Secular Australia Now!

Prometheus Medallion^

I don't usually write political posts.  People who know me know that I avoid getting involved in politics if I can at all help it.

There's a number of reasons for this.  In part it's an acknowledgement of ignorance - I'm not very familiar with political matters and as I don't have any particular desire to delve deeply enough into that quagmire to feel I have the right to comment, I simply by and large don't.

I do, however, have some extremely firm views about certain subjects.  And, so, I'm writing a quasi-political post right now.

This is part of my argument for a review of the secular nature of Australia and its government.  Read on if you want to see more.

The Seduction of Solitude

Solitude, Charles S. Pearce, 1889

Sometimes I'm in a real people-mood.  Sometimes the only thing I really want to do is throw myself into the deep end and mingle, talk, chat, laugh, hug.

This isn't one of those times.

This is one of the other times, one of those moments when I wonder if I really do have any business interacting with other people - those outside an extremely select few.

How do we get to this?  How do we manage to wrap ourselves into knots?

I can't ever finish this sentence properly.

My mind is awhirl with self-doubt and questions.  I can't think straight.  I hurt from so many emotional wounds and yet I can't let myself wallow for long, will not give into the seduction of solitude.

Anyone who's been in this mindset knows what that is.  For those of you lucky enough not to, I'll endeavour to explain.

The seduction of solitude is that urge that makes you want to retreat from the rest of the world.  It's the part of you that wonders if the outside world isn't a place you should be in.  It's the urge in the back of your head that says, when you look at the door, 'There's nothing worth bothering with out there.'

We know it's not true, of course... most of the time.  Reclusive people give in to it.  Almost everyone gives in to it some times.  Hermits give in completely.

I want to give in to it right now.

But I won't.


It's getting harder and harder to resist as I get older.  Some days it feels like there'd be nothing better than to collect together those few people I always want around me and stick just to them, to ignore the outside world entirely.  It's one step away from a much darker thought that I'm not going to allow myself.

Why am I even bothering to blog this?  Blogs are supposed to be about interesting things.

Musing: Menopause Double-Standards

Something I've hated for a very long time now is the double-standard. Of all social injustices the double-standard seems the most prevalent, most often excused, most insidious.

I also consider it to be one of the most damaging, not only for its immediate effects but also for how dreadfully easy it is to fall into this nasty little trap.

One that has been on my mind recently involves menopause... sort of.

God is Not Heterosexual

Recently I posted a Facebook update. It was the same as the title of this blog post, but in all caps.

God is not heterosexual.

I got a variety of responses ranging from clever to honest to humorous, and mentioned that I'd post a response when I was feeling less ranty.

This is that response... And it's not very rantless.

Rachel Claus is coming to town...

Yes, you read that rightly. Rachel is coming!!

For those of you who don't know she's a lovely woman from Maine in the US of A (also known as 'America' - it's a big continent in the northern hemisphere somewhat to the east of Japan, if you're wondering). We've been friends with her for some considerable time, now, but as we met online we've never actually seen her face to face.

On Friday morning that changes.

She'll be staying for just under a week - not long for an international trip, I know, but there you go - so we'll be offline for most of that week trying to stuff as much Australia into her as we can. There will be meat pies; there will be kangaroos.

Disturbed and Confused

Part of the famous 'bikini girls' mosaic
found in the ancient Roman villa
unearthed near Piazza Armerina, Sicily

I want this said right up front: I'm not a prude.  In fact it would be very easy, and possibly very accurate, to claim that of the many things I am most certainly not, a prude is one of them.  But you don't need to be a prude, or narrow-minded, to get your hackles raised about the subject of this post.

A friend has linked me a post on the feminist blog, Jezebel.  I don't follow it myself.  She's a fashion designer, and one that I admire, which is saying something.  I'm really not a fan of most fashions, for various reasons, and frankly this is one of them.  When you get people all striving to look pretty, to stand out in ways that carefully remain within the acceptable parameters of their culture (or subculture), you get more and more extreme stuff.  With adult fashion that's not necessarily a problem, though it can be both amusing and annoying - actually, some adult fashion I really like - but we're not talking adult fashion here.

What are we talking about?  Padded bikinis for eight year olds.

In Memorandum

Rest in peace, Nan.

Lest we forget.

Musing: Are We Killing Ourselves?

I was listening to a song today, feeling myself slip inexorably toward a grief-stricken, depressive slump, when something occurred to me. With all intent of soaking a bit of my depression away I went and ran a bath, thinking about the emotional stress in my current frame of mind as well as my method of alleviating that stress, and I suddenly wondered:

Are we killing ourselves?

Don't Give Up

Damn it all, Brian.

We love you.

The Brink..?

Sometimes I think I'm right on the narrow cliff-edge of madness.

Oooh, heavy subject matter!  Still.  Sometimes I do wonder, somewhat, if I could just take a step sideways and end up in someone's fevered dream-world - maybe mine, maybe someone else's.

And before I go on I'm not trying to insult anyone or downplay the tragedy of people who suffer some kind of mental illness (a category I fit into currently).  I'm just rambling.

Thoughts, tumbling out too fast, too rich, too pure, like vomiting up the flesh of angels into a bowl made of dreams.

Mmm.  Bowl.

Gamer Blues (1/??)

Well...  Meh.

You've probably already gathered that the topic of this post isn't a foray into game-related Pantone® discussion.  Indeed it is not.  Instead it's possibly related to a combination of other topics I regularly go on about (though as this is the fourth post in this blog I don't 'regularly go on about' anything here, yet).

The core of the matter is a certain sense of ennui that I think a lot of gamers get.  But before we go further let's go through a few quick definitions.

BathPost: Inspiration

Got any idea where I am? I'll give you a clue: the answer is 'in the bath'.

Yep, I'm duckying it up, though I have no ducky, typing on my iPhone 4 which is currently protected by a snap-lock waterproof sandwich bag. Whoever said waterproofing had to be expensive?

A Review: Sex At Dawn

Sex At Dawn: the prehistoric origins of modern sexuality

Sex at Dawn (Ryan & Jethá)

Author/s: Christopher Ryan & Cacilda Jethá
ISBN: 978-1-921640-59-9
Pub.: 2010 by Harper-Collins (Scribe Publications in Australia)

Synopsis: A treatise on the controversial topic of prehistoric sexuality, influences that may have shaped human sexuality, cultures that display similar sexual practices today, and what all of this may mean for us.

Welcome to the Dream

Welcome to my blog.  It's, well, a blog.

I have many, now, most of them floating and abandoned in the internet's wide expanse, but this one is the one I'm... currently using.

So I suppose I should make some kind of introduction of myself, as this is supposed to be my introduction post. But first I think I'll lay some advice down on the table.

After this 'Read more...' cut, that is.