May comes to a close with an o'erhasty snap of unseasonably cold weather. This follows a period of unusually warm weather, so all of nature is confused. This morning a magpie swooped at me, which is at least three months too early! I turned to face the wayward bird, my face quizzical as if to say, "That is right out of order mister!"

Family-wise, Ann's daughter JJ has started to settle in, today being only her second day at an Australian high school. She will have a six month stint of intensive English before transferring to her local school at Springwood. I am less worried about her capacity to learn in this new environment than the culture shock that may ensue. You know already my thoughts on the decadence of what passes for popular culture nowadays, so I fret that she might find it all too much. But then again, Thai's seem to be fairly easy going.

But the family feels fuller now and Ann is happier. Tom and JJ, both being teens, take polite steps around each other, careful not to engage too much. I hope that they can become friends one day. Cross-cultural friendship has much to recommend it.

nightly the moon
is less and less itself,
more the leafless plum

like dry bones parting
the pear sheds its essence,
honing for winter

As is my wont, when political disappointment (it might be fairer to say, disappointment in my country) occurs, I retreat into literature or other such distractions. Today I present a poem (Chinese, naturally) from the Song Dynasty, by Lu Yu. Like his contemporaries, he was a scholar gentleman, serving in the government of the day, and was noteworthy for his great interest in tea drinking. He wrote The Classic of Tea, no doubt a seminal work in its time. He also discovered that the quality of the water affected the quality of the tea made from it.

I love this poem, Rain on the River, and often return to it. The translation is by Ken Rexroth with some minor alterations to punctuation by me.

In the fog we drift hither
and yon over the dark waters.
At last our little boat finds
shelter under a willow bank.
At midnight I am awake,
heavy with wine. The smoky
lamp is still burning. The rain
is still sighing in the bamboo
thatch of the cabin of the boat.

Progressive politics have always been difficult in Australia and the election yesterday just made them harder than ever. Government will not likely be won anymore by a candid discussion of modest reforms, but by shutting up and telling the punters what they want to hear.

Nobody should complain about that.

There are times of great political moment and there are others best described as business as usual. In Australia one such moment was the election of the Whitlam Government in 1972. Another was the election of the Hawke Government in 1983. Today might be another, depending on the outcome and the capacity of a new government to effectively govern. Australia's recent past has seen a lot of political instability because of the ascent of minor parties in the Senate.

I note also with sadness the passing of R.J. Hawke, who was Prime Minister of a Labor Government from 1983 to 1991. While not as radical as the Labor Administration that preceded it, it proved to be highly competent and capable of necessary reform. In between times and beyond we have had doses of conservative governments, whose blathering rhetoric is matched by an underwhelming performance.

Today I took Ann and JJ up to the local primary school so they could witness their first Australian election together from the perspective of the voting public. We bought a tray of scout-made cakes and they viewed with amusement the democracy sausage, a necessary element in an egalitarian rite such as an election, surely. There is always a bit of a carnival atmosphere too and a good-natured banter amongst the party spruikers, for the most part.

Let us hope for a fair outcome tonight for our fair land.

I have been happily watching videos on simulation theory recently, a speculative exercise that tweaks both the imagination and the mind. In case you are wondering what I mean by simulation theory, it is the idea that our lives and this universe are a simulation in the computer of a vastly superior race of beings. A simulation imitates the appearance of the real and in this particular case, the simulation is so real that we have consciousness, autonomy and agency within our lives. The game, or perhaps I should say, program, is seamless.

This kind of thing understandably excites quite a few people and I noted a number of respondents to articles and videos who were absolutely convinced that we are living in a simulation. That a simulation on this scale is possible has many adherents but that does not make it likely. Firstly, simulation theory is unfalsifiable - it cannot be proven or disproven - hence my earlier reference to it being speculative. Secondly, it relies on a super-race of beings having evolved, having survived all the potential disasters that might have knocked it out. Just look at our own example, humanity poised at a critical juncture between going further into an increasingly technological future, or biting the dust pretty soon. Climate change alone might saddle up all four Horseman of the Apocalypse.

Ah, critics might reply, if this is a simulation then it is only one of many millions that might be run, each with its own set of rules (natural laws, initial conditions etc). So you can't base your speculations upon this one experiment. We end up, dear reader, in a hall of mirrors which stretches in all directions. It's a jolly place for a chat and a laugh, but life will go on, simulation or not.

A step in the right direction?

Wandering the streets of Sydney, particularly the CBD precincts in Sydney and Parramatta, one is struck by the numbers of smokers loitering on street corners, on pavements or in dark bin-filled alleys. The impression one gets is of outcasts, people thrust from their workplace, rain or shine. I understand very well that secondary smoking can be very harmful, but the wowserism that is stalking the land bothers me.

In Japan, hermetically-separate smoking rooms are set up in many shopping centres and doubtless many business premises to accommodate these poor addicts. I remember walking into smoke-filled staff rooms when I first started teaching and how my eyes began to water within minutes. Freshly laundered clothes soon took on the odour of stale tobacco.

Still, there must be a better way to go about this. Today as I walked by the river in Parramatta, then up through the business district, these lonely souls has an especially avian presence.


strange birds
perched darkly in wintry lanes
furtively ashing

I am a fan of The Great Courses, a company that develops and supplies university-style lectures attached to all manner of subjects, from philosophy to history to science and so on. One would be hard pressed not to find something that tweaks an interest or scratches an intellectual itch. The lecturers are all experts in their field and I have yet to come across one who does not have a passion for their work. Sure there are no assignments, tutorials or deadlines, but that is pretty much what I want nowadays.

At the moment I am listening to Masterpieces of Short Fiction, lectures on short stories selected by the course designer, Professor Michael Krasny. There is some work to do, of course, since one should actually read the stories before sitting in Prof. Krasny's class, just in case he asks a difficult question. I jest. But truly you should read the stories because they are very good and often only a few pages long. Today was Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, a story of home-spun folks in New England who have a dark secret. The ending is a kicker.

I found a student card from Jackson's University of Rochester days. She never finished her degree but managed to still be listed amongst the Class of 1938. She wrote The Lottery 20 years later and it behoves anyone reading it to wonder just where it might have come from.

through river gums-
flash deluge of silver light,
baptisms of ducks

Ann has been away a few weeks in Thailand, helping her daughter prepare for her journey to Australia. I have missed her greatly and look forward muchly to her return in week or two. Yesterday she sent a couple of pics on Line from Phetchabun, her home town. They reminded me almost immediately of the Great Thai Coffee Saga of 2017, in which I tried mightily to get a well-made cappuccino outside of Bangkok.

People may roll their eyes, yes, and they may even poke fun at me. Ann though was very patient as I weighed up the chances of a good cup of coffee at each and every cafe. It wasn't the equipment, as grinders and machines gleamed, beans were freshly dispensed, barista technique seemed competent enough. I think that the problem was the order. Most foreigners seemed to be having flat white, Thais were ordering iced coffee and very few people in the sticks had made a cappuccino before. The latter frequently turned out far too strong or bitter and Thai milk has a slightly different consistency too, so in the end I resigned myself to being disappointed.

One day near the end of our trip Ann took me to a small cafe in Phetchabun called Piccolo. It had a very Western vibe and it was also abundantly clear that the owner was as obsessed with coffee as I was. Jars of exotic beans lined the counter. Maps and diagrams showed coffee growing regions and the different tastes that might be derived from different beans and roasting techniques. The coffee he made me was very good. His attempt at a kind of cool java minimalism was a success.

Ann and beverages at Piccolo.