Missing in inaction


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Well I know I missed last Friday and I am sorry if you were expecting a ‘call’ that never arrived but I was busy filling in for my youngest in an emergency capacity which required being in Adelaide. By the way this also gave me an opportunity to try an Air B&B experience for the first time and I do have to say it was a happy one. Selection was fairly straight forward although I was a bit worried for a moment that I had booked two places but that was eventually sorted. After a 12 hour drive (should’ve relied on Google Maps and not my memory) I arrived to a slightly nervous owner who, like me, was a newbie to this game but by the time I had been shown my room and private bathroom, had the plasma tv operation explained, asked if I could operate an espresso coffee machine and shown my breakfast allocation I was more than happy. It was but a hop skip and a jump to the Adelaide Show Grounds where my three day activity was to take place and all was within a simple drive. If I could find a place like this for the price that I paid there is no way, if I had my own business that I would book a hotel, there is simply no point in spending three or even four times what I paid for a place to wash and sleep and have a light brekkie. For a person with a startup business I think this has to be to go but a word of advice, don’t pay bottom dollar because you always get what you pay for.

But the weekend was not going to be easy because my only grandson left us to go to his dad in America for a holiday and from there to Dubai where her will return to his mum, my eldest, and make a new life for themselves. I gave him a kiss before he went and he was very cognisant of what was happening but hey, if going to Hawaii, South Carolina, Paris and then Dubai was on offer looking miserable was never going to be easy for the little chap. Now the house is so much quieter, not riffled with “Hey Grandpa” questions about the meaning of life and everything (mainly to do with fishing but then he can find a life-message and offer a Fishing parable to prove the point at the drop of a hat. Statements like ‘Grandpa, are sharks angry and if they are could we reduce attacks on surfers by making them happy?) Try working that out in 20 seconds or less! Those constant like thought bubbles no longer pop around our house and we are all the poorer for it. So I missed his departure and then it was the turn of my eldest and after working all day Sunday I thought I would see if I could surprise her and get to the airport to give her a departing cuddle. At about 3.30 in the morning I had one of those sudden moment where you cannot be positive that you didn’t, just for a second, nod off and that was my cue to stop and have a nap. I got out of the car and had a stretch and looked up into the night sky. There above was a carpet of light with patches of brighter galaxies. In the Australian outback when away from cities and towns, if you are lucky enough to not have a moon or cloud the skyscape is a thing of true beauty and incomprehensible wonder. Getting your head around knowing that some of the light you are looking at comes from a star that has long since vanished makes one feel so very insignificant and temporary. But it also reminds you that as unimportant you may be to the cosmos, on an earthly scale you have the privileged of both creating and protecting this remarkable marble. As Australia still continues to mine filthy coal because it is cheap and decry the reusable energy forum while the barrier reef is cooking like the frog in boiling water story, it proves that we are just as greedy as the rest of the world and my grandson will sadly pay the price within his lifetime. I have run my race and had my opportunities but I still have a clear mind, time on my hands to make myself a political nuisance and thus should get off my fat arse and see if we can stop the greed and bring humanism into the political and social limelight.

Ah well, Such is life. Until the next time, this is Brodie Goozée, and if you enjoyed this Blog, feel free to pass it or a link to a friend. Ooo Roo


Something Wiccan this way comes



or read….


I had the interesting privileged this week of talking with an Australian psychic on the Breakfast radio program I do with my colleague at RPPFM. Needless to say we went through all the obvious banter (which must drive her berserk but it comes with the territory) like can we have the lottery numbers and who is going to win in the third at Randwick on Saturday. These somewhat ignorant attempts at jest were parried with grace and conviviality and we eventually touched on the heart of the subject matter that this power was not sought, it was a part of her life from a time she would have been far to innocent to understand what was going on and over time she had taken on the mantle of Witch. By the way male witches are not Warlocks, they are Witches too; I know this because Google told me.

The program puttered along with the usual banter when we somehow got onto the issue of Art, something to do with a commission I had recently got. I am no ’artist’, I know little enough about the good ones, I have no artistic criticability other than ‘I like that or hate that’ but I love to study technique. This means there is a level of execution competence but a distinctive lack of imagination, well from my perspective at least. This was when we started to consider the role of spirituality in the creative process. Now I am an avowed atheist or maybe agnostic in the process of believing in any form of Superior Force, Being, God or Deity. Now the important word in that statement is Superior. I do believe in the Life Force, the chemical demand to reproduce and if possible adapt to remain strong and survive as a species, any species from a microbe to a Blue Whale and alien life too. So the concept of ‘Mother Earth’ has resonances for me in that I can feel and see the force of life in all things. The issue is I do not look at it as the ultimate Mum, I do not give it a gender, we all have ‘IT’ in equal measure to our species and it does not make any one species better than another. The Force is that of Survival and along the way Species have become interdependent; bees and flowers and birds, that sort of thing. Since the first cell divided on this hot rock there has been a continuous experiment going on, this trying that, adoption and adaptation. There are so many way things could have gone but as they say WYSIWYG. I have to believe that no matter what forces in any measure are unleashed by mankind or natural disaster life will continue in some form, it has managed to survive such a vast range of climate conditions over the last billions of years, unless we succeed in splitting the planet, life will find a foothold and the experiment will continue. Like my artistic endeavours which are an exploration of try and fail in terms of technique, I do believe Life, probably not human life, will survive no matter what. The results are never right nor are they wrong they are just another marriage of thought connecting with deed.

So my spiritual harmonic lies, probably in the Wicca space maybe with a bit of Buddhist but where they all fail is in the ‘humanisation’ for explanatory reasons and of course, that, for me, enigma of a God, Mother, Devil (a relatively recent phenomenon, verbally that is) Father etc is where the idea of spirituality falls down. I have hugged a tree before I have cut it down, I admit it. I am aware that the tree is doing its best to live with every cell in its trunk and canopy and I am about to prevent that life energy from continuing. Its not the tree though that stirs something within me, it is the demanding cellular power that forces the cell combination to just keep going.

Like tantric sex (so I am led to believe) is often a non-spoken connection of feelings, the harmonic intertwining of the senses through all the organs, there is no need for description, for humanising the experience so it can be explained, it happens, it is felt, it is enjoyed and it ends. Left unexplained but felt, using the smallest of pallets to paint the picture of the idea of spirituality, maybe that is my little bit if Wicc-ard-ness.

Ah well, Such is life. Until the next time, this is Brodie Goozée, and if you enjoyed this feel free to pass it or the link on.


Captain fires Captain


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Well I for one would like to offer my sincere regrets at the firing of the Captain that has been faithfully flying Mr Trump and his entourage around and showing to the masses just what they can all achieve with a little bit of effort and a great many lawyers. He is, of course, not trained for Airforce 1 and so is now surplus to requirements. I gather he was ‘let go’ via a tweet but with one last duty, that being to fly the thing to the plane bone-yard and hitch a ride back in the back of an indigenous Navaho’s truck. He was, of course, not alone in praying that his boss would fail in his bid to become part of the world’s laughing stock of leaders like Putin, Duterte, and Theresa May. In so doing he knew he was to be eliminated from the ranks of the employed because he is under a 463 page employment agreement forbidding him to ever talk to another human being let alone work for an airline. Mind you, saying “Good morning, this is President’s Trumps ex captain flying you this morning on a short hop to Crapsville Tennessee,” might end in a mid air disaster worthy of the TV series Air Crash investigations. “It was eventually found that the Captain had had his throat cut with a plastic knife courtesy of woman in business class who was aggrieved at the political outcome of the election. Next week, we ask ‘how did President Trump get the installation of a round waterbed into Airforce 1 through the FAA.” Nope the poor ol’ Captain is on the beach until either Trump is shot, is impeached or 4-8 years are up. With no Obarmacare to look after him and assist in him getting over his complete loss of self worth and value to the community, he may well take the easy way out in a winged suit from the top of Trump Towers.

Of course he might wake up to the fact that the 6 million Mexicans that are in need to deporting could be another potential use for the Trump jet although a paint job would be on the cards. The only trouble with that is the return flight would be empty with very little freight opportunities either so unless the government pays for a return ticket the economics do not bode well. Perhaps some of the old TV contestants could give him some advice, probono of course. Either way Airforce 1 is up for a facelift if Mrs Trump has her say and her interior designer from Slovenia gets his hands on things. I hope they have a seat out of the way for their son, what they put him through the other night needs to be looked at by The Hague, it was torture by TV. Those looks of worry, the need to pick his nose and not do it then try to do it without the cameras noticing was a clear state of panic about the man who was doing all the talking. Who was he? He wasn’t his father that’s for sure I mean his father has never said a conciliatory thing in his life and yet, there he was saying how he admired his adversary when just that morning he was promising to put her in front of a firing squad picked from the North Carolina Local Militia who he was going to charge a grand each for the privilege! The little man needs a shrink and soon, he needs to be prep’d for what lies ahead with how to air-kiss being the first thing on the agenda but I guess his siblings can get him up tp speed with that skill. Still it is going to bugger up his prom when all he will really want to do is do as his Dad did and grab his dance partner by her cat which seems odd to the poor fellow but it sounded very Presidential. Did he have to give her a cat instead of the corsage which he thought was the go at such posh events. Anyway time enough for that, all he want in his cabin is a kick-arse plasma screen and an infinite selection of Apps. Someone is going to need to find one that involves a football so he can help out his old man that’s for sure.

Ah well, Such is life. Until the next time, this is Brodie Goozée.

The Election Eclipes


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Welcome. Well as we reach the political eclipse that will put the whole world into darkness for a while, possibly a long while if there is no definitive outcome, what has the World learned. Is the Americanised version of the concept of Democracy now so paralysed by money, graft coercion, and the use of local Laws to make the ordinary everyday folk so disenfranchised that they would accept an Alien as their leader if it would make the country work properly and simply. America, the dream of those oppressed through war, persecution or famine was the open door to those willing to give it a fair go as we say in Oz, to carve out the best opportunities they could with the talents they had and fulfilling the dream of securing an education for their children, a roof over their heads, have food on their plates and to live in peace. Now the God is Greed. It is my lifetime, our generation that cultivated the expectation of excess and abandoned the moral compass that had been our guide for millennia. Even religion has become entertainment and with it the trappings of hyper-wealth like private planes, mansions and mega-yachts and Popemobiles. America has become the symbol of excess in its behaviour, its arrogance, its use of power throughout every strata of society from Street Gangs to wannbe Presidents. Why is America now surprised that it is despised? The image it portrays through its social organs of media, music, fashion, ideas, behaviour are so incongruous to almost all of the world, they are so bizarre, so lacking in any idea of empathy, gentleness, that the hedonism of that collective picture is what Lucas saw as ‘The Dark Side’. It is addictive because good is so boring, simple is so sexless, enough is so average, so vanilla. Excess is so seductive because there is no limit; power and influence bought, not earned is a veneer upon which the parasites voraciously feed until the host is sucked dry and abandoned. But, there will always be that 15 minutes and 15 minutes might just be enough of an egg-sack to give purpose and meaning to an otherwise boring life.

Thankfully though America is not all like that, there is still a backbone where ambition is not about personal wealth but where a simple life or at least a life that is balanced is the sole purpose for existing. These American are not limited to any one place, they exist well in both the cities and the country. They look at their own portrayal and shake their heads as a wonderful tale this week showed us. An entire town had no idea at all about the up and coming election; they were to a man, woman and child oblivious to the catfight for their Leader. When shown what had been taking place on a tablet, the device was thrown to the ground as if it owned demonic powers. It unsettled, hurt and aggrieved the people of this little place. They were happy in their world untainted by the God known as Greed. They didn’t need most of what the Marketers proffered, they had the food, the school, the roof and most of all the inter-reliance and comfort knowing their neighbour would help without question, without judgement. But then you have the 300,000 Amish who live a simple life too without the trappings of modern life. Their trappings are horse drawn and they have a patriarchal code of life where females are submissive and clearly have no place being a President. Ignorance of the world and the way it is changing is no shield, ignorance is as much an evil as greed but the educated, the learned have the tools to say ‘no’ and understand why. They also have the competence to stand up to dogma, see through propaganda and change the world for the better. As America heads toward Thanksgiving rather thanking their God for what they have, asking their God what can be done with the have-nots would be much more of challenging question. Maybe out of this madness we call an Election will come a new Lincoln, a leader who can touch the hearts and not the wallets of a once-great nation but in the meantime we will live in the shadow a country that has lost its majesty, its portrayal of goodness and resolve and hope whoever wins does not cock it up for all of us.

Such is life. Until the next time, this is Brodie Goozée.


Power Play

Listen here…. Or…Read on McDuff Welcome, Sorry I missed last week’s musing, I was laid out by man-flu which meant that I slept a great deal and felt so utterly miserable and sorry for m…

Power Play


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Or…Read on McDuff


Sorry I missed last week’s musing, I was laid out by man-flu which meant that I slept a great deal and felt so utterly miserable and sorry for myself that now, as it passeth from me, I feel fully ashamed of myself.  Curled up under the covers with Miso soup and tea to comfort me, my iPhone playing audio books while I slipped in and out of my ‘delirium’ and family staying away as far as possible just in case it turned out to be the plague.

The thing about being crook, not a crook you understand just the commonal garden Australian sick-type crook, is that you mind goes to some pretty weird places and your dreams take on some level of metamorphosis that would have Jung smiling and saying “No, not really, are you sure, well now that is something we should explore a little further don’t you think?”

For three days and three nights in my intellectual wilderness the common thread of my ‘dreamtime’, please don’t ask me why, was ‘how much wealth is enough and when does it lose its glory and become ugly, grotesque, ill-mannered, common, classless and distasteful.’  I looked at Trump, a man asking one of the most powerful and influential nations in our small planet to elect him as their Leader because he has made a great deal of money and this skill is supposed to have given him the mental ability to service the American People in all matters required to be the leader of that Nation.  I look at the artificial lips on the faces of his courtesans, the perfect hair, the, I have to assume, impossibly expensive clothes.  The air kisses, the ‘purchased’ elegance that is such a bad fit to the characters playing this terrible game, the belief that money gives you a wisdom of unique insights into understanding the global condition of Humanity.  I doesn’t though does it?  Of course Clinton is no innocent in these Stakes but right or wrong, she at least gives a whiff of matriarchal humanism to this cock-fight for supremacy.

Then, in the confused way of temperature induced imaginings, I look for someone I can say ‘look at (A), she/he was/is made of the right stuff, a leader of people, an impartial judge, a Solomon who would slice the child in two if that’s what it takes to be equal and fare.  You know what, I cannot see an untainted example through history.  One might just say that Gandhi came close but arguably only because he chose to live simply and that made him odd when placed beside the concept of what a leader should be. He was certainly not perfect and as guilty as the rest when it came to the real endgame, Power.

So, is it possible for people to become Powerful without wealth, without the ugliness of self-belief giving you Star status which in turn allows you the privilege of doing what you want when you want to do it?  It that the final frontier, the ability to do anything you want, no holds barred. Is it us that have set the bar that says ‘I may never be in a position to press the button but I sure want to know that I approve of the one who will, that is the power of my vote, his finger is a surrogate for mine’. Are we all so intellectually barren, so devoid of considered thinking, so petty in our imagination or sense of what Life means that we allow what is happening in America take place at all, let alone deliver an outcome.

Where oh where is there a unilateral thinker, untarnished by life, balanced and imperfect but shaped by honest mistakes rather than living by them.  Why are humans, with all its achievements in art, in thinking, in science and now with its ability to look into the world anywhere, any time on a portable device for clarification of what the Planet is experiencing, so revolting as an animal who has been given the privilege, along with every other form of life, to live in and care for this little place we call Earth.

Glad I’m feeling better, it was getting a bit weird there for a while but…

Such if life.  Until the next time this is Brodie Goozée

Australia has V.D. (Vernacular Disorder).

budgerigarListen here…



Language is a wonderful thing; the variety, the way sounds are made and their interpretive meaning is one of the wonders of the world.  As a tribal protective medium it works a treat insulating the tribe from those who would listen in, it only gets complicated when the tribe wants you to listen in.

Strine, the quasi-official English dialect spoken by Australians is not, in fact, a language at all, more a tourist ‘thing’ but there is some truth to the fact that the way we say things can, for the uninitiated ear, be a problem.  The ubiquitous ‘she’ll be right’ meaning everything will be just fine, hunky dory, ripper, or ‘no worries’ is indeed a pronouncement. In speech they are a natural expression suggesting that all is well with the world.  But when it appears in print, well that is when it takes on a completely different character. NO WORRIES is more a statement i.e. there are no worries here to be had, leave your worries outside if you please or a statement of fact that at the time of reading there is, in fact, nothing to concern yourself with.

So what are our international visitors to expect from the headline ‘Budgie Smugglers return home!’ a story that hit the tabloids this week.  You would have to assume a cartel of smugglers dealing in the illicit supply of yellow, green and blue budgerigars, probably to the English, have arrived back in Australia but that is not the case at all.

To understand this you need to visualise something.  Imagine a smallish dead bird, wings folded neatly over its back, beak tucked into its breast, head forward lying front down on a table.  Now over the stop of this stretch a piece of spandex or similar material so the shape of the bird protrudes from the fabric. It forms a sort of slope up the wings to a bulge at the end.  Now try to imagine that from a vertical viewpoint.  Remind you of anything? Think male bits and swimming costumes. Getting the idea now? That’s right, the front of a young buck wearing a pair of lycra tight swimming costume looks like a dead bird, the budgie bit, hidden in a stretch fabric pouch, the smuggler bit.  Ergo ‘budgie smugglers’ are a synonym for swimming costume.  Who would have thought.

Strine is full of such eclectic descriptors ‘dry as a dingo’s donga’ is another phrase that has to do with a male gender appendage.  It means thirsty but I have never taken a close look at a dingo’s donga so I cannot tell you from experience if their a peculiarly dry or not.  The point is that language is often more of an idea that a fact.  “Its pissing down’ does not have to inform you that we are talking about rain, you just get the idea, you get the picture.  When spoken it works, when written down it has a completely different character and can be very confusing.

Visitors who try to use slang in any country always end up looking stupid so trying to say ‘g’date mate’ will almost certainly make you come a gutser because you will not be able to come within cooee of the way it should be said and when it should be said.  It needs to be slow, soft almost with an almost silent ‘g’ and there are, phonetically speaking, at least to ‘a’s’ in ‘mate’…..’g’dai maate but never a pronounced ‘I’.

Rhyming slang percolated from the mouths of Cockneys in London, Frog and toad etc, why, who knows.  Why make something short and succinct like phone into dog-and-bone or stairs into apples and pears.  In print it makes no sense whatsoever ah, but spoken it enriches expression and adds colour and spice to the way we communicate.  There have been the bad periods in expression; the 70’s had the misfortunes of adding ‘but’ at the end of every sentence. “I’m staying home tonight but”.  It was horrible but no less ugly than the current ‘like’.  Everything is ‘like’ as if the English speaking world cannot find the descriptors it is seeking.  Sown throughout the spoken words,  it is a slang of no colour, no imagination.  It is empty of expression, meaningless like ‘but’. Give me ‘strine’ any day just don’t write it down.  Such is life, until the next time this is Brodie Goozée .