a checkout operator. He thought they would try to get him to resign though.
    A few more days passed and I had to go back to the supermarket for some more stuff, I swear I spend half my life there, when I realized I hadn't seen the spiky-haired one, lately.
    So I asked the friendly but not so cute tubby checkout guy where he was. Now this youngish, but not terribly bright fellow looked to his left, then to his right, then leaning across the counter as he slowly confided to me, "They wanted to fire him, because of his hair, but the union wouldn't let them because his hair is an expression of his h-o-m-o-sex-u-ality."
    "Quite right too," I said, working overtime to keep as straight a face as I could, "None of their business."
    "Yes," he said, "It shouldn't make a difference as long as he does his work."
    Today I learned the spiked hairdo has left for a job in another supermarket some miles away.
    I will miss getting my goods checked out by him.
    The supermarket management is badly in need of some humane conditioning.
    I hope my spiky-haired checkout guy is happier with his new job.
    I am sure his new employer will be satisfied with his work.
  22. DesDownunder
    I can't believe I have done it again. No not that, you dirty minded boys!
    You may remember, or not, that sometime ago I fell up some marble stairs and broke some front ribs.
    This time I fell backwards in the bath tub and did the back ribs in, (just so I would even things up.)
    My feet slipped out from under me and I was aware I was doing a horizontal levitation before crashing my right ribs into the side of the bath. Actually I was unlucky as I am so light I would have floated down except for the force of the shower water hitting me and speeding up my fall.
    As I was descending, I realised I was wondering if this was "it." Would I strike my head and and crack my skull open and watch my braincell being swept down the drain, swirling in a mass of blood and gooey bits? Would I paralyse myself and just drown in the hot water, my time of death being concealed by the heat of the water?
    I could imagine the b/f coming home and finding my remains all wrinkled by the running water and telling me I had aged quite noticeably since this morning.
    Staggering quickly to my feet, I deduced I had done the ribs in, but wasn't in too bad a shape otherwise.
    I cancelled the fun I had planned for the shower and dried myself with the warm fluffy towel.
    Ice pack to the ribs helped diminish the bruising and the pain.
    But the soreness cut in by morning. So I will just have to grin and bare it for a few weeks while it heals.
    Fortunately, for me, it doesn't hurt to type, so I will be able to report to you all.
    When the next door neighbour heard about me falling in the tub, she announced that perhaps I should think about a nursing home.
    Over my dead body, that's going to happen.
    Perhaps I should get some strong muscly young man to help me shower? Yeah that sounds like a plan.
  23. DesDownunder
    Setting aside (at last - sort of) the woes of my days,
    I am delighted to report that I have had my evil ways,
    With the computer software installation,
    And set it up for minimal infestation,
    By wanderers of Trojan harms
    So I am alerted with many alarms,
    To all attempts of corruption
    Of my new toy.
    I seem to have run out of rhymes,
    Because I am having the best of times.
    Whose blog is this anyway?
    Should I run away,
    Before I am found out,
    and beaten to a pulp.
    There it happened again
    No more rhyming,
    So I will abstain,
    from trying,
    Wow is this ever insane? I'll,
    Stop now before I became banal.

  24. DesDownunder

    (42) Exhausted

    By DesDownunder,

    I'm exhausted!
    The new computer is up and running...on Windows XP.
    I still have a number of programs to install and the hard drives need to be configured to my
    weird standards of operation.
    I must tell you of a program I happened across that I bought because I really like it.
    It is called "Priority Master 7". Basically it allows you to set priorities for the running of programs in relation to CPU usage. At least that is what I think it does.
    Left in auto mode the program boosts the current app and decreases others to idle mode.
    The overall effect is to make the computer more responsive, saving time and frustration.
    You can see the program at
    http://www.prioritymaster.com/
    A friend of mine who was disappointed with his computer has tried it too, and he is now happy.
    I have loads of work to catch up on so I will still won't be around as much as I want, but I hope to be back annoying you all soon. I have a few unfinished poems that are aching to be completed.

  25. DesDownunder
    I hate to say I told you so, but I didn't did I?
    I never actually said it out loud. So I will say it now.
    The current practise of looking for someone to blame
    instead of seeking to solve problems is going to cause
    the downfall of our society.
    There I said it.
    What brought this on you may well ask, and I will tell you
    because I want you to know, and I am sure you want to know, too, now.
    I have suffered under numerous bureaucrats, managers and
    other legal obsessed individuals in positions of power in the
    workplace to see that they all, were totally unaware of the principle
    of trust in others, mostly because they had never considered
    anything other than their own failings of which their greed and ambition
    were high priorities.
    Assumption of the worst in mankind begets exactly that and more.
    Treat people like idiots and you will encourage idiocy.
    Treat people like automatons and you will get robots.
    Treat people like loving caring, humane individuals and
    you just might support someone who makes life worthwhile.
    At the moment I am reeling under the influence of computer
    stupidity. The Vista operating system engineers have taken the easy way out of
    the security issue by forcing their concepts of doing useful work.
    Like the Nazi, legal, bureaucrats referred to above, the computer software
    designers have no idea of the requirements of human endeavour
    and creativity.
    Bounded by their own mediocrity and "intelligent backsides", we find ourselves
    having to cope with inadequate solutions to very real problems.
    When will these people realise that human beings need freedom as individuals
    to create, work and even simply have fun?
    So what can we do?
    I wish I knew. In fact I have a pretty good idea of what we can do, but apart from that,
    we can all help by letting them know that we are like Peter Finch in the movie
    "Network," when he said:
    "I am as a mad as Hell and I'm just not going to take it anymore."
    Go on, go over to the window and yell it to whomever is listening.
    Better still go out the front door, into the street and shout it as loudly as you can.
    It will make you feel better.
    Then send out an invitation to Microsoft and Apple and anyone else you know of their ilk
    to join us in a "Love-in."
    These people need Love. Lots of it too, I would guess at a pinch.
    These people have become dickheads, because they have forgotten how to
    masturbate and so play with their braincell instead, probably because it is bigger.
    We need to organise a mass demonstration of how trust can make a difference.
    Put all these computer nerds in one big room without any clothes and see if they
    can come up with any solutions...
    We should show them the greatest achievements of the human race have come
    from individuals who have been encouraged by both adversity and inspiration, but never by
    deprivation of their ability to be creative.
    Computers are great tools with a promise of extending human abilities but not in the form that Vista takes.
    I did tell you I don't like Vista didn't I?

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