Your negligee is showing

Now that I have written a post about questions… I have a question!

Seeing as the most common defense for racist acts is that any offense was not intended, what role, if any, does negligence play in racism?

Proposing a new term here: the negligee racist, a much more amusing visual combined with a proportionate degree of levity.

Negligent sounds so malignant and you can be assured, anyone using the negligee defense does not want to be considered malignant. In fact, inappropriately bringing up such thoughts can inadvertently bring forth the very malignancy being denied.

So next time you are stereotyped, racially-profiled, mammied, ridiculed, put down, followed around a shop by security, refused service, asked where you are from 17 times in one minute, abused on public transport, die in police custody, etc consider that you’ve not been the victim of racism, you’ve simply been negligee’d.

Negligee racism. A curious but generally considered harmless Aussie social ritual specifically designed for the purposes of paying tribute to the most beautiful, interesting and capable members of our society – really, if you cop some negligee racism, you should feel especially privileged. You’ve been seen, noted, honoured with that special brand of reverse-logic we are famous for and suitably brought back down – to level the playing field somewhat.

You must really spare a thought for those who aren’t special enough to be on the receiving end of such outstanding and effortful tribute. A certain degree of over-stated humility is considered very appropriate when receiving negligee tributes, it makes the racist (oops, negligee-ist) feel their efforts are being appreciated.

ooo…negligee…sounds posh



What’s with all the questions?

Answering questions is not my forte.

red question mark

The big red question button, similar in function to the all-purpose doomsday button

Question me and you will get a response that is almost never what is expected, particularly if you’re wanting me to ease your doubts.

I’ve observed and pondered this quirk in my behaviour for a long time now and these days I can’t quite recall whether I’ve always been this way or it just kind of crept up on me one day – while I was dreaming.

I love to learn – new things, old things, patterns and disruptions, flows and cycles. Life is so endlessly intriguing and engaging through my eyes that it seems impossible for me to imagine any other way of being. So I answer questions with an almost unconscious intent of setting up the conditions for a learning experience, preferably involving laughter, smiles or little nods of recognition that we humans are all, essentially, in the same boat.

It is my heartfelt wish, from the centre of all that I am, to share the joy of learning and living with you. I want us to take a step or two down the road together, however brief.

I want you to offer me some way to relate, to walk away with some idea of how your shoes feel and your most recent speculations on the imprecise nature of our current destination, whatever it is that you’ve got going on.

I want you to take your choice from the menu of delights, insights, delusions and intuitions that may come tumbling from my being in any one moment and use them. Use them to bring yourself home if you’ve lost your centre, use them to inspire you into your next learning or maybe add a little light to your next great or tiny goal.

I most assuredly see myself in the business of elevation and reciprocity.

Sooner or later it also seems to turn out that when you use what I have on offer to constrain or reduce the reality of me, invariably you will find that you’re presenting me with an even greater gift – the irrefutable proof that there are times when people have completely given up on themselves and others. The broken times, when someone has entered the world of self-justifying or self-gratifying illusions.

“Excuse me, I can’t be human right now, I’m right in the thick of my own self-destructive implosion mission. Check back with me later.”

“No worries. I’m glad I’m not you right now.”

We are not separate, I know your pretend vacuum-sealed self is imaginary and hurts you one thousand times more than it hurts me. This is not news. I know because I’ve spent lots of time trying it out. I most certainly cannot conscionably recommend hanging out on that particular limb for too long, it’s bloody exhausting [or bloody and exhausting, your pick].

You don’t have to like me to enjoy the journey. I don’t have to like you for us to exchange genuine service with each other. Vile, virtuous, vexatious or the epitome of verity – I regard your presence as my reward. So go ahead and present yourself as a poo-flavoured dog-biscuit and watch me laugh at all the time and energy that was just wasted.

Seriously, come, lay your doubts on me brothers and sisters, then strap yourselves in and grab hold of your socially-engineered default-configuration hats, I think we’re in for a one hell of a wild ride!

Broken Logic 101

If all the world were our concern then
all the world would be very concerning.
Tick. It is.

Let’s suppose that you have choices
and that errors only occur within the
framework of time. I’ll pass on that one.

Look what you’ve got there! I’ll start
changing my image so I can have something
like that too. Isn’t this my right?

See what you haven’t got? I am now
wondering how I can fill that gap for you too.
Is this a mistake?

There are so many things about my
life today that I am not enjoying.

There is nothing so effective as self-
flagellation or a dose of righteous
indignation to prolong a bout of pain.

If I could
I would simply
care less,
feel less,
express less,
worry less
love in the possessive less,
sense less,
be less.

This is when I catch wind of the hunt
for things I fear. Finding them floors
me, has me flailing about, struggling
to breathe.

Aimless and masochistic as it sounds,
I have innumerable motivations and
conflicting concepts of self to contend

Lead this horse to water yet
thirst won’t make me drink.

Why can’t I expel the notion that ever
since I arrived I’ve been trying to
return? I can’t say where or to what.

It’s oh so easy to secretly posit
“I don’t know” while never accepting,
for a breath or a heartbeat,
that I don’t know a single thing.

In fact, it’s so unpalatable that the
ensuing technicolour surge of emotion
seems a predictably welcome, almost
comforting act of counter-resistance
replete with expletive-based relief.

Even if not-being is impossible,
it’s easy to feel like I am not being,
that I have wasted so much time
in the knot of being that
life might never be untangled.

I am concerned that I might be a fake,
or that I will discover my fundamental
fake-ness and might never give up fake
ideas about being…

Such as,
I’ve collected a mountain of
burdens to perturb that spontaneous
spring of joy gurgling beneath
the surface of my attention, only to
burst free when I am not looking,
to blast fissures and blowholes through
the very bedrock of familiar beliefs.
Who needs that kind of inconvenience?

What hope have I but to be sad and
angry and rude and sure,
beyond my wildest imaginings,
beyond any and all reason?

I am desperately holding to the belief
that this is a fair price for it all,
so please don’t walk on the grass.

The beauty of the rule of broken logic
is that it is applicable to everything.*

*social commentary not excluded

Aamer Rahman on Reverse Racism

“A lot of white people don’t like my comedy.”

The beauty of Aamer Rahman’s routine is that people are laughing at the kind of absurd scenarios that are everyday experiences for non-white people in Australia. He would barely have to write any material – there is/always has been a never-ending stream of mind-bendingly hilarious content flowing directly from the lips of white Australia to the ears of the rest of us. God bless the bigots for they have made this man what he is and I am grateful.

Taking a pi break

Got a quick story for you. I shared this with a great friend who laughed a lot, but the thing is… most of the people I communicate with seem quite peeved by this story.  So now I have to share, because that seems an odd response to something I find delightfully funny. Feel free to share your joy or disgust in the comments…surely there’s something for me to learn here…perhaps?

I’ve actually been quite ill – some kind of infection. Nearly over it now. On Friday I read up on how the antibiotics are supposed to work and decided that I needed to be still for an hour after taking each one so my body has the resources available for a full scale attack. Being still, yeah right!

I started thinking about pi. Someone mentioned it on TV the night before. Jewish guy we rescued from destitution years ago used his ability to recite pi to 14 places as part of his argument for why jews are genetically superior. My friend Greg can rattle off pi to 12 decimal places.

I recalled that 22/7 was a representation of pi – something I was told in school, but I ran the numbers in my head and quickly discovered it’s completely wrong. So I looked up the decimal representation.

Ten minutes later I have memorised pi to 27 decimal places. I thought that was enough considering I was supposed to be relaxing. What can I say other than it’s an intriguing number/concept?

An hour later in the shower I was reciting pi however, after the 27th number I found myself saying – “and the last three numbers are 279.”  As in, to round up to 30 places.  Cracked myself up.

Thus far I have no use for this info. I will laugh even more if I do find a use for it.