Trees maketh the man

Hello...
I don't actually have anything to say at present except that I was pleasantly surprised with this Blog.

So inspiring. It's really nice to see that some people actually do care enough to help when many, many people just aimlessly contribute wholesale to the destruction of the environment that sustains us, to such an extent that if we aren't careful the sustainability of humans will go out of production and we all should know what that means, don't we ... no more humans.

I guess if there's no love in one's life than consumerism is a "valid substitute", except for the fact that the planet wasn't designed to sustain such nonsense. The planet was designed to support communities of real people living a loving and caring lifestyle.

I guess that's why I really like that Blog I've linked to above. Johnny Cash says it so succinctly on YouTube which I came across on a Stumble Upon Blog

I like to advertise Stumble Upon as it's a great extension for Firefox (the world's best browser, eat yer heart out Bill Gates).

Personally (as far as online videos go) I like Severn Suzuki when she was just a teenager speaking before the United Nations Eco-conference. See below:




The original can be found here just so you don't think I'm in breach of copyright, but I do think that Severn wants us to share this clip. Mind you it's 16 megabytes so best if you can capture it and share it from your own website or blog. Vixy can assist with that. I may be an old man but I'm still deeply in love with Severn Suzuki, she's one cool lady. And no, I'm not a fanatic ... you have the right to make your own choices, just be aware that we reap what we sow, whether you believe it or not. Poetic justice, some call it. I call it karma.

cha

thanks friends

tarunkrsna / mr terrible / terrence / whatever it is that you call me

selling our souls to get to heaven

Owe kay...
Apart from being dragged around the town by my teenage daughter to secure a bunch of tax declarations for her new found employer spurred by her attempt to quell the ubiquitous boredom that haunts teenagers when they are not elevating their heart rate to some dangerously high level, I have been working on my Kingscliff Tafe website which sits on my sevamrta site, perhaps not a good thing as it's so far down the folder tree that search engines like the lil bitty googlebot might not be able to hold their breath long enough to get down that far; perhaps a geocities account might have been a good idea.

My friend Rene seems to have done well enough in the search engines despite his kingscliff TAFE site being on his art-photo site, albeit only one folder down and Susanne's Suwa Design is doing well. I don't recall seeing Lance's site in the search engine buit that doesn't excuse the googlebot from overlooking mine. Both Sevamrta and Dezign Devil appear in the search engines and they were not whacked together with any knowledge of search engines. Oh well I guess I might be learning something.

Maybe I am not the only one who needs to learn something. One has to wonder about the people who strap a backpack full of explosives onto their back and go into a marketplace or wherever and detonate the lot, themselves included, much to the chagrin of the poor innocent bystanders, many of whom are killed or maimed.

It doesn't quite make sense to me that blowing yourself up and killing those around you is going to please God. I mean if God wanted us to do this surely He Himself would have come down to earth to demonstrate that this was the way to get real happiness. Can't recall reading anything about this kind of behaviour being anywhere in any religious scripture. I'll stand corrected if anyone out there has any proof to the contrary, and by proof I don't mean something that could be easily interpreted in any of 495 different ways according to the whims of the reader, I mean something that really, clearly points in this direction.

I am not even barely aware of the Islamic scriptures, apart from a healthy dose of Sufi books such as "The Sufis" and "Thinkers of the East" by Idriess Shah, and such immortal poetry as "The Rubyiat" by one Omar Khayyam (there appears to be a couple of ways of spelling Khyyam .. apologies to all those who spell Kayyham some other way) and the peoms of Rumi and Hafiz (oh and those great stories of Mulla Nasrudin; I've included one at the end of this post, aren't I nice?). I once read a few chapters of the Koran but it wasn't as exciting and inspiring as Sufic poetry, which was sweet and inspiring and also made a lot of sense to me.

Nevertheless, I would be interested in understanding the philosophical signifacance of blowing oneself and others (heathen, infidel, or otherwise) into tiny little bits all over the place to get something from God. Something like relief from this cruel world. I guess if I lived in such conditions as these poor suicide bombers I might be tempted to commit suicide and pretend it was to glorify God, but then I can't imagine that the result would be that I would forever-after reside in paradise, heaven, valhalla or some other equally inviting destination filled with enjoyment forever and ever and ever, amen.

I must admit that in my poor fund of knowledge, if one is not GROWING spiritually; I mean developing the heart to a stage of humility, loving and forgiveness so intense it brings tears to the eyes, then you're really kidding yourself if you think that you have some kind of spiritual advancement if your experiance is otherwise, no matter how much you might meditate, how many ikons you sell, or how many infidels you may blow to bits. Maybe you have some kind of evidence to the contrary. I'd love to read it as this kind of thinking appears to me to be like the vikings going to valhalla if they die in battle. Kool if your a viking that gets killed in battle, when you were going to war anyway but to go out and purposely destroy one's body and others too seems to me like selling your soul to the devil so that you can go to heaven: nothing short of a paradoxical connundrum.

You can contact me a my Design Devil contact page if you have any feedback on this fella.

Lots of joy to everyone
t3rry the useless waste of space.

The Nasrudin tale promised above (I got this one here); don't you just love these tales?

The Smell of Soup and the Sound of Money

A beggar was given a piece of bread, but nothing to put on it. Hoping to get something to go with his bread, he went to a nearby inn and asked for a handout. The innkeeper turned him away with nothing, but the beggar sneaked into the kitchen where he saw a large pot of soup cooking over the fire. He held his piece of bread over the steaming pot, hoping to thus capture a bit of flavor from the good-smelling vapor.

Suddenly the innkeeper seized him by the arm and accused him of stealing soup.

"I took no soup," said the beggar. "I was only smelling the vapor."

"Then you must pay for the smell," answered the innkeeper.

The poor beggar had no money, so the angry innkeeper dragged him before the qadi.

Now Nasreddin Hodja was at that time serving as qadi, and he heard the innkeeper's complaint and the beggar's explanation.

"So you demand payment for the smell of your soup?" summarized the Hodja after the hearing.

"Yes!" insisted the innkeeper.

"Then I myself will pay you," said the Hodja, "and I will pay for the smell of your soup with the sound of money."

Thus saying, the Hodja drew two coins from his pocket, rang them together loudly, put them back into his pocket, and sent the beggar and the innkeeper each on his own way.

mullumbimbY Madmen

Setting : University campus somewhere on planet earth (sometimes this is debatable), about a half of one hour after the end of first semester exam entitled Principles of Agriculture 100-1. About 11.30 am. The exhilaration of the adrenaline rush that accompanies exams assures our blog participants a feeling of relief mixed with excitement.

Blog participants chat amongst each other exchanging exam strategies and autopsies till merely two remain, Sandy, the son of a Professor of social medicine, young and intelligent, adventuring into the world of campus, very friendly, social and looking forward to the kind of life an agricultural economist is likely to lead, staid but well ... likes to enjoy, and Other, left over flower child searching for a realistic direction in every non realistic way possible, refugee from a major city enjoying the "serenity" of a rural campus, a lost soul who's been lost so many times that it's become difficult to tell which events represent the lost and the non lost portions of life;life itself is an adventure, a roller coaster of energies and opportunities fluctuating between the overwhelmingly attractive and the alarmingly intolerable.

Sandy: Wanna smoke?

Other: Yeah, why not?

Sandy: Let's sit over there on the grass underneath that tree; it's far enough away, nobody ever goes over there.

Both: Plod plod ...

Sandy: in bush tones
'ere it ears.
Lights up

Other: offering the obligatory sound of respect due to the one who has the moolah
Smells good.

Sandy: proudly, in semi-reverent tones
Mullumbimby Madness!

Other: to the sound of one throat struggling desperately to maintain some semblance of throat law and order and to the sound of one million dying brain cells screaming pleadingly for mercy ffffffffffffffhhhhhhh! glmpp oo-o-o kn .... hHhaaaaaaaaaaaaaah h ... (repeat as required)
cerebal valve opening ceremony commences, pressure mounts on nerve endings, cognition awry .... reaching lightspeed, now totally splattered ornately against the rear wall of the cosmos, somehow depicted as an everyday scene, yet extrordinarily different.

Sandy: Whaddle we do now?

Other: Better not sit 'ere orl day

feeling conspicuously sedentary and isolated from the mainstream social flow in a far removed part of the campus where nobody ever goes, wondering why anybody would ever want to sit in such a place except to inhale socially acceptable but legally inacceptable toxic fumes

Sandy: Might go t' tha bistro.

Other: Good idea.

Both: plod plod ... onwards toward the student amenities block, down steps of hewn concrete looking suspiciously like some Tolkein version of sandstone

Sandy: The fountain ...

Both: Peering through the tunnel created by one thousand tiny streams of pressurised liquid resembling moonlight mixed with water, not so distinctly a species unlike themselves, peering amidst millions of tiny bubbles constantly popping themselves into bubble oblivion, echoing an ongoing crescendo effectively drowning the hum and the drum of the humdrum that is our daily hubbub, bubbling a fountain sonata, soothingly caressing the consciousness with an impenetrable wall of, literally, white noise, fit to be the seduction song of titans relaxing after some tiresome battle.

Both: Profound sounds lazily escaping half opened mouths
Wow! cool .... chuckle ... gigglesnort.
Onwards to the bistro intrepid explorers of the insane propel their oblivious minds and bodies, conspiritors in ecstacy, the essence of the mentally disparate, lurking, masquerading, hidden occultists unnoticed among the crouds of the otherwise mediocre half hazy, clouded sky day

Sign on the door: “Bistro Open Midday”.

Sandy: What’s the time now?

Other: 11.48

Both: Ah shit, whadda we do till then?

Silence, amidst the deafening roar of the pre-midday traffic coming and going through the student amenities block, followed by more silence.

Sandy: We could go somewhere else.

Other: HMMM ahh … there’s a bus downtown soon.

Sandy: Awright!

Both: Casual stroll the fourty or so metres of pavers and lawn to the bus stop, where looming large and silent, like a metal whale, stood a blue and silver bus, a heaven sent omen of facility.

Getting on the bus: Looking at the numerous aliens already occupying prime positions within the bus and gazing tormented stares at the even “aliener” bus driver whose otherworldly eyes implored expectantly, all the while desperately struggling against the inordinate desire to burst into strains of the laughter known only to the locked up lunatics, sifting frantically through the disordered file system of a momentarily defunct brain, totally unaware of what to say whilst blocking a torrent of disoriented speech patterns, unfortunately, all of which were inappropriate.

Finally, after what seemed to be multiples of millennia, a glimmer of recognition … there it is … the required statement …

Other: Town please.

Sandy: bee-lining a direct passage to the wide expanse of the still unoccupied rear seat of the bus, exchanging conspiratorial glances and smiles of achievement.

Whee!

Other: Where we gonna go. Got’ny favourites?

Sandy: Dunno.

Other: Maybe we shoulda waited for the bistro. Hey! The bistro opens at noon, the bus leaves at noon, why not …

Both: sheepish giggles bordering on stupidity.

Ya think we’ll get our money back?

Requesting refund from the bus driver amidst the amazed and quizzical stares of the on-looking aliens, roused from their quasi-slumber by strains of the unusual, each alien possibly half thinking of their own indescribable destination when the bus stops on some strange Mars or Venus.

Sighs of relief, release of breath, off the bus clutching refunded bus fare in hand, heading, once more, toward the fabled bistro.

Door opens, odours of tobacco smoke, chatter of lunchtime voices, finding a table, sitting down, release of breath …

Sandy:: What d’ ya want t’ drink?

Other: Dunno! I don’t want anything.

Sandy: Me neither.

blog eat blog

an accidental blog ... OMG ... a bit of bloggishness






the MR TERRIBLE BLOG >>>


Man I didn't really think that I was going to publish a blog but it seems like you gotta publish to be able to type a one line comment on somebody else's blog.



Well since we are here we might as well say a few words.


I had been thinking that I should start a blog as well as my websites.


These are at sevamrta


and at dezign devil


the sevamrta site is about my beliefs and about values and how to be happy despite being thrown into a dog eat other poor dog world. BAAAAAAARRRRRRKKKK!!! Not necessarily an easy feat, but there are ways just as people know all kinds of stuff, well some people know this. An' it ain't unpossible, n'ya betta believe it.


Me other site? Me Australian upbringing may be showing here. Anyway me other site is Dezign Devil ... it's 'bout bringing together designers and developers and already before the site is beyond its gestation period of (how long do websites stay in the womb ... not really clued up on this) so anyway, we are starting it up to see where it goes and if it takes off and leaves me behind, then kewl.


What am I going to blog about? Well, a person only blogs about the stuff they know. What do I know? HMMM, how 'bout ... html xhtml css JavaScript PHP web design web applications web spiders oops sorry AND Krishna (He's the Absolute Truth often referred to as God but I think He just prefers Krishna, more personal). So my blogs will have to do with these things AND me miserable opinion.

Kinda like editorials:

Ya know, this thing in Iran regarding the nuclear material stuff, well ... if I were an Irani (which I ain't) I'd make a great big fuss to get noticed and set a smoke screen for the real nuclear threat which can then go unnoticed. But then the pollies are all so stuper oops I mean super intelligent so they already know this, eh? Whatchya thinking?

It only goes to reason that if the Iranis are actually being the baddies and not the baddies being the baddies then that's the way to go BUT if it's the other way around and it's merely a plot to achieve world domination by the world dominators then there's no actual threat anyway and the whole thing's the usual ubiquitous scam which means business as usual and always at the expense of the underdog eat underdog to keep the overdog amused. Not that we are laughing at the condition of the conditioned.

Anyway, that's me opinion. Got an opinion of yer own? Post a comment AND make yer own hamblogger with the worx. Much nicer than a Macka's harmburger with the ... did somebody say jerks?

Meanwhile, better go post a comment on this other dude's blog. Haribol, namaste, and have a good'n'.


Signin' orf


mr terrible 108 otherwise known as tarunkrsnadas the least.