Under The Mallee Bough

  Songs of the Murray Mallee. Chapt’ 4..part #3.. The passing of Wagga. It had been a cold winter, a cold but dry winter, so the cold bit right into the bone. Wagga suffered in this now old age from the long-term consequences of his living quarters and lifestyle. His long time companion cat, Satan, had died some three months previous and Wagga buried him nearby on the sloping bank of the river. Wagga placed a large rock over the site as both memorial stone and to protect the site from disturbance. This night, Wagga slipped into a soft, gentle coma, from which he would not wake. In his depth of unconsciousness, he started to dream… “Come, Satan” he called “We have work to do.” Wagga dreamed he launched his old skiff, which in reality was in no condition any longer to be used as a flotation boat, being partially submerged on the edge of the river until only its once brave name showed above the waterline.. The “Buona Fortuna”, lay dormant for the...

  Annunciation. “The Afternoon Meal”…by Evert Pieters. Annunciation. ’Twas once a given, that righteous annunciation from time immemorial be, Women, if they wish, child bearers would be , men provide for their security, Such is the scheme of the natural world, that no man nor woman ought despoil, But there comes this middle-class of opportunists that demand change, Calling for women to abandon their right of prioritise children born, Instead embrace that class’s command, to make career first-childbirth forlorn. Who gave permission to that class to dictate personal opinion, As if it was from some “divine” diction ordained upon middle-class instruction, Just to enable some to capitalise on a cheap labour option, Such speculators to swindle the working families with promise of “riches”, From such employment to guarantee wages equal to Croesus’ treasures, Earned by doing overtime as checkout chick or domestic cleaners. This is the only promise those li...

  My Lover’s Eyes. My Lover’s Eyes. ’Tis the last time in this world I’ll see, my lover’s eyes loving me, The last time gently feel, her warming hands caressing thrill, The last time her breath whispers many sweet nothings into my ear, The last, soft touch of her hand, lay upon my breast so dear. For time has commanded with the coming of an age, For our moment of passion be left, discarded, upon life’s stage. For what needs be done, best be swiftly made, Linger not over the pain of lost and parted indefinitely, As, my love, these aged eyes can still weep profusely, At the inevitable, regretful, loss of thee, And time hath but scant regard dispassionately, In what becomes of the love that passed between you and me.

  Four interesting “Chats” w/ the AI platform: ChatGPT (Re-post). Here is an interesting chat I had with the Ai interaction platform; “ ChatGPT”. N.B. : This is a re-post because I felt with all the hysteria over AI as the new “miracle program” of the ages and indeed, well into the future that is come to save humanity from..most probably..themselves, I thought it proper to re-post this series of “chats” I had with the platform. (Keep in mind here that I am NOT in any way in competition with “machine intelligence”, but rather trying to show that all the hype surrounding Ai and how it will dominate interactions is little more than another form of corporate propaganda to sell a product and / or to reinforce a preferred social ideology). Hello! How can I help you? How does one profit from an unstable market? Profiting from an unstable market requires a combination of knowledge, strategy, and risk management. While it can be challeng...

  Shintaro the Samurai. Back after the introduction of television when we were youngsters, there was a plethora of “B Grade” tele-series from the USA centering around Cowboys and Indians or War adventures…Like; The Texas Rangers, Roy Rogers, etc in the former genre, or “Combat” in the latter. WE kids used to pick a side we wanted to represent and then set about ambushing the others with whoops and yelps as we dove about the bushes and buildings of the old quarry where we played most of these games. But a strange thing happened..almost overnight with the sudden appearance of a Japanese series of heroic warrior called ; “Shintaro..The Samurai” and our game of choice switched from the American adventures to the more oriental and exotic Japanese series. This included the casting away of the mock rifles and Tommy guns in exchange for quite individualistic wooden swords, cut from a conveniently shaped branch of the many wild oleander bushes that dotted ...