Electronic Type Setting (ETS) came to Kent St., Sydely in '71 and like Mothra to a flame war did I went. (My grandpa had taught me about electronics and ham radio rigs, so this stuff was way more interesting than reading 20 Kg galleys upside-down). ETS - the fucking union wouldn't have a bar of it! The PKIU ranted about how computers were used by sheilas in accountancy offices and should be kept out of serious metal muting. So, naturally, I applied under the classification of "Photo comp", they claimed "no such classification", I countered with "Make one or I'm off to the Sheila's and Miscellaneous Anachronist's Affiliated".
The Red-skulled pommy twerp at the PKIU mumbled something as I swept off but it was years before I discovered what; and that's another funny union story.
I discovered the porn industry which, then as now, led the market in technical innovation and the creative application thereof. Porn was my finishing school in all things related to publishing: typesetting, layout, process camera/darkroom, colour seps, plates, kord and webb goodness. No need to be modest, I was still master of nothing in the Mainstream Labour/Capital Dickwaddyness, yet in 1974, if you read or saw any tabloid porn, it passed through my darkroom at Bertram-Horne. (The home of Ribald, Gay, Screw, etc., and registered Australian owner of the trade mark "Festival of Light" - fuck you Fred and Mary . . .
I also hacked my first VLSI via paper tape and a Singer teletype keyboard. Thanks Alice, still coding after all these years. (It's how a pacifist hippy wages war, these days.) If you want to mainline the future, think like a pornographer, get close up and dirty, play to mainstream stupidities.
The Crux of the Biscuit
Basically, I don't get on with humans. I wasn't properly socialized as a kid, they tell me, so I've been free to do my own thing - I honestly try to communicate effectively, but the bullshit required to talk to people who cart their ego about on their sleeves is just plain too weird. From theTreehouse, with the creek flooding like never before, not having to negotiate a conversation with anything smarter than another hippy is exactly where I belong. Thanks Rex, and the lovely Brownie, there's a jar of nugs and an old Strat on my back veranda - and I won't forget you.
I'm going home.
Cumbaya, Brothers and Sisters
and Peace.
8 comments:
You're singin' my song, Hip.
But why not continue to chuck your wise commentary out into the blogosphere. It's your whalesong. Silence only serves your enemy.
"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." -- Martin Luther King Jr.
Go, bro !!!
Gerry,
"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." -- Martin Luther King Jr.
If I were a powerful Southern Baptist preacher, I may well regard silence as a weakness -- but the blues are played in a minor key and the secret is in the bits you don't play. Thats the windsong.
In the treeHouse, it's all windsong; the groaning in the timber as the world shifts beneath it. (To those so inspired to knock these giants over and build a boat to wander off in, I'm grateful for all the stories you may bring back, but I've heard them all from here.)
Sometimes I listen too much, the Other calls it "dreaming" -- the Abbos know about dreaming; the serpent slides by (my) tree and whispers things I'd rather not hear, the tree whispers to the wind in secret ways -- and the Whales know; they sing "goodbye" as they sweep up the coast and I was too helpless to say "I'm sorry". Lately, in rainbow scales, the serpent asked the tree to explain that it wasn't the whales who were leaving, and it leaves me fucking speechless.
*(Due to Howard getting his golden arse reamed, this normally teetotal hairy bastard guzzled 1/2 pint "Golden Gate" Pinko Spumante. Grumpiness will return come sparrowfart.)
'nite, bro.
To Youse In The Treehouse - Best Wishes from me for your Health and Wealth in 2008 ... peace and love as well, brownie
Thanks, Señorita Annie.
This year, 2008, we're gonna do "happy" as well!
Err, nope, that was the other half pint leftover from Howard's End... and I gotta find the cork afore the friggin frogs root it senseless.
OK, dammit, Grumpy New Year allovya!
I'm sure you had a wonderful new years with our Tahma while we run amock. new years just wasn't the same without you, as you said and I quote: "the best part about the blues is the notes you don't hear" well our live bands missing notes was you,(may the profile rest in peace) and it was rather average without you. Smile it's for free baby.
Why, thank you Katchit, Tarmy was a buzz (saw) and my old 50-watt Tweed would'na cut the mustard with your mega-bins. Loved to have been there, though.
Just swinging by to say Hi and I hope all is good where you are
peace and love, brownie
um, still droppin' by. Not ded yet.
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