Category Archives: Stories

General stories, Other posts, Reblogs

blogging, Life, Living, Stories, Women, writing

The Paper Thief

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The Paper Thief  Short Story JLeahy (non-fiction)

newspaper-roll1-1

This morning, the rain stopped about 9am. I had welcomed the last two weeks of wet weather in Brisbane. My gardens have had a good drink and everything looked green with patches of bright tropical colours all around our property. I walked to one of my gardens, closer to our street and watched our chickens dirt-scratching near the roadside. They had ventured too far out and I was concerned for their safety. Besides, when the big black rooster is leading the pack of four hens, they were capable of doing anything. They could reach the public bus stop metres away and if the rooster decided to have its way, they could all catch the bus to the city. The rooster was very bossy, cocky and unruly. Apart from crowing several times continuously in a minute to annoy, it had a way of nodding its head from side to side and flapping its wings when scolded.

Today, the five were only two metres off the street, leaving their nesting place 100 metres away. The lined gum and acacia trees had shed so many leaves. Given the recent wet weather, the ground before me was covered in a thick layer of brown and black wet, slippery soil. I stayed at a dry spot, away from the road.

A small white Mitsubishi i-MiEV pulled up slowly and parked across the road from our mailbox. It was about 30 metres away from me and about ten metres from the chickens. I could see the car clearly. I was thinking it was a learner driver or a neighbour stopping to make a mobile phone call. As I watched, the car door opened and a large woman, about 150kg struggled to get out. She made it to her feet, straightened her short dark-brown hair and put on her glasses. She was dressed in a dark blue pair of denim and a lacy white blouse; two sizes too small. She wore flat slippers with no jewellery. Her tight clothing did not restrict her walk or her air of confidence. I almost thought, I had a visitor, this woman was coming up to my house.

Then, the chilling truth dawned on me. I recognised her and that car. I remembered her face. She had often sat in the car and sent a child to run across the road to take the paper. I had watched from the distance. I always wondered what they were taking, and then, our newspapers went missing. She must be the newspaper thief!

It has been almost eights months of the paper going missing and I have never been close enough to speak to her. Our gate is quite far from the house. I had suspected, the thief did their deed during my daytime work hours. The paper was gone before I got home in the evenings.

Westside News delivers the Wednesday weekly newspaper on Tuesday mornings. If I were lucky, the paper would still be there when I checked the mailbox area. Most times however, the weekly paper would be gone.

The woman looked around casually, and then crossed the road towards me, unaware I was watching her. She came up to my mailbox and with some difficulty she bent down and picked up the paper that was delivered this morning. When she got back up, her eyes caught me and she stopped, still holding the paper in her right hand. She gave me a wry smile. I stared at her. She reminded me of my black rooster with that look of arrogance and superiority. She looked hard at me, almost as if to say: “Well now that you have caught me, what are you going to do about it?”

In return, I gave her my disgust look with: “Thief, don’t ever let me catch you stealing my paper again, you have no idea what I am capable of”. She turned away. I was not surprised by her behaviour. I thought to myself, she is a pro, she is good at it, but, how many papers has she stolen each week and what did she do with them? In silence and after that ‘exchange’ between us, the woman strutted across the road and got into her little white Mitsubishi, and drove off with my paper.

blogging, Life, Living, My Art, Stories, Women, writing

When the word was silence

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Joy Cowley
Picture by Loren Dougan/Fairfax NZ. Joy Cowley talks about the 30-day silent retreat she just completed in Wellington.

What do you do to get your creative juices flowing?

I spend time in solitude in my garden.  There is something exciting about the rhythm of plants living, rooting, shedding and flowering. I also paint to get my inspiration to write. I was commenting on MilliThom’s blog today and thought, how many times have I spent trying to create stories and even artwork, when my heart was not in it. Sometimes, shutting down and walking away or diverting my mind to something else helps me come back to story-telling and the story gets even better. I have set a goal to blog each day. On top of that, I am writing my memoir and a collection of short stories. I also write magazine articles which I have not done in a while. Daily chores and the day job takes a lot of that time and numbs the brain. My mind has to travel and seek new things to write about all the time so I read too. When my brain slows down and I become forgetful, I go to the garden and start again.

There is a meditation place in Brisbane my cousin and I had once discussed going to for a week of silence and meditation. I cannot imagine how one month of silence would be like, although, I have spent a lot of days on my own when my sons have been away. I do speak with the animals so it is not complete silence. Being in complete silence for one month would be quite an achievement, especially when you are around people, eating and sitting with them and even looking at them. I think people who choose to live alone or live away from others, being in silence for a long time would seem quite normal.

Here is a story about a writer who finds her own way to “sharpen” her brain through silence in an old tradition.

When the word was silence by Nikki MacDonald

In a suburban Wellington dining room 10 people sit silently. Condiments pass across the table at the raising of an eyebrow or flick of a finger. One diner sees a neighbouring table’s empty water jug and rises quietly to fill it.

A mix of religious and non-religious, the group had never met until a month ago. Most of them had never visited this place. Now, 30 days later, they share a close connection but can scarcely remember the sound of each other’s voices.

When their voice boxes are finally awoken after a month of disuse, one man declares “silence has become my friend”. Another calls it the most radical experience of her life.

After a hugely busy year, writer Dame Joy Cowley was feeling “about as sharp as a wet cornflake”. So she switched on her email out-of-office – and disappeared for a month. But her email bounce-back message wasn’t the Rarotonga beach break brag.

“Terry and I will be on a silent retreat from Nov 2 to Dec 7. We will not have internet contact at this time. Joy,” was the message.

For a month Cowley and her husband lived at Island Bay’s Home of Compassion, which functions as an urban monastery. The mission was rest, renewal and reflection, in the oldest tradition of the Catholic Church. The twist was that it all had to be achieved in complete silence, save for a 15-minute daily chat with a spiritual director.

For Cowley, spirituality and creativity are inextricable.

“I wouldn’t know the difference between meditation and writing.”

She already wakes at 4am every day to savour half an hour of quiet before the emails begin and the phone starts ringing. But even for her, spending an entire month in silence was hard work.

“You really have to look at yourself very closely. There are always bits of ourselves that we would like to discard and you have to accept those.”

Cowley and Terry were two of a group of 10 who came from around the country to the retreat. Some were religious, others were not. They had three days of orientation to get to know each other and the home’s glorious garden setting, before stilling their vocal chords and beginning 30 days of exercises in reflection. To read more, click on the link below.

http://www.stuff.co.nz/dominion-post/64156983/When-the-word-was-silence

blogging, Living, Stories, Women, writing

The Cab Conversation

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Taxi Brisbane Times
Brisbane Times picture.

Short Story (original draft JLeahy) The Cab Conversation

I parked on the taxi rank and waited in the queue. It was a warm night and I had started my shift at 6:30pm. It was nearly 2am. This would be my last trip for this shift. The streets were packed with drunks. Many of them were young. The cab ranks were still full. I had my tinted windows up, to cut out glaring lights and the street noise.

There was always action on Friday nights in Brisbane City, Australia. Nothing much has changed in people’s behaviour out here as I could see, after driving cabs for 30 years. The buildings and some of the streets have changed, but the people. Sadly, the drunks were becoming younger. The two cabs in front of me picked up and drove off. I rolled my white taxi sedan forward. Immediately, two drunken young men stepped off the sidewalk and started cursing and pulling the door levers to get in, even before I stopped.

I had been driving for the Turkish cab-owners for five years. They have been good to me. I would love to buy my own cab soon. The cabbie-money was good, but the nights were often scary.  With my own cab, I can set the hours. The shorter of the two men, dressed in a white polo and jeans, finally managed to open the front door. He quickly turned back to his friend.

“It’s a big Indian woman”, he said. They laughed and he closed the front door. They got into the back of the cab. His friend, taller, was wearing a red cotton shirt that was tucked into a navy pair of pants. The street was well-lit so I could clearly see both their sweaty, drawn faces. They said something to each other, giggled and fell heavily into the backseat. The cab rocked. I ignored what was said and watched them on the rear-vision mirror.

“Kelvin Grove!” the shorter man said with pretentious authority. He looked barely 20. They seemed very drunk. I checked them again from the rear vision mirror, making sure there was no funny business.

“$30 dollars up front”, I turned to them.

“What? We will pay when we get there”, the short one spoke again.

“No, you pay now”, I insisted, knowing that there may be trouble ahead.

“Are you Indian?” he asked, ignoring what I had said. They laughed.

“You fucking pay now or you get out of my cab,” I said firmly.

“Joe, just pay her, I want to get home”, the one in the red shirt stopped laughing. He peered at me from the corner of the seat.

“Ok! Ok!” his friend Joe said fumbling in his pocket and hands me a $50 note. His expression was more serious.

“Address please”, I said taking the $50 note and placing it on my dashboard.

“We will show you”. Joe said.

“No, tell me the address now”.

The tall one called out the address quickly and I punched it into the GPS.

“I will give you change when we get there”, I said and released the hand-break.

“Ok, now can you tell me if you are Indian?” Joe started again.

“I do not wish to make a conversation, I just want to take you and your friend home safely”, I said, keeping my eyes on the road. I glanced in the rear-vision mirror. Everything seemed fine. They both sat in the back seat but the taller one started leaning to the side. I thought to myself, hope he does not vomit in the seat. The traffic eased as we left CBD.

“You are so rude, why can’t you talk to me?” the short one said raising his voice from the back seat and leaning forward. His friend was now asleep; slumping his tall lean body into the corner of the black leather seat as I could see quickly in the mirror. I could feel the short one closer to me.

“I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to drive”.

“That is bad service, you are rude, I am going to report you to your authorities and they will sack you tomorrow”, he said and leaned back into the seat.

“Please do”, I invited. I stayed calm, and kept my eye on the road and  the speed limit. The police were out everywhere.

Joe started to say something else, but I took no notice. The fare had almost reached $20. It had been ten minutes, and we had almost arrived at their destination. I stopped to the red traffic light a few blocks away from their address. I glanced at the rear-vision mirror. I saw the short one shaking his sleeping tall friend roughly.

“Jeff! Jeff! Wake up! We are almost here; I don’t want her to see where we live”.

As his friend woke up, the light turned green and released the brakes and picked up speed. I changed to second gear.

“Stop here!” he ordered as I went through the set of lights.

I rolled the cab towards the left sidewalk and stopped. I turned to them.

The short one was already outside the cab, trying to pull his friend through the opened door.

“‘C’mon Jeff, hurry up man!” he said angrily. His friend reluctantly woke and staggered out.

“Run! Run! We are not paying the bitch, run!” the short one shouted and ran. At first, the tall one called Jeff looked surprised, and then he started running too.

I switched the high beam on and watched them run into the darkness.

I picked up and called control on the radio. I looked down at the total fare ‘blinking’, as I spoke to my supervisor.

“I am reporting a runaway”, I told my supervisor.

“What happened? They didn’t pay?”

“Yes. I got paid”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I had insisted on a deposit when they got into the cab in the city.”

“Where are you now?”

“Kelvin Grove.”

“How much was the fare?”

“$23”

“And?”

“They gave me a $50 note”, I said, staring at the $50 bill, still sitting on my dashboard.

“Don’t worry about it, we will deal with it when they show up at the office. Have a good night”, the supervisor said and hung up.

……………………………

Note to readers. Taxi stories. My girlfriend nicknamed Mary, drives cabs in Brisbane. She is Papua New Guinean, aged 52. This is a true story. 

 

Art, blogging, Cool stuff, Living, Poetry, Stories, writing

Can you tell a story in five seconds?

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I don’t think I can tell my story in five seconds, but, Robert Clear can. I recently discovered Robert’s stories and pictures. I wanted to show it on Cool Stuff. I think what Robert is doing is amazing and some of his stories are funny.  Sometimes, to tell a story, one only needs a few words. I asked Robert how does he do it, and why?

……………………………………

MIddle Class Aspiration by Robert Clear

“My name’s Robert Clear and I’m an artist and writer from London. In my work I combine words and images to tell stories, but I impose a special constraint on myself: I aim to tell each story in no more than five seconds. That’s one twelfth of a minute to conjure in the viewer’s mind a world, its characters and a sense of what’s at stake for them. That means a tight economy of words and line and form, a careful balancing of text and image and a sense of rhythm that uses words and pictures as semantic cues and as pure pattern.

Hyena by Robert Clear

Why five seconds? We live in an age where the rest of the world is always at hand, available through the glass screens that connect us to the internet. We have the means to obtain instant gratification, to be entertained always. In this age an artist or writer can expect no more than five seconds of a stranger’s time. Advertisers know this. They craft hooks to sell products that use those precious seconds to leave the viewer wanting more. I decided to use that fragment of time to construe the entire experience; to create something that can be viewed, inwardly digested and (hopefully) enjoyed in five ticks of a clock.

Robert Clear on George

The inspiration for much of my work is London. Perhaps surprisingly, given that it’s a sprawling mass of eight and a half million people, it’s the city’s animals that frequently become my subjects. ‘London Beasts’ is one of my recent series, and animals are the main characters. Each has a particular association with London, whether it be an area, a park or a specific building, and for each I created a story that evoked this connection.

One of the most interesting things about taking my work online has been the chance to interact with others who are interested in art and storytelling. If anyone wants to get in touch, I’d love to hear from you”.

Robert Clear blogs on WordPress. You can click on his name in the first paragraph to reach his blog or click this link:

http://fivesecondstories.com/about-me/

Art, blogging, Cool stuff, Nature and Environment, Painting, Stories, writing

Paint Palate of Natural Wonder

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Music: “Silence” by Kitaro

The Zhangye Danxia is located in the Gansu Province of China. I found these mountains absolutely stunning! Red sandstone and various other mineral deposits ‘paint’ these spectacular series of coloured landscapes, depending on light, and which angle you look from.  Watching the video is like watching a series of landscape paintings. Tourist board walks and trails have been built over the land formation, making it easier for visitors to see it up close. The colours of these surreal mountains have been referred to as the Paint Palate of God.

The mountains and surrounding areas covered with red sandstone and conglomerate has intrigued geologists for many years. Six of the Danxia landform sites have been inscribed as part of the World Heritage sites.

Re-posted from NinaWav2U

 

About Me, blogging, Stories, writing

The Versatile Blogger Award

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The Versatile Blogger Award

Versatile Blogger Award

I have been blogging for one year. It was my first blogging birthday today, and I know this because WordPress told me so. Unknowingly, I was also nominated for my fourth blogging award and this time, it was for the Versatile Blogger Award. I was nominated by a versatile blogger herself, the talented and gorgeous Lauren Green. Thank you so much for the nomination Lauren! I am deeply moved that my blog appeals to you and I appreciate the acknowledgment.

The things I like about  Lauren’s blog are not only her talents and her creativity, but her openness in conversation, which shows through what she discusses on her blog posts.  I immensely enjoyed a recent post which she tales about how she wanted people to remember her, when she had passes on. A very interesting post. Thank you for you nomination Lauren!

I guess I could say that I enjoy being a ‘versatile blogger’ because I can blog about anything, person, object or place, even when my focus is about my culture. My greatest blogging pleasure is in finding a story which I think my readers will enjoy.

The Versatile Blogging Award rules are as follows:

  1. Show the award on your blog.

  2. Thank the person who nominated you.

  3. Share seven facts about yourself.

  4. Nominate 15 blogs (I do read and follow more..)

  5. Link your nominee’s blogs & let them know. You can click on each one mentioned to get to their blogs.

So my seven facts are:

  1. I speak Bukawac as my first language and speak two other languages from Papua New Guinea fluently apart from English, with a little French, Spanish, Cantonese.

  2. My favourite genre of music is World Music. My goal is to go to an international world music festival in the next two years.

  3. I have two sons, 16 and 19 who are amazing people.

  4. I love art, culture and heritage. I am passionate about the Melanesian culture, which I grew up in. I am very lucky and proud to be able to maintain my culture.

  5. I am a Jack of Many Trades and master of most. I am honestly not bragging. When I do something or create something, I can only stop when I have truly mastered it. I have been blamed for being obsessive and I know it works against me sometimes, but I love ‘conquering’ whatever I have set out to do. Isn’t that what life is about?

  6. I have a Bird Of Paradise tattoo on my back. It was a swallow to begin with. The Bird of Paradise is the national pride of Papua New Guinea. The reason I have this tattoo was because, I got sick and tired of being hassled for tattoos in Bali during a trip. One day, I sat down at the shop and said: “DO IT!”. The  tattooist was shocked. I showed him a shallow, and told him, “that’s what I want, do it now before I change my mind.” The process hurt like hell as he carved through my flesh. I had to ask for a Gin and tonic or a Scotch to help me through the pain. He thought I had joked so he and his friends laughed and brought me a bottle of coke. The coke did not help, and  I don’t drink coke anyway. After two more hours of flesh-carving, he brought a mirror and the Swallow looked like a Bird of Paradise. I was raw and sore but surprised and delighted. I asked him to extend the tail and fixed the wings. It was too late to turn back. The tattoo became the bird I truly wanted, so I guess it was meant to be.

  7. I love being on my own. It helps me create. I enjoy the sound of the birds and I love playing my classical music loudly in the Australian bush. When I get bored with this music, I change it to  World Music, mostly African and South American music and I dance.

I also find that with my time alone, nature and meditation, I can focus and ground myself. Then, I am empowered to do the things I love the most.

My 15 nominations are:

Alex M Zoltai

MillieThom

Patrick Jones

Altitude of Art

Mamamaitri

A storyteller’s Abode

Pmespeak’s Blog

Sylvie G

Christie Birmingham

MyTwoSentences

L.T.Garvin

generaliregi

Pixelated Lifestyle

Love Letters to Spam

Story Shucker

Thanks Laura again for the nomination!

blogging, Culture and Heritage, Life, Living, Stories, writing

A Nut, Causing Havoc

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Betel nut – the fruit of the areca palm, is a nut well-known and used as a cultural practice in Western Pacific Islands.

Betel nut
The green nut. Google Pics.

In Melanesian cultures such as Papua New Guinea and Solomon Islands, betel nut was traditionally shared in gatherings. Betel nut is chewed in India, Vietnam, Thailand and other Asian countries. Vanuatu, Fiji and New Caledonia as well as West Papua and Thursday Islands, are not traditional betel nut chewers or growers. Betel nut is also chewed in Micronesia. In the Melanesian pidgin (PNG Tok Pisin to be exact), betel nut is  called buai. The nut is chewed with Daka and Kambang – mustard and lime. Over the years, in PNG, the betel nut has become a commercial product, creating an economic lifeline for many squatter dwellers and low-income earners, including villagers. It has also created havoc and health problems.

dsc_0031 sharing betel nut
My friends having a chew at the opening of my art gallery, Pacific Art Gallery, in Brisbane. Pic: Mari Ellingson, Island Meri Blog

Traditionally, in PNG, the betel nut has a cultural significance and a ritual is followed at gatherings. Perhaps it could be compared to how the Kola nut in used in Africa but in a less formal way.

Both the green and older, orange-skin nuts are chewed when a family receives visitors. They sit together, exchange the nuts and chew the betel nut with mustard and lime.  Greetings and stories including family news are exchanged before serious business is discussed. It has been suggested that the origins of chewing betel nut dates back to the Lapita culture when the first Melanesians came to settle.

Like many customs and practices associated with objects, food or places, this buai heritage has changed. Betel nut has become a commercial product in PNG. Medical books record it as a drug and the nut’s commercial trade has even affected the Consumer Price Index. In the last two years, according to the PNG Health Department, diseases associated with chewing has increased in numbers.

img_26641 betel nut
http://puppriss.wordpress.com/page/3/ George buys his supply at betel nut market.

City Ban

Rubbish from betel nut trade, including skin and spit stains created not only health problems but a physical havoc and embarrassment to authorities. Buildings, walk-ways and government property had permanent spat and stained marks all over. These marks often shocked foreign visitors who thought these were blood stains. Controlling sellers and buyers became a nightmare for authorities.

The Port Moresby Governor Powes Parkop declared a ban on the sale of the nuts in Port Moresby City in October 2013. This ban was reinforced in January 2014. The sale and chewing points were re-located to outskirts and villages away from the capital. A task force roamed and confiscated the nuts and arrested sellers and even chewers. The governor said this ban was purely for commercial sellers of betel nut that made the city dirty. The cultural usage was not affected.

The Nut in the Coffin

While the ban had cleaned the city, sellers continued to smuggle the betel nut into the cities to sell. Last year, at a police roadblock, a friend who runs a trucking service recalled a story where betel nut smugglers packed a coffin with the nuts. The smugglers pretended they were a group of mourning highlanders. It was customary for highlanders in PNG to cover in clay or mud when they mourn. The clay-covered smugglers told the police at road-block that they were returning from Gulf Province to Port Moresby City with a body to bury. The police knew this route too well and despite this theatric, the police forced the travellers to open the coffin. Inside the coffin, the ‘dead’ nuts were all confiscated.

Health Effects

Studies have been conducted and doctors have warned excessive use of betel nut causes mouth cancer and even death due to high blood pressure and other related diseases.

Health officials in PNG say 25,000 people die annually from mouth cancer and the figures of oral cancer relating to betel nut chewers is rising amid the controversial ban.

Betel nut D707979
The powerful combo. Lime powder, mustard sticks and betel nut. Google Pics

 Chewing the Nut

When you chew the nut with mustard and lime, it creates a chemical reaction which results in a bloody red substance in your mouth. This makes the face and body of the chewer warm and sometimes they would sweat profusely, depending on each individual chewer and how their body reacts to the nut. There are different species of the nut. Some are more bitter and stronger than others. For example, in Markham Valley in Lae, the fleshy meat of the betel nut is quite sweet and you can chew the nut on its own or with lime and mustard without feeling any strong reactions. The Markham nuts are mild compared to other nuts grown in North Solomons Province, the Buka buai as it is known.

betelnut Solomon Is
Solomon Islands betel nut chewer. Google Pics.

First time chewers have reported being extra alert, a mild feeling of euphoria, quickening heartbeat, high blood pressure and sweating or feeling very warm.

I know betel nut well, having grown up with it all my life – it is part of our culture. Often in large singsing, (cultural dancing) the nuts are strung like beads, coconut oiled and hung like a necklace.

To the nightmare of my mother, who was an educated nurse, I chewed betel nut most of my childhood with my grandmother. It was my late grandmother’s way. My grandmother called it a ‘medicine’. I had my own bag of betel nuts with my lime pot and my mustard supply. My grandmother’s teeth were permanently blackened by betel nut chewing. She believed, it kept the (western) doctor away. I found her words funny because she herself was the traditional doctor. We also planted the trees and grew the mustard to chew. My grandmother and I made lime powder from kina shells. When we had extra, we sold it at the local market. I was lucky to have Colgate and a toothbrush (and my mother) so I have white teeth today. If ever you want to try this, make sure you are with someone who knows how to chew the betel nut very well.

blogging, Life, Stories, writing

More Mystery Surrounds The Fishy Find

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“The Fishy Find” follow-up story.

Burnt Fishing Boat Liau Yuan Yu 68
Burnt Fishing Boat Liao Yuan Yu 68, believed to have been set on fire after it ran aground just off Manus Islands, Papua New Guinea. Pic: Courtesy ABC.

I posted a story on December 30, about three bodies being found by villagers in a suspected illegal fishing boat off the coast in Manus, Papua New Guinea.

PNG authorities were unable to find the bodies reported in abandoned tuna fishing boat freezer. Here is the follow-up story from ABC PNG correspondent Liam Cochrane.

Liao Yuan Yu 68, the abandoned fishing boat Liao is believed to have been set on fire by the crew after it ran aground.

Three human bodies reportedly left in the freezer of an abandoned fishing vessel in Papua New Guinea may have been removed and replaced with three metre-long tuna, according to a journalist who accompanied police to the site.

Fishing Boat at Poana Island, Manus
Fishing boat aground on Poana Island, Manus. Courtesy. ABC

The fishing vessel was abandoned on a remote island in the far east of PNG’s waters in early December and locals reported seeing three corpses “of Asian appearance” inside a freezer.
But when police and government officials travelled to the site this week, they found three huge tuna on trays in the freezer, which had been damaged by fire.

PNG investigation team on the boat.
PNN investigation team members on the burnt fishing boat. Pic: Courtesy ABC

“The fish that were there looked like [they] had just recently been burned – you could still see blood on the fish,” said Stephanie Elizah, a senior journalist working with the Autonomous Government of Bougainville’s media bureau, who was part of the assessment trip.

“The information doesn’t add up,” she said.
“The young kid that went into the freezer area [initially], he noticed an ankle, it was decayed but it was still in the shape of a foot and was wrapped in black wrapper.
“You’re talking about a community that [has been] eating fish all their lives and they know the difference between a fish and a human body.”
It is unclear if the initial reports of human bodies were incorrect or if the corpses had been removed and replaced with the tuna.
“No one has come up and said whether they burnt the ship or they may have retrieved the corpses and buried [them] somewhere,” Elizah said.

Courtesy: Malum Nalu Blog and ABC News.

 

blogging, Living, Stories, writing

Even Google won’t be around for ever, let alone Facebook

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I have to admit that I love Google. I call Google Abung in Bukawac which means grandfather or grandmother, the wise one that knows so much. The joke in our family is, “ask Abung ” if you don’t know. I cannot say the same for Facebook, but, I found this argument from John Naughton very interesting, especially the comments and responses that were made about the article itself. I’m glad my friend Kirk shared this article with me. We live in an age where we are depending on technology so much so that it is strange to think such thought that, it may not be forever.

The argument from commenters is that, if these two giants don’t exist, something else will take their place. Who is to know. If I don’t have Abung Google, I won’t really mind driving back to the library again. That’s the truth.

If you are interested to read the rest of the story, click on the link at the end of this post.

By John Naughton
Sunday 3 March 2013. The Guardian

Some years ago, when the Google Books project, which aims to digitise all of the world’s printed books, was getting under way, the two co-founders of Google were having a meeting with the librarian of one of the universities that had signed up for the plan. At one point in the conversation, the Google boys noticed that their collaborator had suddenly gone rather quiet. One of them asked him what was the matter. “Well”, he replied, “I’m wondering what happens to all this stuff when Google no longer exists.” Recounting the conversation to me later, he said: “I’ve never seen two young people looking so stunned: the idea that Google might not exist one day had never crossed their minds.”

And yet, of course, the librarian was right. He had to think about the next 400 years. But the number of commercial companies that are more than a century old is vanishingly small. Entrusting the world’s literary heritage to such transient organisations might not be entirely wise.

Compared with my librarian friend, we have the attention span of newts. We are constantly overawed by the size, wealth and dominance of whatever happens to be the current corporate giant. At the moment, the four leading monsters are Apple, Google, Facebook and Amazon. Yet 18 years ago, Apple was weeks away from extinction, Amazon had just launched, Google was still three years away from incorporation and Facebook lay nine years into the future. Read More on link below.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2013/mar/03/google-facebook-nothing-lasts-for-ever

Life, Living, My Art, Poetry, Stories, writing

The Angels’ Trail – for Robert

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JKLeahy (I wrote this poem yesterday for my cousin Robert) 

The Angels’ Trail

In your journey, after the earth

at distant shore, you will berth

The end of Angels’ Trail you will see

Lifeless as dust in the wind, we will be

Vibrant and free as a bird, you will soar

In Godspeed your wings find you sooner

No blood, pain, or will you suffer

Here, bounded in grief from tragedy, earth life quiver

Trapped in naked depth of sorrow, we linger

Cloth, wood, soil and stones enfold remains

In earth, we buried with your shell are our souls

In wind, as a dandelion you will lift higher

Earth’s gravity draws darkness, we see death

Hold back tears, your brothers’ will

Hear their songs, when the wind is still

In dirge and tears, sisters call you fond epithets

Where you, dandelion rests, is where Angels’ Trail begins

Follow beside where the lights glow

for darkness, as deep dark wine bestow

swallows where the shadows go

Seek your mother, for she seeks you

Your brother, aunts, uncles, your sister too

In patience, expect they will be for you

at a place where they had once passed Angels’ Trail

Gaze ahead; leave earth with your memories

Be light on your feet for them you will meet

Drowned in sorrow, our heart bleats

Softness is your voice, abound to share among our kin

Rejoice will be, the angels in triumphant

and kin spirits who had long passed The Angels’ Trail

Robert was a handsome, healthy, living young man in his mid twenties. He was buried today in my village, Wagang. His life was taken tragically last week in a car accident, leaving behind his two young children – aged 14 months and 4 years old, and a young wife. Robert went for a ride with our other cousins. They were all sober and picking up another cousin sister at Nadzab Airport, 40 minutes from Lae City, Papua New Guinea where he met his death in the tragic accident. The details of the accident are not known to me nor my brother who made the call to me. Four others are in  critical condition at Angau General Hospital, Lae. Those of you that follow my blog, Robert was the third son of my Aunty Yellow (Yang Yang) who died last year. She was instrumental in my upbringing and specifically, my traditional fishing and dancing skills. Robert was a little brother.