All publication is a political act. All communication is propaganda. All art is pornography. All business is personal. All hail Eris. Vive les poissons rouges sauvages!
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I’ve decided to have another go at publishing the links I find online. So, thanks to del.icio.us and some mild semi-automation, here’s today’s batch.
No, contrary to yesterday’s rumour Andrew Denton’s first guest for 2008 won’t be long-term GITMO resident David Hicks but instead noted feminist, temperance campaigner and pacifist footballer Wayne Carey.
One of the Pope’s groupies came up with a new version of the 7 deadly sins. I haven’t bothered chasing this story ‘cos it seems like such a wank, but there’s some interesting commentary from friend and colleague Zern Liew and Murdochland blogger Tim Dunlop [waves].
When Chairman Rudd announced the Australia 2020 Summit the euphoria kicked in like a clean hit of a fresh new political drug. After 11 drab years of John Winston Howard, Change! Big, bright colourful change with sparkly bits and the sound of a thousand sitars! But now the euphoria’s wearing off. We’re coming down — and the Main Event is still a month away.
Kevin still looks pretty cheerful, though, doesn’t he. Why is that?
Look back through everything I’ve written so far and you can see the moodswing. “Chairman Rudd’s got a clever strategy going,” my first post began. Another post was headlined Australia, let the Enlightenment begin!, quoting Maxine “Toadslayer” McKew and agreeing that the nation was ready to start a new conversation about its destiny. At the end of February I even nominated myself.
Given Rudd’s claim that his government would be open and transparent, and develop policies based on evidence, it all sounded pretty good.
As days go by, however, it’s become increasingly clear that the potential of the event will be stifled by the political “need” to placate the same old whingeing lobby groups, the same old middle-class middle-aged white men in dark suits (just flick through the Steering Committee) and, it seems, the “need” to pre-load the agenda with specific topics to… well, let’s explore that.
Headline of the Decade, perhaps? “Police: Crack Found in Man’s Buttocks”. Who’d have thought. “Hagerstown, Md. (AP) — Police searching a downtown home found a man hiding 15 plastic bags of crack cocaine in his buttocks.” Hat-tip to Angus Wheaton.
Overheard in a pub on King Street, Newtown earlier today: “I’m not afraid of mental institutions any more. It’s a free holiday. Free food, free cigarettes — free DRUGS!”
Yes, Australian actor Heath Ledger is dead, possibly from a drug overdose. So now it’s time to collect all the jokes, ‘cos he can’t sue you for libel. Please add them in the comments.
Tasteless? Yes. Exploitative? Probably. Too soon for this? Yeah probably that too.
So why do it?
It’s an experiment…
This is blog post number 801. It’s time for something special. Time for an extended essay encapsulating several trains of thought which I’ve been following for some time.
We are the 801,
We are the central shaft
And thus throughout two years
We’ve crossed the ocean in our little craft (Row! Row! Row!)
Now we’re on the telephone,
Making final arrangements (Ding! Ding!)
We are the 801, we are the central shaft
So sang Brian Eno in the song The True Wheel from his 1974 album Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy).
Eno says he wrote the lyrics while visiting New York:
I went to stay with this girl called Randi and fell asleep after taking some mescaline and had this dream where this group of girls were singing to this group of sailors who had just come into port. And they were singing ‘We are The 801 / We are the Central Shaft’ — and I woke up absolutely jubilant because this was the first bit of lyric I’d written in this new style.
Yes, apparently in the 1970s a musician wrote a song while under the influence of hallucinogens. Who’d have thought.
Society generally frowns upon people who make important decisions while under the influence. (By an odd coincidence, Hugh MacLeod posted some vaguely-related thoughts only yesterday, in dying young is overrated, revisited.) However the more I look, the more I worry that we’re governed as if our societies were hallucinating. And even worse, it’s as if they’ve forgotten how to remember the lessons of the past.
I’m worried that we’re governed by Hallucinating Goldfish.
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