streams of conscience
13 october 2008
streams of conscience/
stream of consciousness
Blah
I’m at home. Sick. On the couch. It’s windy and overcast outside. My body mimics the conditions inside. So I’ll take a break from work for a day (it was only a half-day in any case) and sleep, recoup and maybe write something. I felt it coming on for the last 3 days - a dry cough, general dis-ease and a need to relax. As always its timing couldn’t be worse - I’m off to Brisbane on Saturday for mixed nats.
Borndays
It was my birthday last week. Julie says Bornday. It was a good day. On my way to work I passed some cyclists on the cycle path. One of them said “Good morning Gareth.” It was Jess, a frisbee friend, who recognised me as we sped past each other. Starting to feel like I belong a bit more here in Canberra.
At work over lunch I was asked how old I was.
‘26’ was my reply.
Boss Barry recalled where he was at 26, and was frightened at the recollection.
‘I wish I was as wise as you when I was 26’ he remarked.
What a graceful statement. Hmm… yes. Thank you.
Again, at frisbee training that night, I was seen. Larissa saw my birthday on the afda website and brought honey cakes and rum balls for after training. I don’t like being the centre of attention. I like being the centre of attention.
Internet grace
Facebook is not something I’ve spent much time on lately, but last week I was thankful for it, and the way it reminds me of my full life. Friday morning I read through my facebook happy birthday messages. From close friends and distant faces.
Thank you, thank you.
Skype joined in on the internet birthday grace on Thursday. I spoke to 5 of my 6 family members. Parents and sisters are all well in Jo’burg. Mom sold 5 paintings at a recent figure studies exhibition in Melville. There were a few hundred people at the opening. And as a naked man.
[Naked man
‘There’s a naked man here!’ Tash shrieked to my parents.
He was naked, and clothed.
He had been body-painted. Tiger stripes on his upper body. Grass over his belly button. Olive green legs. Some men were shocked. A (conservative?) Afrikaans man captured it perfectly:
‘Daar’s a tier in die kamer, en ‘n slang in die gras’
‘There’s a tiger in the room and a snake in the grass’
I laughed!
I finished working at Fox Antiques on Friday. Having our beer at 5 after work we spoke of nakedness again. Barry sharing stories of co-ed saunas in Holland, topless beaches in Germany and Australian prudishness]
Family (ctnd)
Bronwen got a new job teaching reception class. Vicki is waiting for Uni to start. Jane is in Cape Town getting ready to lead a DTS. Dad told me that derth is spelled with an ‘a’. Dearth. I laughed.
I hung up with them at 11pm, warmed by the conversation. As if by grace Matthew came online from London, so we spoke for almost an hour.
Mat
is almost finished his London adventure. Told stories of Slovenia, poker and my aunt. I said he must add the Lake Districts to his Scotland trip in a few weeks. I miss him. There’s a photo of him and Gra mooning the camera, jumping into some lake in Slovenia!
Blogging
is rather taxing on me. I find myself thinking about what I should write, the opening line that will draw people in, and show off my deft use of language. As with many of my well intentioned ideas, I never get around to it. I have 5 unfinished posts in my drafts folder. If I wait long enough they will be so outdated that I’ll delete them. And delete the minutes they filled up running around in my head. For nothing. Making me agitated.
But then, sometimes, I’m sick in bed, and I write. Freely. Mostly.
I still try to show off (is any writing completely devoid of ego?).
I still censor. That’s okay. I’ll keep trying.
Julie
is beautiful.
Studying for her UNISA exam today. She’s next to me on the couch:
‘G. Guess what’
‘What?’
‘Women work 65% of the world's working hours. And guess how much of the worlds salaries they get paid?’
‘20%?’
‘No, 10%
And they own less than 1% of the worlds assets.’
The exam is on Theological Ethics: Human rights, values and social transformation. At the SA High Commission at 2 today. It’s a big white Cape-Dutch style house near to Parliament here in Canberra. I’ve been there once. They weren’t very helpful.
stream of consciousness
and conscience
to get out all the half-post I’ve been thinking about over the last weeks. I should try it again.
What else is there to say?
started a garden
got a black eye from a frisbee
got some good wine from Adrian & dad
saw Utopia: the Genius of Emily Kame Kngwarreye yesterday. Profound artist and messenger. What is the message?
This week
No more Fox antiques. 3 days with the ALP IP, 2 days with the ACC&C. Make that 1 day with the ACC&C - today I’m off sick.
I stopped working at Fox on Friday. The ALP wanted more days from me, and the work was too tiring.
I’ll miss:
the sweet smell of the wax we polish the antiques with,
the casual banter in the workroom,
the lunches out on the pavement in the sun opposite the Belgian Beer place.
I won’t miss:
the dirty dish-clothes
the heavy lifting.
Global economic crisis.
Crap.
I’ve not paid it much attention. (still have to study my Masters of Development Economics)
But I read this article today. It helped to outline what’s going on, and why this could well be the end of the current economic system as we know it. That’s a good thing - in my mind. However, as usual, the poor will feel it first and worst.
One last stream:
Clergy Gentrification
(what!?)
I heard about it at last weeks’ conference. Which went very well by the way. Maybe I’ll write about it. Or, more likely, I’ll plan to write about it. Work out some sentences, and then not write.
Back to the clergy and how they are like buildings.
Clergy are well educated, get a salary, their children then go to school, go to university and get an office job. After a generation or two you have a wealthy, educated clergy of and for the bourgeoisie, the status quo, those in power… with no connection to the working class any more.
Just a thought.
That’s maybe why liberation theology (take the text back to the poor and let them interpret it) and feminist theology (reading from the margins and the underside) make sense to me. Me - someone with no natural connection to the working class, though trying to follow/understand a Jesus of the poor?
End
I
am okay.
and happy.
and am not a poet.
(yet?)
Thankful for all the streams that have made, fed and changed me.
Got to take Julie to the High Com to write.
Okay bye.
