Thursday, 20 June 2019

Dialects - a musing

Just had a shower and was musing how differing countries have differing languages and dialects.  The main muse is English Speaking countries but will muse on other languages later.


USA - origins of language was European, UK and Ireland.  The american English language is very different from others.  And there are many dialects (Californian, Texan, and South Eastern states, etc)

Australia - as above for USA, European, UK and Irish.  Unlike USA there are very few dialects but as for USA, a distinctive twang.

New Zealand  - also like USA and Australia, the origins are European, UK and Irish (with Maori to provide a richness of language).  As with Australia there are very few dialects (except lower South Island or seperate iwi)

The UK is blessed with a long time having their language to bloom but amazingly there are many local dialects (Jordy, Scouser, Cockney et al)  Oddly enough none of those dialects are evident in the colonies.

Now the others.  There are five European countries with languages in colonies around the world. From memory and dealing with people from those countries.  They are French, German, Portuguese, Dutch and Spanish.  All four sound very much like their parent country.

You have to remember most of the above countries have had between 400 to 200 to harness their dialects.

But there is also a burning question raised by this??  How did the above countries  (USA, Australia, and New Zealand) get to have very distinctive dialects from each other?  All had the same birth from mother countries, with same people?  The only real answer is Mother Nature and local environment.  That's my thought!!


Crystal Ball Gazing - CWC19 Table




The first part of the competition is well underway and teams are settling in for Semifinal placings.

Click Here for CWC19 Table as at 20/6/2019.

New Zealand's remaining matches will be interesting.  They needed that South Africa match to cement form in this competition.  So who next for the Blackcaps?

23/6   Versus West Indies at Manchester - This will be a difficult game to pick as the Windies could turn up to play with out warning.  A win nonetheless.  2 points.

26/6  Versus Pakistan at Birmingham.  -  Like the Windies Pakistan could turn up to play.  Pakistan always seemed to be a nemesis team for the Blackcaps.  Nonetheless 2 points.

30/6  Versus  Australia at London - Probably the biggest test for our boys in the competition.  I'm not picking a winner.  Suffice to say if the first two games here (WI/Pak) are wins for us the final two games are a time to tinker with the team (Nicholls and Southee in) as we finish top of pool play.

3/7  Versus England at Chester Le Street  -  England are like Australia as I see it.  Same thoughts too.

Prospective Table at end of Pool Play.

New Zealand  Minimum points 13  Maximum  17

Australia  Minimum points 12 Maximum 16

England Minimum Points 12 Maximum 16

India Minimum  11 Maximum  15

Top Four Teams remaining games.

New Zealand has England, Australia, Pakistan, West Indies.

England have Sri Lanka, Australia, India and New Zealand

Australia have Bangladesh, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa

India has Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, England, Afghanistan and West Indies.

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

Joy of Sex - A Rude Short Story.

I have been proofing all my manuscripts and this afternoon I "found"my manuscript of Quirky Short Stories.  What follows is called a "Found" short, i.e I wrote it years ago. Enjoy The Joy Of Sex.


Joy of Sex

She was blonde. I was me. We looked at one another and felt an instant attraction.

Most men would say she was exotic. Most women had no opinion of my aura. Shame really!!

We smiled. She smiled a self-assured acknowledgement. I smiled a grimace due to a particularly sore canine imbedded in my upper gum.

We got closer. She stayed where she was. I fell forward to the floor nose first. I felt the date was going well.

I picked myself up off the floor. This was difficult, you understand, as both my hands were underneath me pushing my weight off the floor.

We made small talk. She said ‘Hello’. I said, ‘Fuck that hurt’.

We took our clothes off. I took the clothes off the bed I had placed there before her arrival and returned them to the wardrobe. I brushed carpet fluff from the clothes I had on. She took her clothes off, slowly at first, placing each item on the floor beside her. Pretty soon I got to see her…………her………… Moray Wet suit. Obviously, she thought we were going diving. I wasn’t prepared!! Besides, I had been told that guys wore the rubber. Oh well. Never mind.

Now that we were more comfortable with our attire, we hugged. Her face was pure joy. She hugged her Teddy Bear she had brought with her intensely. I hugged myself. I always did when I was afraid of what was to come.

Yes, this was my first date.

The air was electric. Someone had forgotten to re-terminate a socket in the room, and sparks were flying everywhere. Obviously, some of them affected us. We kissed.

She kissed her favourite picture of her pussy, Snuggles. I kissed the deck again, fainting at the sight of what she was doing.

She climbed on top, panting. I lay underneath her, looking up. The exertion of climbing the wardrobe had taken some effort for her.

My fall had taken me under the bed, my head just poking out. Was this what it was like at childbirth, I thought to myself? I mused!

The date was going extremely well. Except for one thing. What was her name?

“What is your name?” I asked.

“My name was Buttfucked, but I changed it to Sue. My last boyfriend was a lawyer, and the one before a politician.” She displayed sinuous movements whilst speaking. I grew hard. It’s a form of organically grown soap I use for washing my clothes.

“What is your name?” she asked me.

“No it’s not,” I said,” It’s actually Penis. My mother couldn’t read nor write when I was born, and D’s were P’s.”

I poured a drink for each of us. I hadn’t actually seen him sitting at the table until now. Each was my flatmate. He drank his drink.

I smiled. The dog in my mouth made me do it. I was back under the bed, feeling horny. So that’s where my pet Toad had got to.

She spread her legs, ready for a good shot. I can’t say I noticed her get down from the wardrobe, take the camera and tripod from her case, and set them up in the room. That must have happened when I was pouring the drinks for Each Ofus.

I crawled out from under the bed. Of a sudden, we found ourselves on the bed together. She was screaming. I was grunting. It was then that I saw the mouse she was pointing at. I was more concerned about nullifying the existence of the big mosquito on the ceiling. In the middle of all the heavy sweat and noise, I marvelled at the thought of how we had been lost!

We fell into each other’s arms. Why he had changed his surname and was now on the bed escaped me.

The date was going really well, I thought. I think she liked me. We had a lot in common. I was so excited. So was she? It was then that I noticed a prick come between us. Yes, I know what you think. First timer. Right!!

Then I recognised that prick. My older brother.

“Hey, what gives?” I yell.

Showtime Folks - The Enigma of Humans (Written 2001)



Showtime, Folks.

3.33 GMT

Reuters Compound,

Dili,

East Timor.

Seven peacekeepers of the Unifet team stand, heads bowed, hands in pocket, contemplating the corpse laying bent at their feet. A single bullet wound to the back of the neck exudes a dried river of coagulated blood. The ever-present flies, swarm to the smell of fresh decaying meat.
The men are wary. This is the third killing in the past 24 hours, in the same area. The hairs on the back of their necks stand out, their innate sixth sense pricked for any strange sound, as they examine the remains of the priest. The rancid tropical air, still calm after the recent cyclone, carries the sound of life as usual, from the surrounding shanty town.

3.35 GMT

Giza Pyramids

50 miles South West of Cairo.

Egypt.
The excavation site is still, no sign of human endeavour. It is an unusual site. Since the find two days previous, lights have been rigged and digging continuing frenetically, all staff to the grindstone. The archaeologists beavering away without respite, unearthing the grey-black metallic object buried 120 feet below the desert sand. Their efforts and the find kept a closely guarded secret, even to those at the associated supply camp located 15 miles away. But closer inspection reveals a rather disturbing find today. 27 bodies, still adorned in their dirt covered coveralls and protective sun hats, lay peacefully at the bottom of the dig, in a line reminiscent of a mass burial yet to happen. A single bullet hole to the back of the neck the only sign of the cause of their sad demise.

3.37 GMT

Mt Khocongo

Inner Congo

Africa.

The silver-back raises his head from his meal of freshly stripped shoots, glances up to the sky through the canopy of dense jungle, and sees a familiar object glide noiselessly towards him, coming to a rest directly over his position of dominance amongst the remainder of his society. He raises a gnarled hand to the air, in almost supplicant acknowledgement, and returns to his task. He fails to see the small hatch open on the craft and is blissfully unaware of the massive bolt of irradiated energy that streaks towards his family and obliterates them from the face of the Earth. In fact, his sudden demise is hardly noticed by the other creatures in the area, as all primates are decimated by similar craft at that precise moment in time throughout Africa.

3.38 GMT

Mosque Mohammed el Ahk-bar

Kabul

Afghanistan

The mullah, intoning the prayer to the prophet, looks down on the throng of devotees, with measured pride. The weapons, stacked in an orderly fashion across the back wall of the mosque, signify a good turnout of his fellow fundamentalists today. Allah will surely be pleased. He turns his head to the East, continuing the prayer without missing a single carefully intoned phrase, in time to see the bright light being emitted from the heaven streaking rapidly towards the city centre. Before he can get an utterance of surprise past his lips, the mosque melts into absolute nothingness, consuming all within.

3.38 GMT

St Paul's Cathedral,

London,

England.



Archbishop Michael Johns leans on the table, carefully placing the Anglican meeting papers to one side. He stands, raises his head slowly, and prepares to address the gathered clergy assembled before him. The dome, resplendent in its historical detail above his head, explodes in a billion shards of light as the beam destroys the gathered mass.

3.39 GMT

Science faculties, laboratories, and project buildings world-wide disappear without a trace, including all those who work in them.

In a matter of six precious minutes, all eminent scientists and religious leaders are removed from the Earth! All buildings associated with science or religion are totally obliterated. Any creature that had the capacity to evolve into another intelligent life form, stripped of it’s very existence.
Of the worlds 15 billion peoples, two million remain, the godless, ape less, unscientific residue of human society. The reason for their continued existence? Love for nature. No medical interference have they partaken, no religious credo undertaken, no scientific doctrine imbibed. Pure humans in every sense of the word.

The most shattering revelation, though, is the tools that society has left to continue with. There are no more libraries, storage facilities of mass electronic databases, records of the civilisation of man, temples of worship. Just the Earth in it’s natural glory and the untarnished species required to exist to natures plan. The Garden of Eden.
***************************************************************************
Stop Press.

6345 years since the holocaust.

Roger Waters is on stage, his bass swinging lazily across his back. The crowd sits in appreciative silence. The crickets chirp their incessant call around the Gorge amphitheatre. The backing singers, resplendent in their jet black evening gowns, sing the words " Ooh Western women, oooh Western girl". The scene is peaceful and surrealistic. The former lead lyricist of Pink Floyd nods to his new lead guitarist for this show, Dave Gilmour and both exchange knowing smiles, as he finishes the show with those immortal words, " This species has amused itself to death."

Two alien anthropologists, sitting in the third row, nod their heads in knowing agreement, stand up, walk the 400 metres to the nearest trees, and disappear in a blinding light. Prior to their departure, a hippy, whacked out on LSD and hallucinating his possible existence as a silver back gorilla, hears them say to each other, "Here we go again, Bjirck. When will they ever learn? Why are all humans so God dam stupid".

Reality – the Fragile Frontier. A short story on Love and Reality


Reality – the Fragile Frontier.

Real Date 27 February 2001.

These were the voyages of the Star Family.

This is report of proceedings from the onboard DataCore Null019580

The ship, Wedded Bliss, has been searching the Reality Galaxy now for nigh on 15 years, encountering strange peoples, fighting staggering battles and surviving absolute destitution.  It has clung together as a unit despite all the odds.

Monn Star, the captain of our ship, succumbed to stress induced Spaced Out Sickness, and caused several episodes of internal bickering that have put the crew on extreme edge.  His outbursts and peculiar mannerisms were at first tolerated by the crew, but as they became worse, they tried to ignore him and pretend he wasn’t there.  But as it is with all captains, well or sick, they must have control.  Finally, after a period of intense internal self-commitment, Monn Star hyper Fantasised himself into a catatonic overload, and was whisked off to the sick bay to be cared for by the ships superb facilities, coupled with my expert system knowledge.

Sunn Star, the navigator and command equal, had been running things for some time and had no problems fulfilling Monn Stars duties, as well as carrying out her own.  But I noticed that even though she was manifested as the 2 I/c, the ease with which she took command suggested that she had in fact been in command all along. Monn was nothing but a figured head, with a head full of irrelevant professional information, as far as the crew was concerned. 

As a machine, I found this bemusing.  How could humans treat each other so offhandedly?  In my cognisant thought banks based on logic and computation, this interaction did no make any sense.  Sure, Sunn was more than qualified to drive the ship, as Monn was also, but the sudden diminishment of care and responsibility to her former partner puzzled me.  To put it mildly, it did not compute.  And then I remembered my circuits weren’t wired for a Reason and Understanding process and I was adrift solely on my logic drives. Damn!

Monn got better, thanks to the sickbay’s myriad of complicated functions and to a little enlightenment from some stellar force.  Although he didn’t make a full recovery, the drug the sickbay put him on returned most of his life to him.  On the insistence of Sunn, to aid his recovery, Monn was sent to the Quiet Quarters to further aid his recovery and in the solitude of these quarters, with its vast plasdome window, he spent the next few weeks meditating and staring out into Reality.  The galaxy’s vastness assisted his thought process, as I monitored him from the various sensors in the room, and he seemed to understand his situation and had taken a large grasp of what he saw in that huge empty space.

When he thought he was as fully recovered as he was ever going to be, he left Quiet Quarters and made his way to the bridge, to resume his normal duties, and to once again become captain of the Wedded Bliss.  Here again human nature surprised me.  Sunn Star, and siblings Moon Star and Rock Star, had been running the ship quite nicely in his absence, and decided that in view of his recent illness, and the pain that he had caused during the period leading up to his incarceration, they no longer needed him, and they had altered their course in Reality and were now headed for the far off Fantasy Galaxy, which sits adjacent to the Reality Galaxy.  They suggested Monn took one of the Wedded Bliss’s many shuttle pods, and head out on his own, as he was now surplus to requirements. 

Monn could understand their reasoning, but he found the logic flawed, as I did.  Unable to budge the reticent members of the crew out of their plan, especially Sunn and Moon, he acquiesced and reluctantly set off in one of the shuttles.  To his dismay, he found all the controls had been pre-set and locked in place.  My sensors, which were locked into all functions applicable to the huge star ship, including its vessels, monitored Monn’s dextrous yet hesitant manipulation of the onboard control computer, and I noticed he was seeking his destination.  A long lonely cry emanated out of the cabin as he read the destination.  My readouts indicated that Sunn had sent the craft in the direction of the Limbo Galaxy.  My memory banks told me that this galaxy was a place of despair and anxiety.

I caught some movement on the bridge and marvelled at what I saw.  All three remaining crewmembers were now seated, with headsets donned, and were listening to music of their own liking.  Sunn Star, listening to Roger Waters, decided to show her former partner some sympathy and relayed the music through to the disappearing shuttle, thinking it would at least cheer him up a little on his journey.  She told the other crew members of what she was doing, and they all smiled.

In the shuttle however, there were no smiles.  My audio pick up only encountered the wail of pain, as if the torment of the period leading up to his illness had suddenly come back. And then he spoke out loud, to no one - but to everyone.

“Don’t play that music, any music. Why can’t they understand, while I was in Wedded Bliss and we shared it, it was fine and I would have been happy.  That’s what it is like in Reality.  Why can’t they understand that I can’t stand anything from Wedded Bliss now that I have been cast out of it?  Why?”

Now I am a computer, as I said, with no Reason or Understanding functions, but somehow my logic facilities discerned his distress, and I could see the reason, and I could understand.  And I could also understand the reason why Sunn had conducted her actions.  But what I couldn’t understand was why.  I programmed a self-search within my logic banks, and after a short period, the word Love kept on coming up as the key to all the scenarios.

Suddenly, Reality dawned on Wedded Bliss, and I reasoned at that instance that one crewmember, maybe two judging by their mannerisms, no longer loved Monn. Now this was an interesting logic equation.  How was Sunn going to navigate the vast universe without Monn’s vast experience and superior technical capabilities?  How was she going to handle being the Captain, and crew, and mother and keep the ship in Reality?  How was she going to look at her former partner and not feel a certain amount of guilt at his predicament?

The decision came sooner than I expected.  With Monn still heading away from the ship, she chose the largest of the shuttles, with an attached pod vessel, and abandoned Wedded Bliss, selling it to a passing Mining Consortium who left it floating aimlessly in the Reality Galaxy as a halfway house for recalcitrant miners of truth and delusion.

As she sped off with her siblings to live on the borders of Reality and Fantasy, she sent a small pod with Monn’s personal belongings, and some memorabilia of their time on Wedded Bliss, and half the proceeds from the sale of the ship, so he could set himself up somewhere and have the siblings come to stay with him. The gesture was received with a fair amount of reluctance, and even more wailing, but it went a little way to restoring his wounded pride.


Real Date 2 August 2001.

From my permanent position, I have been monitoring the interaction of the former Star family.  Humans are an enigma!  Although both sections, Sunn and siblings on one side of Reality, and Monn on the other, have managed to survive their different experiences, the interactions being placed on Moon and Star are starting to have an effect.  Monn’s imposed exile in Limbo is affecting the kids one way, and Sunns’ choice of Fantasy is affecting them another.  Their fleeting trips through Reality to each parental environment is starting to have affects on both, and logic tells me that nothing good will come of this.

 Computations of my datacore confirm my analysis.  I have information to suggest that single parent upbringing is dysfunctional for the sibling and that they never learn the bias of thought. It doesn’t condone argument to come to a common ground, for the betterment of the siblings involved.

Case in point.  Recently, both siblings had that unusual event humans celebrate, a birthday, and the events were held momentarily in Reality at a neutral space station for such events.  Even though both Sunn and Monn were tolerant of each other, the interaction was not pleasant, no matter how hard they tried.  As a result, Moon and Rock noticed their parent’s unease, and lack of Love, and logged the occasion in their memory banks as something to avoid when they grow up.

But once again my logic banks picked up the inanity of this process.  Something learned is never avoided, it is recreated, whether in thought or in action.  Monn had said often in his chats to himself that he was endlessly sorry for the things he had done when he was suffering, but he kept on asking himself what else did he have to do.  I deduced his vision of true love had been blinded by his illness and had caused his partner and siblings to look at a side of him even he didn’t know he had, and which he now loathed more than Reality itself.  Cause and effect meant that the children were no longer the same because of it, as was his partner, as was he.  But he had survived the drama, as had they.  He hadn’t lost love, or his vision, or his soulmate.  He had lost himself for a time. 

And this showed in their interactions in Reality.  Sunn, although displaying compassion and friendliness, had lost shared love, dreams, and vision.  But she still had it in abundance for her siblings.  By her reactions though, when she was around Monn, she displayed tension and hurt, a result, logically, of the actions of Monn’s period of Space Sickness. 

Moon also displayed a lot of those traits, but she hadn’t got to a stage when she could understand the full magnificence of Reality and also had much to learn about human nature, although she was pretty close to being there.  She was too much like both parents to be affected by either.

Regrettably, or maybe even thankfully, Rock, who suffers from a partial abnormality of the brain, was not adversely affected and missed most of the period through ignorance.

As I explained, I am a computer without Reason or Understanding, and am locked solely into Logic and Computation, but I do know that the Star Family as individuals will survive, but as a family, whether they ever find Reality together again as a family only time will tell. The Universe is bigger than any Galaxy.

Before I sign off this message, let me display two lines from a song I find quite calming as a computer:

“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh, Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood!”


The End

Tuesday, 18 June 2019

The Zander Principle - awarding points in CWC's

I have been mulling this over for some time and raised the issue in Twitter to overwhelming ridicule. 
I have no understanding of NRR and how it is calculated. Feel free to educate me.



As we all know, Duckworth/Lewis is a mathematical formula to tweak a result from games at play.  Mostly D/L is on the money.  So with that in mind I have devised a formula that will bring fairness and good governance to event like the Cricket World Cup .

One of the biggest drawback from events such as CWC is weather affectedness.  At the moment there is CWC19 running in England and Wales and fair to say a few no results due to rain.  And there will be more.  What this does is unbalance the Table as only one point is given for a No Result.  That's well and good if all teams suffer and there is a balance.  My concern is that a few teams might suffer accordingly on the wrong side of table and tip the results.

My proposal is that a win scores 5 points, a Draw/Tie is 3 points and No Result 2 points. 

The next proposal is about awarding NRR as calculated as such (currently only done for Win/Draw)  It means both teams involved have movement accordingly on the table, critical if it comes to sorting play off matches.  Say if the West Indies have 3 matches rained off, they still have fluidity on the table, compared say if New Zealand or others have who have had no rain issues.  I see it all as a fair and just way to run the competition.

The formula for NRR is this.

At time of Rained Out match - New Zealand has a NRR of 0.250,  West Indies have a NRR of 0.06.  Add both and attain an average (0.250+0.06) /2 = 0.155 This score is factored in the current NRR calculation.

As I stated - I seek fairness for all. 

Monday, 17 June 2019

How (or what) our children are Learning



Just had a pregnant moment of thought whilst smoking.

What are our children or more importantly how, they are learning.  I was wondering if any teachers from the past (pre Tomorrow Schools) have noticed which children learn faster and better?  If our kids are learning on devices from a young age compared to others (that don't use them at home) is there any differences between the two groups as far as intellect goes?

There is a huge gulf I assume.  Me and my wife were sort of both Old School and New School.  With our children we allowed limited use of the internet but phones were fine.  Back then you couldn't surf or embark in Social Media.  We played a lot of games, Canasta, Black Jack, Scrabble, Monopoly and many others.  Our children were well adjusted at school and at home.  Their brain power was enormous and still is.

So the question for me is this.  Are today's children well adjusted using their brainpower with ease?  Do they problem solve well without having to use the Cellphone?  Have they superseded their abilities of their generation (and on)?

It would be cool if the Te Tāhuhu o te Mātauranga ran a survey in schools, especially from Primary age to evaluate if there is a noticeable difference.  And then carry that survey through to Intermediate and first 3 years of Secondary education.


All my life I was always looking to actively to work my mind, both at all schooling (cards at home and Scrabble and Monopoly), and at leisure (Darts) and I will always thank my Mother for her effort. These Brain exercises are still with me.  Nowadays I am a Social Media Commentator and it is fair to say my living brain exercises keep me apace with technology. Will our children do likewise?  I seriously think not.

Here is a blog I wrote some time ago regarding our children. Click Here

My final shot - are our kids brain lazy - i.e is everything too hard (a common excuse I bet)

Roger Waters song The Tide is Turning. He asks the hard questions too.




My Girls - a memory poem


My Girls

The car arrives
I see Amy in the back,
Ashleigh in the front passenger seat,
I see them get out
Hugs all round.

We adjourn to my motel room,
a cup of coffee, tea for one
the TV off, radio too
and for one and one half hours
we shoot the breeze,
like old times.

Except they're now all young adults
finding their way in the world,
telling me about modelling assignments,
painting, photography, poetry,
Ash sits numbly playing with the necklace
I had given her at the start of proceedings,
thumbing through the CD's I'd also passed on to her.

I hear about boyfriends and friends,
about crystals, stoneware,
the coming adventures, music,
I also hear about other things from their mother,
I gave her money for petrol, it costs to drive
in the city, oh yeah, the city...

I left it seven years ago
and it's still a bustling haphazard monster,
the amount of traffic stifling to enduring minds,

they leave, all too soon, I wave
probably the last time I see them
for a year at least,
but once a year is better
than a father that doesn't care.

Paris was burning, written 2008


Fire under the Bridge

Under the Pont-Neuf bridge
the burning diesel of a sunken barge
eschews black acrid cloying smoke
onto French Impressionists
and art ladies selling their wares.

I bolt the camera down, the snap
a shot, the sound only heard by nearby ears,
the frame will show Paris on Fire
will show the ineptitude of firemen
the persistent controlling influence
of Gendarme in black uniforms
(to match the smoke perhaps)

The courtesans flee their expensive apartments,
race for the safety of the Louvre
the sanctity of Notre Dame
the virgin palaces of the Moulin Rouge,
anywhere where their fine pantaloons
are singed by another heat.

The fire on the Seine is a rarity
too dark for startled monks on sabbatical,
too stark for wayward children
studying in the nearby seminary,
tres magnifique for politicians
the rustle of an oak in a wishing breeze
carries with it the hopes of many,
the thanks to the riverboat captain
for containing the spill, quick thinking,
the foam from dozens of fire trucks,
an ever present Gendarmerie whistling
directing traffic, arresting bystanders,
the sound of a cuckold model
being snapped with her clothes off.

Today, Paris passed by without incident.

Writing a Poem to Pink Floyd on my Stereo System

Writing a Poem to Pink Floyd on my Stereo System

I hear disease, inaction appease distraction,
hear the sound of Time pulsing gruntingly
and the soaring guitar lead of Dave Gilmour

the soft touch of drums, the thud of Waters' Bass
the fine delectation of Dark Side echoing in a room
at 150 decibels and more, the sorrowful whine

the elliptical elocution of erudite phraseology
the start of a new song soon, a downbeat, upbeat
any beat to announce the Pink Floyd sound

and then, the dulcet tones of a new song, old song
good song, whistling, whittling trees, chainsaws
the sound of hard out voices, the grind of organs,
Farmisa, Moog, Meletron, the monkey man,

then the next song, not True Floyd, Dave Inc,
Take It Back, a song of love, hope chastity,
the soft lead, the chiming keys, the pigskins softly beat,

and the unmistakeable soaring vocals of Dave,
the imploring guilt of a mixed marriage, divorce,
Roger left in the railway siding, to beat his meat,

yet as in marriage, their companionship soared,
Dark Side, Wish You Were Here, Animals
and the coup de gras – The Wall. Yet Division Bell

sings on my computer, through a  200 RMS stereo
that hardly gets to half on the volume scale,
still the song soars, the instrumentals playing polka

and in the middle, the voice soars, what a vocal
the drums beat sensual, the keyboards stroke orgasm,
and the Floyd play on as if time was a conquerors dream.

And then the Darkishness of Floyd, the deep drums,
the organs playing death music, the guitar silent,
suddenly awakening, keyboards soar, and song is borne,

and soon lost in the reality of Roger’s genius,
Every Strangers Eyes assails vocalisations
the lyrics of a true master, Pink, attacks the senses

those eyes of deep melancholy shine deep,
his voice far more removed from Pink Floyd days,
the true worth of his message kept by a rabid few.

The pulsating rhythm of Careful with that Axe Eugene,
and Ricks soaring Keys, the pulse of Rogers Bass,
the shuffle of the drums of peace, drums of war,

the inclination that even in the early days,
Floyd would be a soco voco in the world of music,
heck, the other day, a classical pianist recreated.

And then, the rising sound of air passing, death,
the parachute wide open, the corner of a foreign field,
and The Gunners Dream rushes into my ears, soothing,

Max and Ma, the children, the bandsman by remote control,
the lasting misery of war and pain and memories again,
and yes, no one kills the children any more, the law
we have recourse to the law, yet the children die,
case in point, many in this country, these past years.

And the silk in your lapel rises to meet the comfort of the band,
take her frail hand, and hold on to the dream,
the dream we all aspire to attain, good for all, for most

good for the Kings and the Queens, Tyrants and Dictators,
for all in control, in command, in a reigning glory,
and yes old heroes do shuffle safely, no one ever disappears,

please don’t relax, grow wiser, idealistic, the law,
and no one kills the children anymore, they live,
they love, they linger on the tip of our finger,

do we really look hard enough at war graves,
do we learn, do we yearn, do we listen, take heed,
and then Mother comes on asking about dropping the bomb,

yes my child, they’ll like the song, even breaking my balls,
ooooh maaaaa, yes build the wall sonny, you need it,
nooooo not president, you need to be a man, not a goat.

Yes Trust the government and avoid the firing line,
ma, it’s really a supreme waste of time, hush
now baby baby don’t you cry, laugh, sing, cajole,

but that was Mother, and cosy and warm and ooh babes,
and I’ve been out of the room for thirty minutes,
now Paranoid Eyes is playing, spooky song,

about lost hopes, lost dreams, lost hopes, lost sight
of the reaction after a war or two or maybe even three,
the dalliance of prophecy versus the green eyed monster,

yes we dally in the truth as told or withheld, so be it,
we reach for the unattainable, peace in all times
war without recriminations, death with dignity,

suddenly, the stereo dies, and leaves nothing to chance,
Comfortably Numb, Dave and Rogers’ song,
the moment when two greats shared the limelight,

I’d like to continue this, but my patience for Floyd,
is thin and egalitarian, baneful and wasteful, shocked
I simper into a delirium rocked with analogy and truth,

past the bucket of swollen hands blue, and shit on the TV,
the roast dinner in the oven fried to Atom Heart Mother,
the wine in the rack bubbling UmmaGumma/Meddle

the walls etched with decibels of Animals and WYWH,
the floor trampled under Dark Side and The Wall,
the furniture turned to the Old Stuff, the New Stuff

and stuff it all, we gotta get outta this.

Saturday, 15 June 2019

One Bigfoot Crowfeather - my First Peoples name

GERONIMO American Apache Indian leader (1829 to 1909)

Firstly I will say I am not an American Indian

Secondly I have a diagnosed mental health issue (from 1996 to now)

Thirdly I was never religious or spiritual.

Soon I understood  what all three meant.

In  2003 I "jumped" off a motorway overbridge and mangled both feet, ankles and right leg.  I changed, adapted and overcame all.

In 2010 I wrote a poetry video about The Courtyard of the Daughter of Peace (Te Marae o Hine)  I started getting spiritual meanings to life.  I was also given the honour of being a spokesperson for underprivileged indigenous peoples in their Spirit Realm.  They asked me to choose my spirit name which I did and they have called me that since.  That name was One Bigfoot Ctowfeather.

Why that you ask?  Well my right foot and ankle are severely swollen from the jump, and I sported a massive Mullet (very long golden hair down the back and a Number 1 haircut top and sides.)

In 2015 I was triggered by medical folks for another visit into the Nuthouse and jokingly said I was God just to fuck the psychiatric staff over.  At the same time I retired from One Bigfoot Crowfeather duties and headed off to another posting.  But I haven't forgotten my spirit folks that helped (and still do)

Love peace and moonbeams.

Friday, 14 June 2019

Some more poems from my pen (and mind/heart) 14/6/2019


Oblivion Oblongata

Someone shat on my shoe and made me walk a mile down the main street in town with stinky feet and a growing brown patch. It escalated into a full-blown fight with a parking meter, a by-standing whiskey barrel joined in, bashed me around the head and got me punch drunk, as state I most definitely didn’t need.

Eros killed with arrows
made people lose
their fucking heads
stopped common sense,
the ruling classes of Bovver Boys
and eye wart cream
ruining love poems
as if they flippin’ well deserve it.

Miracle of miracles, she (Dado) walked into St Stephens to hide from my rabid stare. She thought I was stalking her. Sure, she’s a fucken hottie, man, best bit of hot ass in town, and she gives me the time of day by avoiding me. I daren’t walk into a church, she knows that, no not because I’m the Antichrist reincarnated, more the fact I’m wary of what the Almighty will do if I disgraced his company premises.

The fuzz cruised past,
the geeky chic
in the passenger
waves a gun in my face
her position of power,
I flick her the bird
emotively jam a finger
up my arse and lick it
just so as she knows
I ain’t scared of the scum,
Dado comes out,
a half mile down,
I debate with myself
(yes I’m capable)
turn from her path
and think about going
down the Mile Road
smashing letterboxes.

It’s Saturday, lost five days there, the last thing I remember is running into Scatty down the Mile, and being passed a P-laced joint. I have some vague recollection of a party, with evil drugs and booze and more of each. For days on end I was literally freaking out. Oh, yeah, the red Mitsi across the road, what a mean fireworks that was. Oh, yeah, well all fucked off when the scum turned up, each running to our own directions and habitats. I now hide in the squat, shit everywhere, rats crawling around the room, biting anything that stinks of food.

Hi, I’m Erroneous Rat,
I live with this fucking sick
excuse for a human being,
he’s in serious need of help,
if he don’t get off the drugs
and booze soon
someone will die.
This is a plea from King Rat
to the human race.

The rope slipped easily over the banister, the noose ready for a plunge into insanity. The voices in his head were all yammering, asking to be shut up.  The drug induced psychosis just prayed for play. He stood on the chair, the noose ready, no note, no one cared, and with a swift kick, …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Post Mortem
There was none, the rats found the rope too tempting.



*************************************************************88


Did you Hear the News Today?

An article about Iraq
how the war is being won,
who by I ask, what war?
What have I missed
these past five decades.

I remember Viet Nam
that war was won too
but who by?
The name escapes me now
I still have my anti-Vietnam badge.

I see the streets of downtown Los Angeles
littered with graffiti and tags
the sign some youth
will fight for their neighbourhood
and not their country.

I heard the news today,
a lady in Alabama choked
by her endearing boa constrictor
the snake escaped and according to police
is making a dash for the Amazon jungle.

I also saw on the nightly wrap
some scientist has discovered a gene
that holds mentally ill families to account
passed from mother or father
self-medication a key, drugs or alcohol.

I spent a minute listening to the radio
a newsflash, major car accident up north
police reluctant to say how many.
How many, I hear you ask, is Iraq?
How many are the graves of absolution?

This afternoon I got caught by a newsflash
Obama and Hillary both triumphing
the return of the forgotten soldiers,
peace in Iraq a distinct possibility
without an American or British army to target.

Did you hear on the news today,
I was carted off to prison for stating
truth and untruth, lies and deception
their eyes shadowed by treason
their assertions woolly and light.


The Ribbonwood Lane Reprise

Down Ribbonwood Lane, the ladies did stray
the children and buses on their way
the cloudless sky joins the fray
the days when love abounds.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the Jesuits do ply,
their daily trade as cars whizz by,
parishioners set to live and die
days when life resounds.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the cattle do chew
pastures of chaff and Ribbonwood stew,
the children just don’t know what to do,
days when longing is bound.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the cars drive past,
the longer the laughter the bigger the blast,
the food at McDonalds exorbitantly fast,
days when rogues are found.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the cycle of life
the lonely vagabond causing strife
a butcher waves his cutting knife
days when ladies are profound.

Down Ribbonwood Lane a painting is born
the hunter puffs on his hunting horn,
the lost children all forlorn
days when babies compound.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the skies are black
the welcome sign says welcome back,
the herding chains sag so slack,
days when basketballs rebound.

Down Ribbonwood Lane the lights shine bright,
such is the feeling deep in the night,
the cars turn left, then right,
days when night sounds.



Thursday, 13 June 2019

My Schooling 1963 - 2012

If there is one thing I treasure about my life is how my schooling was achieved. My first school was in Invercargill when I turned five (1963).  I never remembered much of it but do remember  picking flowers for my young lady teacher and giving them to her in class.  My "reward" was to spend all morning on the Naughty Stool in front of class.  Not a good start.

Ascot Community School. (1963)


We moved up the road a little to Lumsden Area School (1964 - 1966)  My first friends Ross Alexander and his younger Brother.  Me and my younger brother were friends with them for life.  I also had my first broken bone, smashing my right radius falling off the Jungle Gym. And the bad news for me continued.  I always had trouble tying my shoe laces and was given the Ruler for my crime.  I guess I first learned how to adapt and overcome.


Another move this time to Dunedin's North East Valley and schooling at North East Valley Normal School (1966/67).  Dad was a part time Bus Driver and schooling at Otago University.  I soon learned I had no inclination of playing a musical instrument. AND my introduction to what would be my penchant for team sports.

Now for the one school that was my most favourable school, 1967 and Arthurs Pass School (Primer 1 to Form 2. There were only 8 pupils, Getting to school was on the grader, (Me, my little bro and Barry McNichols).  You went to school for educational fun (I loved drama) and walked out the door and went mountain climbing, damming streams, and Possuming.  Being outdoors was my number 1 love!!



Sadly we were only there for 5 or 6 months as Dad was hospitalised, meaning we had to move to Dannevirke for a few months (at out Grandparents house. We lived about 500 metres from the school and walking to and from school was generally fun but not Arthurs Pass by any means. Dannevirke North School (1967/8) was the biggest school to date.  I do remember Mrs Smith though, an old rooster that was fun to be in her class.  I also remember my Uncle sometimes doubling to school on his bike which was cool.  I would also reacquaint myself with this school after we move to Taipa and back in 1968.

1968 saw us move to Taipa (between Manganui and Kaitaia) in Nga Puhi Country.  We lived on our Aunties Dairy Farm  up the Peria Valley.  The area was largely dairy and citrus farms.  This was a boys dream.  We had 3 cuzzies boys and adventure was out middle name.  Made more so when it bucketed down the Taipa River would flood and we'd have to get home before the road was closed.  Multi-coloured mud/clay, eeling, floundering and gorging ourselves on mandarins and oranges much to Mum's chagrin.  Whilst there our maternal grandfather passed so Mum and her isster went back to
 Dannevirke.  Not long after Dad escaped hospital and we moved back to Dannevirke.  Taipa Area School 1968 was another district school catering for Primer 1 - Form 2.  The beach was scant meters away from.  In those days there was also an outdoor Cinema.



A true story.  When I was living onboard HMNZS Philomel (Navy's Logistic Base and Accommodation) and we had a mess for all the old salts with a big round Table.  It used to get called The Nights of the Round Table as many drinking sessions abounded.  One night there were about 8-9 of us drinking and Bassberries mentioned he was from Peria.  That pricked my ears immediately.  I asked him "when" and he said late 68's.  I said "were you there in 1968"?  Hai!!  Turns out we were at the same scool and bus trips and he liveed about 2-3 miles deep into the country.  Not to be outdone (and suitably gobsmacked) this blonde girlfriend sitting across the table pipes up that she lived next to my Aunty on a dairy Farm.  Says me " Olsen Twins?? I had the hots for her way back when.  Great night.

Roslyn Primary Roslyn - Palmerston North. 1968/69

 Finally - a school that I loathed apart from two things.  Loved Cricket - loved Football and mates associated with both. YAWN!!  Oh hold on - the Principal - former Test Cricketer Murray Chappell.

Ross Intermediate, Roslyn, Palmerston North 1969/70


Three things (also carried over from Roslyn Primary)  Cricket, Football and Woodworking.  Pretty good at all three.

Palmerston North Boys High School 1972 - 1975

Ok the time when you start your journey to Manhood.  Palmy Boys was a high achieving academic and sporting school.  I was average in all facets.  The topics I wanted to study I weren't allowed too.  So basically I was doing enough in classes and let my sporting prowess flourish.  If it was physical I was into it.  I passed SC in 3 subjects with 1 mark off my favourite subject (after Tech Drawing) being Geography.  My dear old man wanted me to go to university, so I started 6th form and was allocated Class Leader (next step to Prefect)  I was a 60kg runt.  There was only two things I thought I might try if I got to UE (Astronomer or Meteorologist).  Due the the latter I was drawn to the Armed Forces Recruiting centre as RNZAF had meteorologists but weren't recruiting.  They (Air) ushered me to Navy as surveyors were being recruited.  The rest is history.

Between 1975 - 2002 I was highly trained by the navy in all facets of Navy life (and times) and loved it all!!



Massey University 2007-2009  Basically I went to university because I was bored and needing a challenge. I have no memory who said it but I started a BA in English, Creative Writing and Music of Pink Floyd.  Sadly my last year I had my mental health issues to resurface and didn't complete studies. BUT I leaned shitloads and loved being with fellow literati.


My last journeys down the Training road were threefold. (2007- 2012)

Journeys to Wellbeing (an Mental Health NGO, and provider of Like Minds Like Mine workshops)  Was trained to be a workshop facilitator and eventually the Coordinator for the programme supplying organisations in the Whanganui, Rangitikei, Manawatu, Tararua and Horowhenua areas.

This organisation also supplied Peer Support for at risk adults.  It was a sort of counselling service but the credo was walk alongside not ahead or back.

  I was the only Male Peer Support worker so had a few regular clients, but also had one lady who preferred my services.




Sadly the MoH pulled the plug on Like Minds Like Mine and I had to find new work.  Luckily two of our board of Directors at JTW were also working for MASH, a community Care organisation dealing with Intellectually and Disabled (ID/PD) adults and also Mental Health clients.  I applied for the ID/PD position and was hired immediately.  I started immediately in November 23rd 2011 as a part timer eventually getting a full time position in 2012 (until 5th July 2015)  I was given training for all facets required to conduct my job (and some) and also found my work and training from my Navy Time was very beneficial.

Sorry that is the End for me lol.  Yes I'm seeking work. 


Saturday, 8 June 2019

Navy Personalised plates available

 Image above is the reasonably commissioned Protector Class - Otago

 What fun you can have with message plates

 HMNZS Canterbury Logistics ship.

 Keep it simple but have fun.

 HMNZS Canterbury Leander class.

 Type 12 Frigate

 HMNZS Southland


HMNZS Taranaki

 HMNZS Te Kaha



 HMNZS Te Kaha
HMNZS Wellington

The Mighty Waikato.

All of these plates are available .  Click on the link provided to play with formatting.  Too much like Hard work send me your suggestions and I'll work them out for you!! KiwiPlates