In keeping with my occasional passion (note the oxymoron) for quick commentary on the current let us go to the idea of vaccine mandates and alleged government dictatorial behaviour or autocracy. I note that Austria may mandate restrictions for the unvaccinated depending on ICU case numbers. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/oct/23/austrian-chancellor-says-unvaccinated-may-face-restrictions-if-covid-cases-rise. This is the way the world is going; … Continue reading Vaccine mandates
On his way out, Myron takes the photo of the cat...
On the way to work Tory, if she’s on the tram as she is this morning, has taken to opening The Montage, to which she’s subscribed. For nearly three months now the opening page has been simply filled with the virus. The first thing you see, most days, are New Selaw, UK, C.S. and world figures. Cases, deaths. New Selaw figures have been more or less flat since the end of March but the world numbers are very worrying. She also has noticed, lately, a small, worrying, and persistent upswing in Victoria, looking, she decides, more with David’s virologist’s eyes than hers, because he’s written about how second waves come with mild inclines that then go suddenly crazy. She’s tired already and doesn’t want an upsurge, wishes she could unsee it. The tram rattles on past the Gardens stop. She wonders if she’ll ever stop for a quiet walk before work again. It feels like that all belongs to pre-virus Tory, not her, not this new and lacquered one... '
I feel assured that the government could never have issued such orders to shoot blacks unless for murder. I am informed that "Jackey," who left the Native Police in Brisbane, was shot at the Ferryboo stockyard by Lieutenant Carr's men, on his way to my station; and by the post have instituted an enquiry. Trusting that the government will take immediate steps to prevent the annihilation of useful and civilized blacks.
Play; have we forgotten just what a learning experience it can be?
I'm not much of a poet, which may be why haikus appeal to me; there's not much poem to write. Grandmother oak falls, leaving room for her childrento scale the sunlightC'est moi Image is from Oak Tree Facts
Little Hatshepsut Like a miracle, a light rain had drifted in from the sea. The sea was a long, long way off and Ahmes looked at it as if it was strange emissary from Hapi . Rain was rare in her world. Little pock marks on the river below her. It looked pretty but she still thought the rain was sad. It was also a little cold, and Ahmes retreated beneath the roof of the shrine… Still she could see the water below her. The river did not mind the rain at all; it simply took those pock marks and swallowed them up. The river is, it just is, she thought… I should not be sad either. But she was. She sat in her family’s shrine on the low cliff above the river, a favourite spot of hers. From here you could watch the fishing boats with their nets or spearmen in the bow, or you saw a full moon ride the river and thought of sesame cakes and feasts when no work was done, or you could watch the river race and froth across the lowlands on the other side. It was Hapi’s gift; the flood with its rich silts and water. It grew the barley her family made into beer, the beer had made her family well to do and so they had a shrine to Hapi on the low cliff above the water near where they’d build their new house...
And is he a murderer? If you live in the Arabian peninsula, he certainly must be, common logic has it. The C.S. drone strike Bridge ordered on Assyrian commander Kalaa Inmani Suk a little over 2 weeks ago has been labelled an act of Terrorism by Assyria’s leader, Qassim Mohammed Kaan. The Assyrians have sent the case to the world court in Amnstahm, Nederlands. They have backing from Norda, Albane, Sweda and Belgrada (which probably doesn’t mean all that much to America’s government).
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08XFVWYBX Why does anyone write? 'Tis a lonely, often bruising affair, sometimes filled with self loathing. Then again, it lets you inhabit myriad worlds, most of them perhaps better (though, you fear, lacking depth) than the one we've somehow found ourselves in. The Literary Hub notes 33 writers on why they write; surprise, surprise - … Continue reading Stephen J Kimber – why I write
16 year old Nick Seche is a gamer, a nerd. It's 2024 and Seche wins a beta trial of a new tech, sensory-immersing gaming unit and program from innovative gaming guru, Daichi Arata, head of Phantom Gaming. It's a game apparently locked in the mundanity of small-town USA but Arata's game promises so much more. It goes way beyond the virtual and plunges Nick into a world that becomes scarily not at all everyday. Via the game’s sensors and lightspeed technology Seche lives and breathes his character, Norman Mene. And things in his own world (Sydney Australia) begin to resonate with the world of Burris (the small mid-west town where the game is set); the game spirals out of control, Pleasantville meets Gremlins - hackers made substantial, gamers intruding on game space and politics out of control in downtown main street. In the meantime, back in Sydney, Seche is contacted via a strange entity he dubs the voice. Via the voice he is led to believe that the game is a simulation environment which allows sinister background entities to data mine players. It may be gaming but the stakes are real world - and Nick Seche is a guinea pig.