Salome Starfire

Just another WordPress.com site

White Noise

Version:1.0 StartHTML:0000000167 EndHTML:0000004978 StartFragment:0000000454 EndFragment:0000004962

White Noise

I’m feeling irascible—wondering if there really are any winners?

the planet has lost, all the animals, endangered species, rivers, the blighted land, the oceans burdened with human waste and plunder… everytime the elections roll around I lose a little more hope,things seem damp and murky—people seem damp and cloudy—maybe they sense my incredulity about them. Are people able to see and fathom trans-generational issues? Are humans capable of seeing how the future is entrusted to us now..but something blocks humans ability to care enough? Is it just simply a basic instinct to care about one’s immediate family and social class status and money and way of life at the expense of the indubitable narcissism of the now.  Don’t we have a duty to this Earth? To the future? What will our grand-children think of us? Is greed for money and a certain entrenched way of living really the motivation for people voting?  It’s hard enough to get Year 8 students to think about life before the internet…so is it generational anesthesia? Has a lack of imagination and the lack of really sincere political debate and philosophical forums resulted in a society that obeys vainglorious avaricious leaders? And where pray tell are they leading us? Into what glory and future?  I’ve become suspicious and rather than looking for the sincerity, I’m picking up the insincerity and leaving conversations hanging. I cannot attempt any more of these pretend conversations when Australia is really going to shit. I cannot smile and feel happy and meditate on the wholeness and oneness of it all. I cannot avoid, nor can I void. Voiding is easy—it’s that thing most people do on the tram in the morning, or when they are having a conversation. Maybe you, dear reader, sense it to? This unmistakable sub-reality grid-like existence that catches the edge of your shirt-skirt-pants-scarf-conversation? The awareness of this grid—I really can’t explain it any other way, results in conversations left hanging in mid-air, becoming painfully aware at the lack of eye contact going on between strangers AND the desire beginning in oneself not to have eye contact with others. There is a mist that tastes metallic and synthetically perfumed, a suffocating mist of insincere sythentic perfumes and car fumes and fresh leather. You know the mist I’m talking about. You feel it leave your clothes damp, you are aware of the edge, and the feeling that you might take me with you. So let’s go. Press yourself into me. Let me feel the sigh against my cheek, let me see the poetry you hide on receipts. Let me see you sink, I want to feel your tears, I want to see your breath fog up the windows of this tram..the lines of graphite, the certainty of destination, feeling blissfully derailed. I feel my thoughts have become even more dangerous because they have no measurable outcomes, thoughts that haven’t been written down or tweeted, ideas that are dangerous enough NOT to be even considered for a dangerous ideas conference. These ideas come about when I am thinking of the farce of democracy, when I think of the pendulum swinging—traps within traps but we are on the ride and we don’t feel the pendulum swinging. It feels like free-falling. I think of all my books in storage in my Muslim father’s shed—safer there than anywhere—I think of intellectuals being herded into storage containers, of artists—creative inventions scientific inventions silenced, moved on…starving. I think of anyone who isn’t one of the boys in the boys club.What has Australia done? What did they think they were doing? Retrospectively those that decided to do the deed will not discuss it publicly—when the containers of human cargo are full, when the prisons overflow,

when even the libraries empty, when the rivers despise the fish and the fish suffocate within them, when the smog asphyxiates us in our sleep … philosophical and passionate dialectic —intelligent intervention—political protest—will they disappear in the silent metallic perfume of mornings and nights? Gestapo exercises—curfews–words banned—not even the space or the tools to learn philosophical debate-dissent-activism-interference. Removing university courses that support philosophical and cultural critique…now that’s a great way towards white noise.The line seems to be perfectly clear now…and there is no interference—white noise.

Advertisements

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: