Archive for the ‘Gerard Oosterman’ Category

Erectile dysfunctional benefits.( adults only)

September 30, 2014

imagesNo hard feelings

http://www.theshedonline.org.au/articles/article/erectile-dysfunctional-benefits

Here you go, there is hope for all of us. I have reached the age where I am almost at the stage to finally leave things well enough alone. Although I must admit this poem by Maggie Mae still gave me a twinge;

http://maggiemaeijustsaythis.wordpress.com/2012/08/16/i-know-this-man/

*This is a bit risque…so…if you aren’t an adult, don’t read it…LOL

“I feel myself screaming down low,
my curves curving more, in search of,
in need; my cave waiting,
tugging on the emptiness,
in desperation.

I know this man who is solid,
his limbs aligned, straight and hard,
as a man would be. He has been calling me
with capacity, firm grasped,
swollen purple.

He has come for me before,
it was winter, he turned me into a mermaid
and brought me to a heated spring.
I never hesitated.
That was just once.

There were several times, over several seasons
that he came for me
again, and again.
I know this man who is solid and firm
and I scream for him, my body searches for him,
I belong to him.”

Struth; stone the crows.

Our friends are our enemies.Foxglove poem

September 29, 2014

imagesFoxglove

A few days ago I read an article which has disappeared into the bowels of IT. That’s how things are on the WWW. It’s a bit like flipping through a phone book after the imbibing of a couple and not only not remembering the page number but also what you had actually read. I get this more and more. No sooner have I read a fascinating unforgettable bit of essential trivia and even before taking leave of my chair, it has already gone or in a Dali Watch meltdown.

I have told my wife to take a good grip on me. I am losing it. Oh, now I remember what it was that took my inattention. Something about bombing and the futility of it. Someone pointed out that;
We not only fight our enemies in Iraq and Syria but also our allies and friends.
The situation gets more and more complicated as time goes by.

Get again a bit closer now and écoutez carefullement svp.

We don’t like Isis, but Isis is supported by Saudi Arabia who are our friends. We don’t like president Assad and support the fight against him in Syria. So does Isis who we don’t like. We don’t like Iran but Iran supports Iraqi government against Isis. We support Iraq in fighting Isis but not others such as Iran who also fight Isis. Isis must only be killed by our friends but not by our enemies.

Some of our friends support our enemies and some of our enemies support our enemies. Some of our enemies support our friends. Some enemies are fighting against enemies that are also (at time) our friends. Some want our enemies to win while some of our enemies want our enemies to win depending on who is enemy or friend.
Our best friends are or were also our enemies and vice versa.
Hope this clears it up.

Or, someone better grounded in logic could sum it up thus: Our friends and enemies are one. They are us. I now surmise but ask; are we really bombing ourselves?

Does that make sense?

Or have I fuckcen flipped?
Should I just concentrate on growing Foxgloves.(Foxglove poisoning usually occurs from sucking the flowers or eating the seeds, stems, or leaves of the foxglove plant.)

Foxgloves by Mary Webb.
“The foxglove bells, with lolling tongue,
Will not reveal what peals were rung
In Faery, A thousand ages gone.
All the golden clappers hang
As if but now the changes rang;
Only from the mottled throat Never any echoes float.
Quite forgotten, in the wood,
Pale, crowded steeples rise;
All the time that they have stood
None has heard their melodies.
Deep, deep in wizardry
All the foxglove belfries stand.
Should they startle over the land,
None would know what bells they be.
Never any wind can ring them,
Nor the great black bees that swing them
Every crimson bell, down-slanted,
Is so utterly enchanted. –

Marc Chagall.

September 28, 2014

imagesMaRC cHAGALL

Australia’s minister for immigration, Scott Morrison and his off-shore and on-shore detention policies have now caused four deaths and a considerable number of attempted suicides, fifty or so by children.

It is totally wrong for this man to remain in office.
.

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/09/self-harm-asylum-seekers-detention-surged-serco-report

If you are concerned and want to be part of taking action; Please voice your concerns to:

Address:
Scott Morrison MP
Minister for Immigration and Border Protection
PO Box 6022
Parliament House
Canberra ACT 2600
Telephone: 02 6277 7860
Fax: 02 6273 4144
Email: minister@immi.gov.au

It is as wrong now to inflict terrible conditions and treatment on people that have done no wrong, as it was during the days of Buchenwald.

I’ll leave you this lovely poem inspired by Marc Chagall.

When I read this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, I had to chuckle, according to the poet his work is meant to be read aloud:

Don’t Let that Horse.

Don’t let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall’s mother.
But he
kept right on
painting.

And became famous
And kept painting
The Horse With Violin in Mouth
And when he finally finished it
he jumped up on the horse
and rode away
waving the violin.

And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across.

And there were no strings
attached.

The Terrorists in Government.

September 24, 2014

0041

Yes, what are we going to do? Australia will not make a living from keeping out boatpeople or ramping up fears. The scraping the top layer off our continent and selling it wasn’t exactly very taxing.

What are we going to do? A youth unemployment of 15% doesn’t auger well for keeping murderous attacks under control.

I sometimes wonder what people are doing in those gigantic city office buildings. I know we have one the highest densities of litigation lawyers and Big M. burger arched take away, but what about making things? You know actually producing stuff?

We could have been the world leaders in alternative energy with the world at our feet wanting solar panels, wind towers, etc. Even the Rockefellers are getting out of fossil fuel, But us…What have we done?

What are we going to do?

We could ease up on exercising our pyrotechnical bath-tub toys above and in far away sandy countries and save the $ 500.000.000 yearly.

We could also save even more doing away with the Government using ADF’s insane ‘stopping the boats’ policy. Billions in fact. Just imagine what that money could achieve?

The following from Andrew Kaldor; http://www.kaldorcentre.unsw.edu.au/node/386

Tony Abbott

Tony Abbott

“Australia now spends the same as the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) spends on its entire global refugee and displaced persons operations.

The UNHCR is responsible for helping and protecting some 50 million displaced persons around the world, including 11.6 million refugees. It expects to spend about $3.5 billion (US$3.3bn) in 2014. To cover 10,000 staff and all relief for the emergencies in Syria and Iraq, and Africa, as well as the protracted situations worldwide.

Tow back boats by Australian Navy

Tow back boats by Australian Navy

Compare that with the $3.3 billion Australia spent in 2013-14 on the detention and processing of boat arrivals. It has been the fastest growing Government programme over recent years, increasing from $118 million in 2010 at the average annual growth rate of a staggering 129 per cent.

Next year, the Department of Immigration’s budget is about $2.9 billion for that operation. But this number probably understates the total costs. It appears to ignore the extra aid to Papua New Guinea for signing the Manus Island deal, $420m over four years. It also ignores the costs of the AFP, ASIO, and State judicial system. Moreover, the value of current contracts issued by the Immigration Department, just for offshore detention for the 2014-15 fiscal year, has been estimated to be $2.7 billion [Source: data compiled by Nick Evershed, The Guardian, 25 August 2014].”

This money could have helped with our 15% youth unemployment. A terrible situation. Perhaps easing disillusionment and desperate ,perhaps even murderous situations arising.

Just imagine?

http://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2014/08/28/boats-may-have-stopped-what-cost-australia

Mr Vlad. Putin cummen all toot’n for ‘n root’n to Brisbane.

September 22, 2014

images G20

It hasn’t been confirmed but I have it from an unconventional peanut sauce that Putin is coming to Australia’s sunny Brisbane. He was after all invited to the G20, and as most of those coming here are rogues and thieves, it was thought, nay welcomed, he might as well join the tribe of merrrimen and merriwomen. A huge table made from finely hand hewn Eucalypt and French polished with a mixture of gumnut and wombat faeces is now on its edge getting all those little alarm buttons fitted, just in case someone unexpectedly says …boo or, in extreme cases, says..poo. In that case machine-gun toting marshals will drop down with the help of long coiled up ropes (unexpectedly) from the Candela-bras high up, jump on the huge table, say stick’ em up, and shoot blue-berry muffins at the perpetrators.

The meat pies are already on high alert, lamingtons are now in lock-down mode behind reinforced glass counters and Morton Bay oysters have been told to practise coitus interrupt us. (just in case) On previous occasions, many male oysters committed mortal sins by leaving their mass before communion, hoping to avoid an oversupply of little baby oysters… Strictly, a no no in their neck of the salty environs. It is so difficult being a pious girl oyster.

I remember many decades ago, going to a very ‘in’ and ‘up’ market restaurant/ nightclub. The place where one could expect Rod Steward or a fake Elvis to pop in. Ladies were sitting at the bar smoking from elegant cigarette holders. It was during a period where women had their hair held back with large Rhino horned combs. They would blow out smoke and at the same time scan the diners making an or having their entrée.

I was with H and wearing a wine-red safari suit with a huge belt, not around my pants but around the jacket, that looked like phoney gold.(it was), but at least it gave me a bit of shine (where there was none). H was pure Scandinavian and so honestly told me I looked totally nerdy. Could I refrain from speaking at the dinner table, please?

nr two

Anyway, I was so nervously unsettled. All the expense which started off with a taxi and a generous tip. The first course was ‘ spinach stuffed oyster’ which were so expensive I developed an immediately headache. I mean stuffed oysters? I had a main dish of pigeons guaranteed to have been bred with reckless abandon high on the Southern Highlands but with a nervous disposition, making them extra lean.

There was so little sustenance in that meal I had to take a pain-killer while sitting on the toilet, reflecting also what a huge mistake it was to try and join the ‘in it folk.’ I left hungry but relieved we got out of the place.

I remember the nightclub/restaurant was called ‘Rogues’.

The G 20 and a nice Pasta.

September 21, 2014

photoInterior

It is getting all too much. Nerve wrecking terrorism fears, and Putin coming to Brisbane. What will the neighbours think? Who would have thought a Russian President would ever visit Brisbane? I just can’t imagine him sitting around with all those other world leaders trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Their eyes scanning around while sauntering through those doors of the big-top with its clowns of leaders and performing big bears. They always seem to look so very ‘above it.’

I would not be surprised if they never go to toilets or wear underpants. It somehow seems that all domesticity has been overcome by them. Their digestive system has been conquered with all those weighty world responsibilities. Have you ever watched those G20 leaders making decisions so fastidiously resolute and unquestioning? They shuffle papers while wearing headphones, translators versed in foreign languages murmuring into grotesque pink ears just sitting behind them. The enormity of it all. Of course they don’t suffer from intestinal rumblings or dietary upsets. They have overcome their humaneness. It is all a circus with clowns and jugglers, masters of voodoo economics. Shifters of profits and taxation avoiding shysters.

imagespasta

As one gets older, those events just seem to repeat themselves into nothingness. A circular event that repeats itself ever year, every decade. So much remains the same yet so much is different. A callousness of spirit and calcified souls have grounded themselves into a permanent headstone of disregards and victim searching. It is, as always, the Viet-Cong, the Hutus, the Arabs, the Nazis, the Japanese, the Nigerians, the Boat people, those Terrorists. The clock (as always) just ticks in seconds. We have developed precise needle point methods of extermination. Laser guided and drone enhanced. We kill in real time TV with a blast enlarged in black smoke heading towards us on our comfy cushion softened settee.

And yet, what would we live for if not the enjoyment of a Sunday cooked pasta? I will never get enough of life if the pasta keep-on-coming. We all know that the fresh made is the best. The noodles cooked al dente and the sauce as always to include the hot blue smoke deep fried mixture of the chopped up garlic, rosemary and anchovies. Forget G20. A lovely well cooked meal makes it all still worthwhile.

A twenty minute of fame;”a beheading video” .

September 19, 2014

photo 1

Don’t get me wrong, I would not welcome a beheading nor a shark attack or a Thai hoe attack. But the beat up about the first has now reached apocalyptical proportions. Helicopters flying over-head. Serious looking police in riot gear being interviewed , a neighbour vouching she knew the people next door being immigrants. One wonders how secret all this was when the media was all dossed out with all the right gear and journalists focussing on doors being smashed down. People with pixelated faces herded up. Hapless victims being seen on the suburban grass verge, looking as if they had been woken up from a nightmare. We now cower under our doonas.

How surprising is it that with a 14% youth unemployment we get some foolish enough to answer the call to fight for a cause, (any cause really) and fooled into believing that joining a fight against the ‘evil West’ is somehow a better option that languishing in one of our deadly suburbs? Many are totally disillusioned with their present situation, a life devoid of a welcoming, all embracing, closely knitted environment that al least would give them the opportunity and dignity to work and earn a living. Alas, we now have a form of freedom and capitalism that makes its obscene profits from employing economic scientists/gurus feverishly working on how to employ the minimum number of people.

All those arrested yesterday were Australian born citizens. Yet, the medium, including Government representatives, were howling about ‘those Afghans, the Middle Eastern swarthy looking, hinting at ‘refugees and Islamic riff raff. Ramping up the ‘marketing’ of phantom fears. Yes, their parents or their grandparents might originate from middle east, so what? Most of us have a link to some other place. The only true Australians are the indigenous and they too can vouch for a somewhat ‘disillusioned’ acceptance by us, the true invading Euro terrorists. We still have not passed that bit in our constitution accepting them as ‘the first Australians’. How can we hope to impress our young when the in(un)justice of so much prevails still in our own domain and society?

It seems to be so attractive for our political leaders to exploit easy targets, whip up fears and get the so important votes.

We cower under our doonas. I cower out of fear of Abbott and his cohorts.

The Escape from Suburban ennui.

September 17, 2014

It makes you think when an seventeen year old boy escapes home and joins IS in Syria. He could be concentrating on his stamp collection or help dad prise out unwanted grasses from the front lawn, couldn’t he? Surely there must be ways to escape from our much praised ‘own home on own block’ in those endlessly anonymously sun-lit streets of suburbia, without going to that extreme.

photo 3Kalancoe enlarged

I remember well my introduction to an Australian suburb after my parents in 1956 decided to buy a fibro asbestos dwelling in Sydney’s western suburbs. It was a devastating experience which, now at the age of 74, am finally accepting that it did happen, it was not their fault. I have conquered and overcome! It all came back last night when watching the excellent ABC TV documentary on writers/comedians/artists who not only overcame but became national Icons of art and culture precisely (bar for Robert Hughes)because of the dreariness and desolation of the Australian suburb. They escaped but used the experiences in ways that enthralled millions around the world for decades. There is nothing like a mirror being held up in front of us.!

http://www.theguardian.com/world/australia-culture-blog/2014/sep/17/brilliant-creatures-germaine-clive-barry-and-bob-review

It must seem like typical responses from the incorrigible Jerimiah Jacobson to finally have escaped England and rejoice in the sun and warmth that greeted Howard Jacobson in 1965 after sailing into sunny Sydney harbour. The gleaming whiteness of the Opera house a cheerful greeting card. He visible recoiled when ruminating over the dreariness and greyness of England’s skies heavy with sombre souls of past leaden Lords and hollowed out Timothy Thatchers. The cricket score on a Sunday afternoon, as exciting it could ever get. Waiting for the dreaded mid-night knock on the door. What Howard took delight in, the four giants of Australia’s own suburban making, escaped and flocked to Earls Court and at roughly the same time.

It just proves that changing and escaping from something might be an essential part of coming into one’s own. Even so, I do think that our architectural domestic way of housing ourselves leaves much to be desired. The fenced off and utterly lonely environment, the strips of bitumen snaking mile after simmering mile. Not a soul to be seen. Just metal boxes on endless journeys, but whereto and why? A Sunday afternoon, a solitary figure perched on a ladder clearing his guttering from errant leaves. I am surprised that young people can survive all that.

After every domestic murder, the usual responses; “Oh, such a lovely family amongst a close-knit community. We sometimes saw then and even said hello”! In the meantime some young people go to Syria and fight to get killed.

Dear Jesus!

September 15, 2014

Snail-eating in Spain or Phar Lap’s heart viewing in Australia?

September 14, 2014

imagesSCV0MAAY

Yes, that Rick Stein’s on TV showing his food show on mass snail eating in Spain really got me hungry, so I put on a large pork roast and barbequed it for two hours with lots of pumpkin and spuds. Loads of oregano. It was almost as nice as those snails in Spain. I got a bottle of Penfold’s, St Henri Shiraz for father’s day, a 2006 number which we will keep for our diamond wedding anniversary. Does anyone remember the date we got married?

Only the unadulterated happiness of the Spanish people could get 12 000 together in a mass snail eating event. Something like 12 tons of snails were consumed with lots of garlic, laughter and copious amounts of wine in between. I could not imagine anything like that happening here in Australia. True, since last week they have discovered new bits of Phar Lap’s heart kept for decades at another museum. I believe there are now queues of people lining up to see this special jar with his pickled heart now complete. I doubt though we could muster twelve thousand people together eating Big Ben pies or those delicious Lamingtons.

For those who are ignorant about our proud heritage, Phar Lap was a horse that could outrun all other horses. He was a true champion and regarded as one of our Icons not unlike the Big Banana in Northern New South Wales or the Big Merino cement sheep in Goulburn.

The big banana

Was it our previous PM John Howard, who insisted newcomers to this country had to know some of our glorious history including the weight of Phar Lap’s heart and able to recite a poem in reverence to his galloping stride? I have a gnawing doubt; Was it to do with cricket scores or something else instead?

Milo

Milo

Our own little Icon is Milo. His only demand on us is accepting his total disregard for any order or expecting obedience. He insists on total obstinacy as his right and refuses to do as asked. In fact, he delights in the opposite. We now try and trick him by asking the opposite but I am sure he will soon discover the answer and do a double disobedience in reverse. ;)

So, we are getting ready to travel to Venice and Milo once more will have to accept the care of the Dog Kennel. He gets his alpaca home knitted cushion while we are away. I think he knows we do care. He gets his chicken neck and that’s the main thing.

photo 2


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 336 other followers