Jokes Letters


q: what do you call a bird that’s scared to fly?

a: a chicken

q: What do you call a cat that’s scared of flying?

a: a scardy cat… actually, just a cat. they just hate flying…



Today is the first day that pubs and haridresser’s open… literally, hair of the dog




I have been living in England for many years, and the unfortunate reality is that I could not attend my mother’s funeral today [in Melbourne, Australia].
I don’t know how to eulogise over a life.
Lives are grand and it becomes insufficient to surmise.
To love my mum is an understatement and never accurate.
The vast conflicting relationship I had with mum was of symphonic proportions with dynamics and dissonance intertwined with harmony and chord progression. A waltz with provocation and play. She was a hard masterpiece.
But there is no life without conflict, and be it anger or happiness, my mum had a way to be influential. It had seemed from an early age that I had differences with mum, but as I grew older, I saw such strong similarities.
At ten days old I was adopted, and according to mum’s tales, I was chosen outright without question by her. How fortunate is that?
I may not be of blood lineage, but the fact that with my family, mum never was anything else. She was mum.
She had her ideas. Her way of thinking. Her own pursuits. She persevered to accomplish a life she sort for. It is what made mum Marian, a force to recon with by a strong power of thought, progressiveness and association. She endured bitterness and family breakups. She had some opportunities that went a little way as they were restricted due to location and absence from the workforce.
Smart, intellectual and groundbreaking, mum had found foot-holes in cliff-faces of adversity. She made way for herself to pursue her spirituality and education, even after a life of domesticity and urban life.
She shocked, angered and disagreed. She laughed, toiled and traversed: she was true to herself. That is hard to be in life.
Whatever she believed in (and I *do know* what she believed in) there is always something reminiscent of her will that is extraordinarily powerful.
She remains one of the most influential people of my time. She challenged the status-quo, and I am grateful for her in sharing this with me. She had never taken a step back, instead she pursued many steps forward.
It comes with sadness that her thoughts are now gone. It comes in grief of her voice not being heard again to express those thoughts. It comes in relief that she is not in pain. It comes from gratitude that I remember her, but not her as she is to herself. That is gone forever.
Goodbye mum.


(for Marian Kirkwood, 1936 – 2018)


Sound vs music vs popularity

There is this compilation I am listening to that deals with all sorts of strange, atmospheric recordings. You can’t call it all music, as some of it is talking, scrapping, and just plain sounds.

But it is full of artists. So a compilation of artists is the best way to describe it.

I am thinking about each of them, producing something of their own. They get on a compilation CD, and they might have said to their family, or to their friends: “I am on this compilation! One of my pieces is on this compilation”. It makes me wonder about my own ambitions of past. The sneer an ex would suggest in a letter I was no good, as I dreamt of stupid stuff. Rock star stupid stuff. They were right, as I had known all along. I wasn’t interested in that rock star famous stuff; but these guys were what I cared to be. Something outside. An outlier. A person of some sort of interest.

I too could’ve said: “hey look. I am on a compilation”

I want to swim amongst this lot. Join in on their works and be a part of a society that has little interest in corporate business like places, but get into the depths of great sounds and soundscapes. Just to be an artist is what I actually would like to consider myself – let alone anyone else.

You get involved with sounds more than music, and that what music really is – an extension of sound. Something out in the outer regions of sound; a controlled sound, a set piece of soundscapes. I love it, and I got mixed up with artist and music.

I have to maker something worthwhile for me; my brain is seeing and answering the call. And yet it is also feeling weirded out by the extraordinary talent out there. These artists: the compilation composers. I love them!


No, I haven’t seen anything like this before. Obviously.

There is a persistence between anyone alive pretty much that somehow starts with an obvious: “have you ever seen anything like this before?” The question derives from the sheer scale of the COVID-19 pandemic, and everyone’s mind is racing to answer the futile correlation to what they see before them in media and what the governments of the world are declaring and what they have seen, experienced and lived through before. The obvious is that no one alive has EVER seen anything like this before.

Who could have? What was the last thing ever to resemble this? 1918 Spanish Flu (so we are told by historians)? No one alive has lived that experience, so the resounding “NO”: no one has EVER seen this before.

The doctors are coming out on TV and saying such things to us, and to their colleagues: “have you ever experienced such a thing before?” The 101 year old who survived COVID-19 could be the closest living being that has actually seen something similar, but he himself has NEVER seen anything like this before. World wars are more common in his experience.

It isn’t something that requires a response though, as it seems the question is rhetorical. The way the mind of everyone has answered: no, of course not. And yet it is something to ask anyway. A statement perhaps to reconcile anyone currently alive to make them aware that they are experiencing something no one else in the entire world has ever experienced. We are history. Children will have this to say to their grandchildren that the epidemic was something no one has ever seen since (assuming at this moment in time).

But could we see something like this again? I would think yes, as it seems that the COVID-19 isn’t going to say: “ok, ok, ok! You really don’t want me. I get it. I will leave ok?” It could just as easily be the next evolved being to command it’s environment as we have, if it gets (literally) to grips with its surroundings. Grow its own opposable thumbs, or something more unique. Who knows? Will we ever see anything like it? Doubt it.

But back to us ever seeing anything like this again, would be defiantly on the cards. And as unique as this current experience is, in no way doubt that this will be something normal. It will have the essence at least of being very careful about what we do next. Our next move so to speak.

The virus itself might not have seen anything like us before too.


The Rise of the Bookcase

The Rise of the Bookcase

Ever day now, news has carried out with vigorous measures in the need to update, inform and conduct interviews with the smarties of this world on the pandemic outbreak evolvement of COVID-19 (coronavirus, December 19). It is thrilled to have a continuing saga with no let up in daily, hourly, minutely timed additions that it can grab and expose.

Can you connect via video? Yes? Great. And lo, I like the way you have addressed this issue. You certainly are the one we want. Your expertise (since now you are on a national broadcast, you are hereby dubbed an expert – we knight you thus) comes in our need and therefore the need of others.

And you brought your bookcase with you…

Yes, the bookcases of the nation’s experts rise above their heads like hardback halos, and the presence of them shouts out even more: we are experts! Listen up, soldier! Attention!

The bookcase looms, and it is an omnipresence to the conscious, nervous-national who watches with wonder and grandeur. Kubrick monoliths. The apes gather around, and get a stick to pretend they know as well as these professerers. Trees live to give us these rights. A forest for the favourable.

How important this is subliminally dictated to us via your shelves. I love the colour-coded spines. The height adjustments you made looks like you took care in the presentation of the arrangement. Are you doing a literal version of High Fidelity? Replacing records with books? Good. We need your clarity now.

These guys are bunkered in their home – studies, lounges and backrooms – the Anderson bunker of the literate. Nice too. The shelves look expensive.

And they express concern, rapport detailed information that they have obtained (from the books behind you?). The reporter reports because they read. Don’t you get it? They are prolific readers, and the evidence is clear.

The mind expands a little later – will this rescue the books from the digital demon that has incarcerated it to the bygone-begone days? Amazon will now be inundated.

At least they can deliver.

It is the case of the bookcase; the inevitable backdrop, a blue screen that is actually there, and not dropped in via graphics. Or will you need to do that if you have no bookcase and want to be heard because you actually know stuff, but have no space for the shelves, or the wifi is bad in that room – because it is a reading room dummy?

Dummy? You know Gutenberg don’t you? J-Store? The stuff is all online, so get your kit up to speed, you luddite! And get a good Apple Mac computer, fully specced. And a headset so you are clear, and no ambiance present in the live stream. You need an AV guy there. Oh, right, you can’t get one due to lockdown. Never mind, we will still use you and your bookcase. It makes it better that you sound distant, acoustically: it adds a nice detail to your broadcast as we feel like you aren’t really a technological person because you have BOOKS!

Keep it analogue! The virus is.

The search is on for the next clever-dick to come up with accountable anecdotes, but needs a background to portray that instantly. Scream at us that they have been chosen because they are smart, and read a lot of stuff. It was fortuitous that the news broadcasters were well established using peoples own Skype accounts for the purpose of investigating since their fledgling reporters were dismissed ages ago. Despite their ropey connectivity which was a reflection on the terrible digital blight which analogue had actually remedied. And back full circle.

The books are back!