Mentalechoes

This week I came down pretty hard with man flu, which is regular flu caught by a man that leads to constant and nonstop complaining about how he is likely to die at any moment because he feels so bad. Women seem largely immune to man flu as they (mostly) suffer with dignity and just get on with it. However I’ve become aware of many more flu strains the last few days thanks largely to the scare mongering Australian press with their American style over-hype reportage.

The newspapers from my home are particularly skilled at weaving nasty sounding medical acronyms like H5N1 (avian flu) into doomsday scenario headlines containing words like pandemic. Now drop that on a mainstream population that doesn’t really know how to critically evaluate new sources and challenge the information for validity, and what you end up with is a slightly panicked and scared population. The point gets even more rammed home when I talked this morning to my mother on Skype and hear them talking about cow flu of all things, a purportedly more insidious strain of flu that *really* makes you sick.

Seriously I wonder where this crap will end? Worse for me, I really don’t know who to blame; is it the media journalists for writing all this biased sensationalist rubbish in the first place, or is it the irresponsible news consumers for not making even a modicum of effort to critically review what they are reading and taking at face value? All this wouldn’t be so bad except that where there is general population fear, there is somebody selling a cure and making a profit. Michael Moore in his documentary Fahrenheit 911 deftly illustrated the point when he showed how the sale of ridiculous personal safety equipment skyrocketed with each and every media campaign that declared the state of the nations terror level. In the case of Australia there of course is the marketing of flu vaccines to help save people from the evils of bird/swine/cow flu. Which if you look into with even a small amount of research will show a large body of evidence that suggests these vaccines simply don’t work because of the mutation that each flu virus undergoes when passed from host to host, until you get to a point where the virus is a different strain from what you have been inoculated against. However if you follow the trail of money eventually it will end up somewhere in a big pile, and someone or some corporation more than likely is sitting on top of it.

So at this point you could suggest a conspiracy of some sort that this is all manufactured at some top level, but I think that would be by and large, over the top. Human nature being what it is, there is simply no way to effectively organise even a moderately large group of people to serve one general purpose unless you are an outright communist country with a singular leader. No, I think it’s more likely that there are just clever individuals who know how to exploit a particular situation for their own personal or corporate gain by using (and manipulating) the social conditions that already exist.

For example, Australian journalists will always write sensationalist news because most news readers are so used to being shocked that if they aren’t they tend to lose interest quickly in such reportage. This particular style of reportage then creates a situation of fear in the readers, which creates a desire for protection from the scenario that is threatening them. Somebody identifies this desire for protection and translates it into a product that can be commercially produced and sold. This product is then made available and of course the masses follow suit and purchase the product, which in terms buys them peace of mind. There is a low level of social engineering involved, but in this example I would hardly call it organised. There are examples that can be made that show how organisations make very effective use of social marketing as one facet of social engineering to control a population, but that’s for another day. The point here is that the mainstream create this situation for themselves by simply going with the flow, rather than asking some questions that would prove all the fear wrong.

So after 5 days my man flu is tailing out, I’ve been nursing myself with Vick’s Vaporub, dis-solvable paracetamol and vitamin C, and old fashioned bed rest. I’ve complained and whinged, but I knew that I’d recover and that it wasn’t life threatening and didn’t require any cocktail of expensive vaccines to protect myself from. If I’d have listened to the Australian news I probably would have been in fear for my life, but fortunately I don’t do that. I really don’t know why anyone does? Mainstream news is swill and should be treated as such.

Perhaps all this anger is in part because I’ve sick for the last 5 days and I just want to be done with it; the recovery always taking longer than I want. But also because of the stupidity of a system that uses an ordinary sickness to create fear and profit in people that simply let it happen. Each of us can influence this directly by very simply not buying into the fear, and not supporting the fear mongers.

Now wouldn’t that be a world worth living in!

Andy.

One of the greatest moments in the history of 80’s cinema was the crane kick finale scene of The Karate Kid. It’s quite simply the most amazingly foolhardy move ever attempted in a desperate gambit against all the odds. The thing is, if this had’ve been a real life moment, Daniel Caruso (played by Ralph Machio) would have ended up getting beaten senseless then kicked into next Tuesday.

I personally have a kinship with Daniel in this movie because when I was his age, I was going to full contact karate 3 days a week, and I was about his size as well. One grading I had to fight a bigger, tougher, more experienced fighter and, pumped up on the belief that anything was possible after seeing Daniel dispatch the bad guy, I  BELIEVED I could win. Well the referee said fight, and the next thing I was on the ground with my ears ringing and blurred vision. Some people rushed over and one guy said, “holy shit kid, I bet that hurt, you didn’t even see that kick comin, huh?!

Not really, no.

Modern storytelling mediums of film and TV have refined an art form as old humanity itself and created a powerful force of illusion that captivates the individual. In some sense I think this heightened sense of illusion has created an even greater sense of hope for those of us who watched a story and believed in it. The most blatant example of this that I’ve seen just recently was when I watched Avatar (IMAX 3D) and fell so hard for the Na’vi that I wanted them to win with a ferocity of heart that would have equaled any warrior on the back of an ikran. Of course it was really a foregone conclusion that the good blue guys were going to win, if they hadn’t I’m pretty sure people would have torn out their seats and threw them through the screen in defiant frustration. However even knowing that up front, when they did win everybody was filled with a profound sense of justice that they carried with them long after the end credits rolled up.

Within all of us we have instilled a strong sense of hope given to us from our birthright of storytelling heritage. Hope is as necessary to life as oxygen, without it a person will wither and die. But hope is something that we learn as much as a belief in our heart; the more powerful the illusion, the more powerful the hope it generates.

This is why movies like The Karate Kid (the 1984 original that is) have a magic about them that drives deep into our psyche; we wanted Daniel to win, even though we knew he absolutely shouldn’t. So when the dramatic music rose and he went into the crane stance our hearts rose in hope, and the final kick delivered us righteousness.

The illusion was complete, and we were better people for it.

Andy.

The old photograph collection I have from the years of my 30’s has been buried in the back of a cupboard at the back of my flat for a time longer than I can remember. They never came out at all in the last few years, and I’d really forgotten that the albums filled with at a thousand glossy paper memories existed until this weekend when I undertook a massive flat wide clean up. As I pulled the volumes out of the dark and into the light of day I flipped through the pages all filled back to back with frozen moments and brought forward to consciousness a flood of experiences I had given up.

It was a profound feeling; surreal in the blur of emotions that whirred through heart with each turn of the plastic holders. I looked at the pictures of the younger me, surrounded by the younger people I knew, some of them still in my life, others gone like last summers sun shine, and remembered.

I was a different person back then, happier, more carefree, yet always intense and chasing something deeper and constantly moving. Many of the pictures showed me now what I had failed to see back then too; that there were people with a deep feeling for me, that went beyond what words they would say.

Looking back I could see me then and look at a person that was free from the realities that were to come, but also see a person who constantly doubted everything that he saw around him and felt like he had to push forward onto something else that he could barely understand; a future free from doubt.

It led to this place here and now.

I guess the thing for me is that the photos showed that the people we are and were are not separate, but the same, we simply choose to forget or ignore those sides of ourselves that time moves into the background, but they are not ever truly lost. Our essential self can always change and modify as we grow with time, but we never have to leave behind the best parts of ourselves that we want the most. It seems as we get older the pressure of life always makes us feel that things get harder, but I think that’s just how we interpret changing responsibilities, and that our position becomes one where more is at stake with each decision we take.

Looking through those pics I was reminded of some important things, and for me at least, it has made a positive change in remembering the good things about the life I was given. And also, to do something I’ve forgotten to do that is important.

The next 10 years deserves those lessons.

Andy.

In the years that have passed living here in Europe there was an inexorable motion that I’ve only recently become aware of, you start off as a foreigner and then end up something else, something in between. It’s something every foreigner is aware of, no matter how long they live in an adopted country, you will never be from that country or that culture, you are part of a class that always sits on the fringes of integration. For some expats the separation is more pronounced, the colour of your skin for instance, for many it’s the heavily accented way they will always speak the language. Some are lucky and can overcome these physical traits and move closer to the heart of a culture, but in most cases the best you can achieve is three steps on the inside ring.

There is a time of change though for those expats that stay somewhere beyond the first couple of years, and really start to grows roots into the place they’ve chosen as home. You start to blend in, and feel yourself becoming part of the place, a blanket of comfort covers your day to day existence, and you feel easy. But, you never are allowed to forget that you don’t come from this place. It is not your culture and it never will be.

I read a book many years written by a man called John Fowles called, The Magus. It’s about the dramatic life experience of a young English man who takes a teaching position on one of the Greek islands. The story is quite involved so I won’t relate it here, suffice to say that for anyone that has spent any time of their life as an expatriate, they should read it for empathy that is inside. Fowles said through his protagonist that once a person takes themselves out of their own environment and moves away, they will recreate that environment where ever they are. And so home becomes a space between a set of walls that imitates their cultural identity, independent of the country they are in.

It’s an interesting concept when you really start to think about it.

Andy.

I’ve been away home now around 13 years. It almost seems like another life time when I try to remember what it was like. Home for me was Brisbane, that nice big country town about two thirds of the way down the east coast of Australia. Lovely place really, but at the time it seemed very small, and I couldn’t wait to get out.

The first move I made was London, where I spent just under two years living and using as a base before moving to Amsterdam, where I’ve been ever since. I remember those first two years as a very big time of discovery, both personally and geographically. I roamed England and other parts of the world out of an obsession and love for travelling.

My move to Amsterdam though became something more than just a travel trip, it was a move to a place that I would settle and call home. I grew to love the city and it’s people and the lifestyle that I had here. Each year I would say to myself I would only stay here a year, and then at the end of the year I wouldn’t want to go anywhere else. And now after a decade I feel more Amsterdams than I do Australian.

It’s funny though, I haven’t lost the accent from Australia at all. None of us really do I think, once you have it, it stays with you for life, like a criminal record that never goes away, not even after 200 years of colonial rule. But after that there isn’t much inside of me that’s still dinky-di true blue Oz. Most of my core attitudes have changed, and the association I had with the community of people from there is feeling very thin.

After a time you start to ask yourself, who am I?

Ten years ago if someone had of asked me, would there ever come a time when I wouldn’t feel like an Australian, I would have said they were fucking crazy. After all, I was an Australian’s Australian; I loved my Friday night (Rugby League) footy on TV, and honest Aussie rock. I loved driving down the South Coast road to Brunswick Heads to the Stone Ground Pie Factory and chowing down on a meat pie with peas or three. But now, ever so slowly, everything seems to have changed, and after so long away, I no longer feel like the Australian I was before.

Andy.

The internet is here to stay, and that means so are MMO’s (MMORPG’s, MUSH’s, MUD’s, and any other M*&^’s you can think of). You’d think then that with the internet being as mainstream as electricity and shampoo that everyone would know about MMO’s. Right?!

Wrong!

Just the other day I was chatting with a really close friend – who just happens to be a girl, but which shouldn’t be an indicator that I’m about to say something sexist – about World of Warcraft. I was telling her that my troll hunter spoke with a Caribbean accent and had three fingers, which for some reason caused her to break out into hysterical laughter. I was a bit baffled by this to be honest, because my troll hunter (who just celebrated his 5th birthday yesterday – yes WoW turned 5) has always had an accent that makes women melt, and only three fingers ever since he was born (generated).

So I took it upon myself to educate the young lady about the vast and untameable virtual worlds that occupy vast spaces on the internet. Their history spanning back to the dawn of the network digital age, and their breadth extending across the globe to all corners of the real world. MMO’s were the first addiction digital addiction of the true gamer geek, and shall be the last. They shall stand the test of time and always be with us. You could almost argue that MMO’s are the one true purpose of the internet. After all, the perpetuation of MMO’s has spurred the development of virtual realities; virtual realities are the purpose of the internet. Worlds within worlds; realities within realities; mirror images of mirrors.

Very eloquent stuff, but she didn’t get any of it. In fact she started yawning at the half way point, and then got up and walked away at the end. Needless to say it totally went over her head, and she forgot about my troll, his accent, and how many fingers he had, like so much useless yesterdays news.

Really it showed me that being a gamer geek is really like having a special set of genes that make you that kind of person, just like for being tall, or asian, or a midget. If you have the gamer gene, you’ll get it. If you don’t, then about all you’ll get is bored, and frustrated at the weird person who won’t shut up about his troll.

Which makes me wonder why some geneticist doesn’t go look for it, and then offer it in a box of pills for money.

“Do you suck at gaming? Need to impress a boyfriend who leads a double life as a troll? Then buy IGOTGAME capsules and show them you’re not a totally pussy!”

I should do marketing for a job!

Andy.

These days I’m becoming increasingly more frustrated with email as a communication tool. My inbox and related subfolders are absolutely FULL of stuff that isn’t spam, but which I’m starting to consider spam. Things like emails from social networks that you might have signed up for long ago but don’t use anymore, and no matter how many times you try to unsubscribe they still email you, and I still don’t mark them as spam. Then there is the torrent of emails coming in from all the social networks and various entertainment, online shopping, reference, ridiculous, why-was-that-interesting sites that I registered to over the course of the past five years. All their marketing shit comes in, and my filters just can’t keep up, so consequently it ends up in my inbox. It’s not really spam because they’re online services I do technically use, and some of them I even willingly signed on for newsletter updates, but it just never ends.

Now the few emails I get from friends, who have all moved over to Facebook and Twitter for keeping in touch and sending out updates, all get lost in this other stream of spam-but-not-spam. I could spend the next two weeks diligently putting in new filters to move all the crap stuff to folders where I won’t have to look at it, but then now matter how diligent I am, it’s really fighting a losing a battle; or trying to empty water from a boat that’s leaking like a sieve.

What to do?

I’m considering giving up on email entirely. After all, nearly all of the friends that I communicate with have moved to either Twitter or Facebook. The ones that don’t write regularly (some of them with the frequency of a corpse) still use email. I could cut my losses and just never talk to these people again, but then, I do like some of these people quite a lot and it would be a terrible thing – much like clubbing a baby seal to death – to just abandon them because they don’t fit my communication profile anymore.

Having said that, my gmail account, which is a clearing house for around 15 different email addresses is just one big junk box with a sparse few emails that I think are worthwhile and make me happy to read. It’s insane that in this day and age of putting a robot tractor thingy on Mars that I can’t filter my email and make it work for me like it did 8 years ago. It seems the older email gets the more frustrating it gets, the more I wish I didn’t have to use it at all. I’ve been on Wave now for a couple of weeks and while it shows promise, it’s definitely not there yet for a communication tool, and when it is it will probably suffer from the same problem as email now.

No, this problem won’t go away until it’s solved; a lot like testicular cancer, and just about as painful. Maybe I too should make the jump completely over the fence to the Twitter/FB groupies and give up email altogether. I bet if I did that, then in a week I wouldn’t even miss email. Or maybe notice that I miss email. That seems just as likely. Maybe this isn’t even my problem to solve as I didn’t invent email, I just use it. Somebody else should be held accountable.

Well whoever is to blame, the fact remains that I hate email, and I the only reason I use it is because of hangers-on types that insist still on using it. So while I will continue to use email so as to not alienate them, doesn’t mean I like the sound of fingernails being dragged down the blackboard.

Andy.

I can’t work out if the fast moving weather outside is being influenced by my mood, or if my mood is being influenced by the fast moving weather. Every 20 minutes a cycle repeats itself starting with overcast rain that gives way to sunlight that returns to overcast rain. This reflects my own mood perfectly, so I feel a synergy with the wind, rain and sunlight that’s outside my computer room window.

I am reminded now more than any other time of my life how strong winds can mark the onset of storms that can be tragic and beautiful at the same time. However after a period of turmoil calm will always be returned.

Andy.

Sometimes it’s easy to lose yourself in the repetition of life; the comfortable turn of day-by-day existence for months on end that almost makes you feel like time is standing still. It’s like a cocoon that can give you an embrace of safety that on an unconscious level most of us want. You can almost believe that things won’t change.

Almost.

For me the slow turning of the season into autumn is a reminder of not only the quiet persistence of nature, but the nature of change.

Gradual and inevitable.

We may not notice the slow change of a life heavily sedated in repetition, but like the seasons that roll into each other with graceful obviousness, change does indeed come.

Sometimes it’s easy to hold onto the illusion that things will never change, and end up taking for granted all those things in life that should remain precious. I think we do this as a consequence of having memories that fade away over time;  no tumultuous emotional experience will remain so, with each turn of a day, a little bit of the pain is lost. And then one day you wake up and find out there is no pain, and there is almost no recollection.

And it’s not wrong, it’s simply the nature of change.

Andy.

I’ve never gotten along with my father; we’ve never understood each other and we’ve always been very different people. When I was 13 he left, and thus ended the time when we would be in each others lives on a day to day basis. He tried his best to maintain some semblance of parental control by enforcing a set of rules on my sister and I from outside our house, but as the first couple years passed and we got used to him not being there, his authoritarian grip quickly loosened, and eventually was removed.  From then on my father became someone that I was related to, but not someone I would know anymore than an acquaintance.

However the older I get in this age of my life, the more I come to realise the things that he had to face and better understand what kind of choices he had in front of him. I still find that I don’t agree with the things that he did, but at least I feel I can appreciate what his circumstances were and how he could have taken the forks in the road that he did. I also feel I understand why he had such problems relating to his own father, and why they spent nearly a decade not talking to each other.

Funny how history repeats itself.

Andy.