Hunter S. Thompson – The Rum Diary – Review

Picking up Thompson again after so many years, was a true re-experience of his prose style, humour and gut-wrenching honesty. The story behind the novel is as interesting as the novel itself. Evidently, Thompson had written the first draft in the early sixties, but it wasn't published until 1998. As the story goes, actor Johnny Depp, while staying with Thompson in Colorado, discovered the manuscript stuffed in a drawer. The famous author never got around to it again. Later Bruce Robinson adapted the novel to a screenplay and directed the film, starring Johnny Depp as the central character, journalist Paul Kemp, which was released in 2011. Personally having seen the film and read the novel, the novel is much better, as it's Hunter at his best.

Paul Kemp leaves New York to work for a a major newspaper in San Juan, Puerto Rico. The beginning of the story is hilarious, as he finds his seat on the plane and sees the beautiful blond he spotted in the terminal boarding, to then attempt to bully the guy next to him to get out of the seat for the blond. Kemp is unsuccessful, of course, and already has gained the insane reputation as a drunken journalist. As readers we discover the “blond” is a central character, that partly changes Kemp's destiny as man and a journalist.

This behaviour, too, is the driving theme throughout the text: hard-drinking writer as vagabond, searching for the next story, contemplating death, contemplating old age; maniacal, writing and drinking a few snorts of rum at breakfast. Hunter-esk indeed, but there is a self-reflected honesty in the text, an existential self analysis about the world and one's purpose within it with a pinch of humour and sad irony.

It's been said many times before, but I love this style of American writing: clean, simple, descriptive and deep without being cluttered with pretension and unnecessary, belaboured sentences that can do more harm than good. Thompson's prose style is exciting, immediate and drags you along whether you want to go or not.

The best dialogue happens in AI's bar, a dive that serves only hamburgers and alcohol, mainly rum and beer. It is here where the journalist's gather to drink, discuss stories, complain about management, and gossip about each other's lives. Having worked at a major daily, and friends with many who worked for the opposition paper, every newspaper has their own Al's bar. At the time, I was young and writing advertorials and selling advertising space. I would look forward to every Friday night, because many of the “old guard” journalists would gather, drink and discuss their stories for the next day's Saturday edition.

The characters in The Rum Diary were slightly more insane than the journalists I drank with, but the theme was essentially the same: their next story, drinking, and the latest gossip, that would somehow end-up in one of their pieces the next day.

Thompson wrote the first draft of Diary when he was only in his early twenties. As a writer, this journalist-ethos, his gonzo-style made the man a celebrity. He lived what he wrote, and most of us continue to love him for it.

A wonderful novel.

Ray Monk - How to Read Wittgenstein - Review

There is universal consensus that Ludwig Wittgenstein is one of the greatest and most original philosophers in the last century. However, agreement as to a correct interpretation of the philosopher's work, particularly Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus and Philosophical Investigations, really depends on who you read; in fact there seems to be universal disagreement as to the "correct" reading of his work. That's why Ray Monk, the author of this text and the best selling biography of Wittgenstein, "A Duty of Genius", offers an apology in the Introduction, he writes,

"It is extremely presumptuous to publish a book called How to Read Wittgenstein. I apologize in advance for doing so and want to make clear that what I offer here is only _one possible_ way of Reading Wittgenstein." (P.1)

As Wittgenstein's biographer and a professor of philosophy, Monk is more than qualified to write this book, and the interpretations he proposes are clear and illuminating.

The text begins with a short biographical sketch of Wittgenstein, then tackles the most widely interpreted and difficult philosophical texts of the twentieth century, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Monk must be an excellent teacher because he throws light on the work, indeed clearing up a few of my own misunderstandings of the Tractatus. He explains Wittgenstein's early work and his transition period, around 1029-30, where his views on philosophy changed considerably, known as Wittgenstein's later period.

Close to the end of Wittgenstein's life, his philosophy began to branch out in new directions. In the work, Last Writings on the Philosophy of Psychology, he discusses the notion of Imponderable Evidence. This is particularly fascinating, as he proposes evidence that can be seen as evidence for a particular judgement but cannot be described. As Monk explains, this work was an attempt to distance him from those who look to science to provide psychological insight, and "...those in the humanities who have become convinced that understanding another person, having access to their inner life, is possible." (P.104)

I believe Ray Monk has touched the core of Wittgenstein's philosophy, explaining many of the philosopher's difficult concepts in a very clear and highly accessible manner. This would be an advisable text for any undergraduate embarking on a Bachelors degree in philosophy.

Why the U.S. requires an Enemy to Exist

When one takes a cursory glance at American history, can see that the country has been at war from the beginning. From the revolution against the British, the on-going genocide of the native people, the bloody Civil War; the Spanish/American War to acquire the state of California, the invasion of the Philippines, WW1 and II; Korean war, Vietnam; regime change “conflicts into Latin America, (too many countries to mention) and lastly, the “War on Terror”, including Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Libya, Syria, Somalia, and other countries in North Africa that have managed to remain off the MSM radar.

When you examine the intricacies of the Military Industrial Complex, you can see the connections between corporations, major financial institutions, Intelligence agencies, foreign government influence through Washington DC lobby groups, and the corporate owned MSM.;the complex becomes much clearer. Behind these powerful organisations and groups are what has been called the Oligarchy, the Elite, that truly call the shots from behind the dark curtain. When you include paid-off senators and state representatives within the governing body politic in DC, the connections are complete. This is what President Eisenhower warned against in his last speech to the American people before leaving office.

A specific example is when President Obama campaigned for his second term, and promised that he would finally close Guantanamo Bay. This never happened, of course, because he was TOLD this decision would never see the light of day.

You see, when a new president is elected and enters the WH, the representatives of the MIC, enter the Oval Office, and tell the new president how the power and $ in DC all works. “But I'm the president.” he cries. “No sir, you are a “temp worker”, and we have been here for many years, and will continue long after you're gone. All we ask of you is to ensure the Pentagon and the military continue to receive the funding we require, “to keep our country safe”.” This is the reality of Washington and the power of the MIC.

When Trump entered office, the MIC viewed the man as a wild card. Thus the highly corrupt democratic party and the MIC began a disinformation campaign naming Trump as a Russian asset, a puppet of the Russian government, and the evidence free accusation, that Russia interfered in the 2016 election, and the MSM ran with it, including anybody who hated Trump. This certainly worked in the beginning, but after 2 some years of the Mueller investigation, and Trump's over-the-top sanctions against Russia, Iran and bombing Syria over a false flag (chemical weapon attack by Assad) the MIC backed off...Trump was falling into line.

For the MIC, creating this Russia hysteria had a two pronged purpose, getting Trump into line and creating a new Cold War with Russia. Because the War on Terror was waning, a new enemy was required to ensure perpetual conflict would continue. Now that this Russia hysteria has settled down, proving to be an absolute farce, a new enemy was required.

Since the out-break of Covid-19, the warmongers have shifted from Russia to China as the new threat to “democracy”. The propaganda has called the virus the “china virus, stoking a new-found jingoism against another foreign country, a new enemy for the MIC to continue warmongering around the planet for power, and mostly for profit.

History has revealed that Empires, to remain in power, need to expand. The US is showing signs of totalitarian tactics in order to maintain its loosening grip on world dominance. The brutal sanctions on various country's such as Iran and Venezuela, stopping other nations for even sending clean water for the people, reveals the US's desperation.

For centuries, particularly the US, war has remained good business.

I can say without doubt, that the majority of the planet despise war. Since the Trump regime came to power, Trump, by way of his ignorance and narcissism, has revealed the true intent of the MIC. The veil has fallen, showing a small group of psychopaths intent on achieving their own goals, at the expense of the population, the people of the planet.

In order for this perpetual warmongering for perpetual profit for the Oligarchy to stop, the entire system must be dismantled, returning our society to one without war, and the betterment of humankind.

This may sound like the wishes of a fantasist, a peaceful planet where all can live in peace and prosper, nevertheless, a worthy goal indeed.

Teacher Log: (P. 3 of 3)

The final destination of our cultural trip to the Northern Territory, was the famous Uluru. Only less than a full day's journey, when we arrived, the sun was bright enough to set-up camp. It's always a wonder to me, that practise does indeed make perfect, as the students and teachers, including myself, erected our tents in record time. Once the camp was completed, a large group had approached me about charging their mobile phones. On instinct, I walked to the centre of the grounds to discover a large eating area with picnic tables and several electrical outlets. The children flooded to the area, giving the teacher's the opportunity for a quick meeting. The meeting concerned, the climbing of Uluru.

The problem we were facing is Uluru is a sacred-site for the aboriginals. Many people based on this irrefutable fact, out of respect, has chosen not to climb this 500 million year old, singular rock formation. As a history teacher, I was aware of this problem, and with an instant show of hands between the five of us, we voted against climbing the rock. However, it seemed, most of the students wanted to climb Uluru despite its sanctity among the native people. Because all of our students were under age, required a chaperone. That afternoon, we had each student ring their parents, talk to a specific teacher to get permission to climb without a adult. This exercise lasted about an hour, and it felt like I had spoken to all 50 parents. Personally, I had other plans.

My wife at the time understood my feelings about Aboriginal lands and sacred sites. Before the journey, she booked a plane to fly over The Rocks and Uluru. As it turned out the small airport was walking distance from the camp. Later, 2 of my students, a year 9 and 10, found out about this, called their parents, and booked a flight as well. We ended-up on the same air-plane, and the experience was a memory of a lifetime.

On that first night, 3 of us travelled to an area designed to watch Uluru as the sun disappears over the horizon. This is a major event for one reason: Uluru changes colours, several colours, and to witness this event, it is said, is a phenomenon to behold.

We arrived and the place was crowded with tourists, sitting in lawn chairs and drinking champagne. Together with Rachael and Olga, we found a good spot, when Rachael pulled out a bottle of Champers, and 3 plastic glasses. Dusk was almost upon us, and the rock began to transform. Slowly as the sun disappears, the rock turns to a bright red. In minuets the shade changes to a hard brown-copper; in seconds, the rock becomes a magnificent purple, to then become entirely black. I turned to my colleague, Rachael, and tears were running down her cheeks. She later told me that this was a goal of hers since a little girl, and to finally see this natural display of beauty, moved her beyond what she ever imagined.

Early the next morning straight after breakfast, our group of 55 loaded-up on the bus, and travelled around 40ks southwest, to a magnificent rock formation that the aboriginal's call, Kata Tjunta, or The Olgas. From a small prop air plane flying directly above the rock's , it resembles that of ancient ruins, which might have existed thousands of years ago.

Once we arrived, standing at the head of the bus, I said, “We need to maintain order on the trail, particularly going up the path, because I've been told it can be dangerous. Stay in a single line, and please don't run”. Easier said than done, I soon discovered.

The path was indeed quite steep at first, and later levelled out on a flat area or small valley, surrounded by huge boulders. When you look though the rocks from a certain position, the blue sky and clouds contrasting the copper rocks, is a magnificent sight.

Suddenly I was bumped to the ground from behind, falling flat on my face. Looking up, I saw two boy's running, and one of them holding what appeared to be a canister. They disappeared around a corner of a cliff. I found this maddening, because not only were they risking their own lives, but the lives of the entire group. Immediately, I got to my feet, and in a small jog, went into pursuit.

After turning several corners on the path, I reached another flat area, and looking to my side, graffiti had been scrawled across the surface of a boulder. It appeared to be fresh, and once touching it, the red paint transferred to my fingers. The culprits were my own students, and specifically the trouble-maker, Kurt Stover.

Rather than bore the reader with the subsequent events with Stover and his mate, suffice to say, it was a unanimous decision to put the kid on a commercial jet, and send him home.

Once Rachel returned from the airport after escorting Stover, I could see a revolution brewing amongst the student body. Understandably, they were siding with one of their own.

After lunch, a few student's confronted me, and I explained the reasoning for our decision to send Stover home. “Okay people, graffiti-ing a national park site, a sacred site, can come with a $10,000 fine and a stint in jail. Believe me, getting Stover out of the state was the right decision.” They seemed to understand and returned to the bus for their tour of Uluru.

The rest of the trip was devoid of any further drama. All except our last stop in Adelaide.

Rather than having to set-up camp again, we were booked in a large hotel. In the outside dining area, the staff of the hotel presented a buffet of meats, salads, vegetarian, the whole lot. I remained in the dinning area with a few year 12 students, and our new bus driver. The man's stories of certain aboriginal artists, and legends about the north-end of Australia, including tribes that have never seen “civilisation” before, kept us all captivated until around 11:00pm.

I found my room, and remembered I was sharing with Rachel and Jasmine. I opened the door as quietly as possible, and closed the door to the sounds of brutal snoring.

Although it was dark, I could tell it was Rachel snoring on the far side of the room. I expect, like all of us, she was utterly exhausted. Next to her was a double bed, where Jasmine seemed to be sleeping. The women had left me the other double bed with crisp, clean sheets. I hastily undressed down to my boxers and climbed in...my god, what a luxurious experience after spending 3 weeks in a stench-ridden sleeping bag. I stretched out and after around 20 minutes, began to fall asleep when, in a whisper:

“Craig. Craig, are you awake?”

This time, I pretended to be asleep. Jasmine continued to whisper my name...but eventually I fell asleep.

We arrived in Melbourne the next evening to a welcoming crowd of parents and teachers. It felt like we were the “returning soldiers'” from some dark country in North Africa. Everyone was elated that we had come home all in one piece. My wife and son greeted me. Smiles and hugs all around, finally I could sleep in my own bed without having to sleep with “one-eye-open”. I didn't bother to unpack.

After breakfast with the family, telling both of my adventures in the wild bush's of northern Australia, I went down stairs to unpack. Pulling out my smelly clothes, a neatly folded piece of paper fell on the bed. Opening it, it read:

“Hi Craig, Really enjoyed our time together. There's something I need to tell you. Can you meet me in Shelby park this Saturday at 10:00. I hope we can meet, there's a lot I want to tell you”

The note was not signed, but in that moment, I knew...

Wittgenstein - On Certainty - Review

On face value, On Certainty is a surprisingly accessible Wittgenstein text, exploring the notions of 

epistemology(theory of knowledge) and scepticism (idea that true knowledge can be sought but 

cannot be found) or "knowing" and "doubting", however, the work, on closer examination, cleverly 

argues these positions in the epistemological tradition from clearly different perspectives, thus 

On Certainty is more complex than it appears.

Written in the last eighteen months of Wittgenstein's life (the last entry days before his death) it is a 

response to Moore's articles, `Proof of the External World" and "Defence of Common Sense". 

According to the editors, Anscombe and von Wright, Wittgenstein told Moore that these were his 

best articles.

In entry 83, Wittgenstein writes:

"The truth of certain empirical propositions belongs to our frame of reference".

This is a foundationalist argument, proposing that our knowledge of the world and its truth, belongs 

to our particular frame of reference - context is everything, underlying all our assertions.

Another perspective that Wittgenstein proposes is the position of Relativism: in this view there are

 no foundations or absolutes, truth changes with the times, circumstances and social conditions. 

He writes,

65: "When language-games change, then there is a change in concepts, and with concepts the meaning

 of words change."

Interestingly, relativism is the perfect tool for the sceptic, because knowledge is depended on time and 

circumstances, and therefore can be sought, but never found.

Doubt itself is depended on certainty, as one must hold a premise in order to reject it.

115: "If you tried to doubt everything you would not get far as doubting anything. The game of doubting 

itself presupposes certainty."

In fact this, really, is the core premise of On Certainty that knowledge can only exist if doubt is possible. 

Doubt relies on content of what we know, our frame of reference that is inherent in all our assumptions 

regarding existence.

Reading On Certainty is a stimulus for thought, pushing us to analyse our assumptions about 

knowledge, that truth depends on our concept frameworks through which we view the world.

Recommended to all students of contemporary philosophy.

Teacher Log: Uluru (P. 2)

Alice Springs is a desert town. No matter how high the temperatures rise during the day, at night the air can drop to freezing. That first night while wrapped like a cocoon in my sleeping bag, the air was irritably cold, as I was just falling into an alpha state, in a loud whisper,

“Craig! Craig, are you awake?”

Opening my eyes, at first I assumed it was a student. “Who is out there?!”

“It's Jasmine.”

'Okay', I thought, 'This is getting weird. Does this woman want to come into my tent and watch me sleep through the night?'

“What do you need, Jasmine?”

“Olga needs to talk to you about something.” Can you come to her tent, and bring a cup.”

Olga was the teacher with the longest tenure in the group. In fact, this is her 27^th year at the school. A Ukrainian immigrant, she reminded me of a peasant woman from a Dostoevsky novel. Olga is a force to be reckoned with, and crossing her with anything would be like signing your own teacher-death-warrant. Though she had a strict reputation, she had a witty sense of humour.

I followed Jasmine by flashlight, to Olga's tent.

Inside the tent sat Olga, Terri and Rachel, all sitting cross-legged in their woollen pyjamas around an exceptionally bright, halogen lamp. Standing next to the lamp is a bottle of Pepper Jack Shiraz. For sure, all my colleagues appeared to be slightly tipsy, giggling loudly as I entered their domain. Who would have guessed, I thought, that I'd be sitting in a tent with four middle-aged women in their pj's, at the northern tip of the continent of Australia.

'Have a cup of wine, Craig.” announced the Ukrainian peasant.

She filled my cup, and all I could say is “What's up?”

Olga took a swig of wine from her mug. “I thought it a good idea to end our day together and de-brief the day's events. If you don't tell our principal, a innocent glass of wine to soften the nerves during our nightly meeting. Is that okay with you, Craig?”

“Your the boss, Olga. And to be honest, I've never knocked back a glass of wine in my life.”

The women burst into laughter.

After the bottle was drained, and the chattering of my fellow teacher's about various students to pay extra attention to, and after a few digs at me for the year 12 student putting up my tent, I wandered back to my canvas abode, thinking the night wasn't as cold as I first thought. Must have been the Shiraz. Sleep came without effort.

The next morning the gang packed-up like we had been doing it for years, and our next destination was West McDonnell rages. We arrived in only a half day's journey. Our student's erected their tents in a straight line on both sides of the grounds. Standing at the head of the camp, it reminded me of documentary about the American Civil War. Again, my year 12 friend realised I was having trouble with my tent, and lent her services. Once finishing, I said, “Carol, by the end of the trip I think I'll get the hang of it.” She smiled, “ I don't mind Mr. Middleton.” and skipped away.

Once settled, I decided to take a walk alone and explore the rest of the camp. The temperature wasn't that hot, and the air was clear and clean. Finally reaching the end of the grounds, I sat down on a mole hill that overlooked a vast distance of desert. The shades of white and deep, copper red reminded me of a little story in a daily about explorers who came across a Aboriginal, who never had seen the white man before. He carried a shield and spear, and of course, not able to speak English, somehow conveyed to the white group that he hadn't seen a single human being in years. I remember at the time of reading, feeling astonished, that there still remains people who have not been touched by the ravages of modern civilisation. As a continent, Australia is a large island, and to this day, continues to have areas that haven't been explored.

As I re-entered the camp, Jasmine, the woman who I had woke up to several times, staring at me, rushed up to greet me.

“Craig. We've made a small fire in the “teachers area” and I managed to bring a few specialities for dinner. Would you join us?” Jasmine, to be sure, wasn't a bad looking woman. Standing at around 5. 3', she was petite, though bestowed extremely large breasts. She had a lack of confidence, I surmised, because when she would attend my classes, with one of her students with learning issues, never asked me for lecture notes. Now on the trip, she had now opened up, and was showing a self-absurdness, that I had never seen before.

The women sat around a grand fire, and on a small grill, cooked five large t-bones. I have always been a unapologetic carnivore. After two days of hot dogs and chips, this felt like a gift from the food god's above. Olga managed to sneak another bottle of Shiraz, that we drank from old coffee cups. Certainly this was the highlight of the trip. We ate, talked and laughed, and for a fleeting moment, I forgot about the fifty students under our care.

It was determined that 9:30pm was lights out for the camp. Like a dedicated Nazi guard, with flashlight in hand, did my rounds...

“Okay people, lights out. Lights out people, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Douglas Kennedy - The Moment - Short Revew

Kennedy's body of work, for this writer, is nothing less than astonishing: each of his novels transverse varied themes from post-natal depression to the strange and supernatural. In this novel the reader is taken on a journey to cold-war Berlin. The significance of the Wall itself, through the main characters eyes, conveys its steel-like coldness, its danger, and the utter oppression on the people it has affected.

Thomas Nesbitt is a born and bred middle-class New Yorker with a penchant for writing, art and classical music. As an only child, he experiences the loveless marriage of his parents, and this translates to all his future relationships as an adult. The book begins in present time; Nesbitt, a successful travel writer, receives a package from Berlin. Thus we are taken back in Nesbitt's memory to his time in cold-war Berlin as his current project then is a travel book, describing the atmosphere and array of complex characters he meets.

It should be noted that Kennedy is a master of characterization, revealing these people's habits and the deep torment of their inner psyche's...in all his novels.

To cut to the chase, "In the Moment", is about true love. The novel explores the possibilities that through happenstance or otherwise, it is certainly possible to meet someone, become somewhat obsessed and fall head over-heels in-love...that "moment", according to Nesbitt and his love interest, a beautiful woman from East Berlin, Petra Dussmann, who has managed to cross the great divide from an oppressive society to a somewhat free West Berlin, certainly believe it so. And this particular kind of very special love can and does last a lifetime.

When reading about their love affair, at first I found it mawkish and too sentimental. But in the end, without question, Kennedy pulls it off where "suspension of disbelief" is truly attained.

Teacher Log: Uluru (P. 1)

The by-annual school excursion to the Northern Territory was upon us. Law required at least 5 teachers for the number of students who had signed-up and paid for the trip. At the morning teacher briefing, the principal announced that 4 female teachers had volunteered as babysitters, but a male was needed to ensure “balance”. At the time I was relatively new to the school, thus the principal looked straight at me in front of the entire faculty and asked.

“Would you care to volunteer, Mr. Middleton?”

Though embarrassed, and while dumbfounded into silence, several teacher's cheered me on to do it. In the end, despite misgivings about travelling to the top of the continent with 50 unruly highs school students, I agreed and the adventure began.

Although growing up in Colorado and a short stint as a Boy Scout, camping-out was never at the top of my list of entertaining things to do. I thought, 'A new challenge, and something to remember.' This fleeting thought turned out to be an understatement.

Our bus had a capacity for 90 and we were a group of 55 plus the driver, so we thought, there wouldn't be any crowding issues, which turned out to be true. For the amount of $ the school was paying for the trip, the bus didn't have toilet facilities, which caused problems. The beginning of a journey is always exciting, and the students seemed to suck it up for most of the way to Alice Springs. The rest of the experience was not so cordial.

Though not my first rodeo travelling around Australia, the vast openness of the country's landscape continues to blow my mind. Looking up from my book and through the window, a family of camels are walking in a line northward. The sand from the wind is wisping, circling the three beasts, giving the impression of a lost time, a romantic tale from the Arabian Nights.

Our first stop was Adelaide, and the rain storm, pelting with 20k winds, welcomed us to the “City of Churches”. Because we couldn't possibly pitch our tents, the pre-booked camp ground put us all in campers made for 3 or more visitors. Once unloading and ensuring that the students, all the boys and girls, were appropriately separated, I settled down to sleep.

Suddenly I was awakened by Jasmine, a teacher's aid, telling me that their was trouble on the camp grounds. Grabbing my coat, venturing into the storm, I banged on each camper van, “If you people don't settle down, I will send you home!” In the rain, I listened for any noise apart from the weather. Returning to my trailer, sharing with 3 women, wet but determined to go to sleep, the chaos of the day got the better, and sleep turned out to be effortless.

The morning, I opened my eyes to Jasmine, sitting above me and gazing at my face. I remember a soft tone in her eyes. She jumped off my cot, and said, “I'm sorry, breakfast is almost over. I thought I should wake you.” The 40 something woman exited the trailer, and slammed the door. At the time I didn't think anything about it. Breakfast had almost come to an end, as she said, but a year 12 student of mine, saved some eggs and cereal. While I was eating, the students were packing-up for the next leg of our journey. I noticed Jasmine working hard along with the older students. I would look at her and she would look away.

We managed to leave by 8:00am to clear blue skies, and a happy bus driver.

We had achieved the first leg of our journey from Melbourne to Adelaide. The second leg is a 750k trip to a town called Coober Pedy. This is Australia's gemstone capital, where for at least 100 years, professional and amateur miners tried their luck at getting rich, digging for opals. After several hours, we entered the town at early dusk, causing the surrounding countryside to glimmer in whites, deep browns and copper. Our accommodation is a huge man-made cave, filled with bunk beds, and separated by curtains like a public hospital. As it is a cave, the temperature inside was cool, almost cold, while the outside remained at a constant 85 F. Once I found an area in the cave for all the male students, and the female's their own area, a few of us hit the town to find the entire place empty of life. All except for a single convenience store. We stocked up on sandwiches, hot dogs and chips and returned to the cave.

We arrived to a scene of chaos. It turned out that one of the male students, a year 10 who I was warned about before the trip as a constant trouble-maker, evidently was caught in the female area, peeking through the curtains at a few girls, while they were changing clothes. The infamous Kurt Stoves, sat on a chair at the entrance alone with a scowl on his face. He wasn't a bad looking kid, small in stature, and blond hair that stuck out like he'd just been electrocuted.

“Did you do it?” I asked.

“No Mr. Middleton, those year 12 girl's are trying to set me up.”

It turned out that there were witnesses on both sides denying and accusing, thus an impartial judgement had to be made. And of course this landed on me.

“I'll tell you what, Kurt. I'm going to call your dad, and report the allegations, and tell him that you'll be on “probation” for the rest of the trip.” I said.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“That means I'll be watching you, and you better be on your best behaviour for the rest of the excursion. Got me?”

“ Yea.” an acknowledgement of defiance.

As we shall see, the Kurt Stover incident would eventually turn into a saga, creating havoc for the entire team.

Sleep wasn't too difficult because the strain of babysitting 50 teenagers, all in the throes of hormonal imbalance, all in the direction of propagating the human species, is a bit stressful.

I awoke again to the teacher's aid, Jasmine, standing at the end of my bunk, staring at me. This is twice, waking to find this woman looking at me with a soft expression.

She said, “Good morning.” and walked away.

We departed smack on 8:00am, and our next stop would be Alice Springs, Northern Territory, all without a single incident, aside from a few stops for bathroom breaks, in of all places. the middle of the Australian desert. We arrived to the small city at dusk, with just enough time to pitch our tents on the camp grounds. Thankfully, the same year 12 student who saved me breakfast in Adelaide, offered her services to help with my tent. This didn't get passed my colleagues, who stirred me up for many days to come.

*

Wittgenstein - Personl Recollections - Review

This is a truly incredible volume of recollections from five individuals who knew Wittgenstein in one capacity or another, giving the reader a new perspective or human side to a philosopher that is shrouded in misunderstanding and myth. On the surface, the text does not comment on Wittgenstein's philosophy as such, however, from these recollections and conversations, if one reads between the lines, so to speak, gains a possible unique access point into the philosopher's thought processes, revealing a religious and somewhat mystical Wittgenstein, a man deeply concerned about his fellow man and the conditions of the modern world.

The recollections begin with his older sister's memoir, Hermine Wittgenstein, and her view of her little brother shows nothing less than admiration, her genuine concern for his well being and acute observations about his incredible capacity for work and his constant striving for perfection in himself and in everything he attempted. At the outset of WW1, Wittgenstein was not medically fit for service, thus he volunteered, placing himself, as the war progressed, closer and closer to the front lines. She found it humorous that the military authorities believed Wittgenstein to be avoiding battle, when in fact he wanted to put himself squarely in the middle of it. In the end he succeeded, and won medals for bravery and the admiration from his fellow soldiers. Hermine's recollections of Wittgenstein designing and building her sisters famous house in Vienna, reveals again, the razor sharp thought and perfection of the philosopher, as the house, architecturally, was truly an example of modern style that was spawned and flourished in Germany and throughout Europe after the war.

The famous literary critic and teacher, F.R. Leavis, writes an anecdotal piece that reveals Wittgenstein's "single-mindedness" and genius on many levels. As many people who knew the philosopher would testify, Wittgenstein rarely conversed philosophy but lectured, sometimes for hours, never letting anyone else get a word in edgewise. Leavis's dislike for Bertrand Russel is no secret, however it becomes even more than clear when he illustrates Wittgenstein and Russel's differences in personality, one striving for selflessness and the other immortality.

The most revealing of all the recollections would have to be M.O'C. Drury, a student and life long friend of the philosopher who was present at his death at Cambridge. Drury would immediately, after spending anytime with Wittgenstein, return to his rooms and write down, as best he could, the subject of their discussion. He continued this habit over many years, which shows Wittgenstein's value of the truth, his views on music, and the constant struggle with his writing. I would have to admit that Dr. Drury's recollections are the clearest and better written of the entire group. Conversely, Rush Rhee's "Postscript" is an exceptional analysis of Wittgenstein's struggle with self-deception and his Jewishness.

This is a fine volume and the type of memoir that one can return to time and again and find new perspectives on the philosopher.

Divide and Conquer and Agent Provocateurs

There's an old anecdote that comes from the annals of 'tried and true' propaganda, which goes something like this: The King and his adviser are peering down over the castle wall observing the peasants rioting with pitchforks and clubs. The King turns to his adviser and with a worried tone, says, “What do we do if the people storm the castle?” Smiling sardonically, the adviser says, “No need to worry, your worship, we have a plan in play.” The King appears confused and asks, “What plan?” The adviser replies, “We will turn the pitchforks and clubs against each other, and they will forget all about us!” The King smiles, “Brilliant!” Only minutes later, they could see squabbles between the fork and the clubs beginning, and by the end of the day, the people forgot what they were rioting for in the first place. Thus the royalty was saved to carry on their destructive behaviours.

When one observes MSM over a time period, especially during recent weeks, can see the Right wing media blaming the Left, and visa versa. Biden wants to de-fund the police force, while Trump screams, blaming antifa. While the Right calls the protesters “the mob”, the Left are pointing out extreme police brutality. Our so-called leaders on both sides of the aisle, are accusing the people in the streets, and particularly the looters, but at the same time, ignoring the police's out of control behaviour, attacking women and the elderly, and running through the protesters with their vehicles. For the elite and their mouthpieces, the MSM, the blame is always cast away from the real problem: our political leaders and the failed system itself.

What is even more disturbing, is the obvious agent provocateurs amongst the protesters causing havoc, and provoking violence. One obvious video reveals a man dressed in black, wearing a gas mask, (over-dressed) breaking windows with no one else around him. When approached by a real protester, he says something vulgar, and drives away in a black, brand new, SUV. This man was a plant, destroying property to incite more violence.

In another video, we see large pallets of bricks, seemingly placed strategically around the city. What made this so blatantly obvious, was there was no construction site in the area. On the video, the young protesters saw this for what it was, bricks placed there as an opportunity to create violence. To my knowledge the bricks were never touched. So what does this tell us?

During times of protest, the establishment desire violence in order to retaliate with violence, and show the people that their doing their jobs, protecting and serving. We see police attacking peaceful demonstrators, merely standing and chanting, using extreme force when it's not required. I cannot count how many times I have seen this occur from the video phones of the people.

While the police are using unneeded force, we see politicians applauding their efforts, while the reality is something different all together. Added to this, the MSM are continuing to divide us in terms of our political beliefs, and our economic status... creating a class war between the rich and the poor.

The real enemy is the establishment and the elite, who have created a system where the people can't live in harmony or safety. When the pandemic began, we were ordered to remain at home, and most people's livelihood went straight out the window. Their was no effort by the government to ensure the people could economically survive, only taking care of their own, (Care Package) $4 trillion go to the corporations, banks and dubious donors.

On top of racist behaviour from the police on a national level, the government are literally starving the people. All the while blaming certain groups like Black Lives Matter, Antifa, white supremacists, violent blacks and violent whites, Republican voters and Democratic voters, all the while, the elites are looking over the castle walls, smiling, and announcing,

Brilliant.

Comment: Trump's Dubious Photo-Op

In certain countries around the world, an image has surfaced of President Trump holding up a Pentecostal bible in front of a church. The reason it's trending is the utter hypocrisy of his words against his actual actions leading up to the photograph being taken. While giving a press conference and reading from a monitor of a platitude-ridden speech, claiming his desire to protect peaceful protesters from the evil looters and planted trouble makers, in front of the WH, peaceful people are being gassed, shot at and beat -up, to pave the way for Trump to have his photograph taken. This is the height of verbalising one thing while doing the opposite. To my way of thinking, this exposes Trump as to who he really is...a liar and a coward.

It was only the night before, as the protests over the murder of George Floyd was gaining momentum at the gates of the White House, that suddenly all went dark – for the first time in recent memory, the WH lights were extinguished, and reports say, that Trump ran for the safety in an under ground bunker. This was a cowardly action to take. What makes it worse was the president's platitudes the next day, and the violence taken on peaceful protesters, contradicting his speech entirely.

Over the 2 and some years of writing this BLOG, there are perhaps 3 or 4 entries devoted to criticising Trump. This was a conscious effort of course, because everybody and his cat who dislikes the president, has made it their mission to bring him down. Generally I prefer to criticise his administration on foreign policies, but this blatant act of cowardice and hypocrisy, cannot go by without comment.

When things go wrong in the US, Trump's first response is to blame someone or something else. Similar to a spoilt, pubescent child, taking responsibility for one's actions remains an abstract concept. Most of us, however, grow to understand that personal responsibility is an indication of emotional and intellectual maturity. Because Trump was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, a man who has been given everything without that responsibility required for those things, this stage of emotional stage never had the opportunity to develop, hence we have a man-baby as president of the United States.

But these latest actions in hypocrisy, not only reveal an arrested development emotionally, but a deep-seated narcissistic trait of absolute unawareness of the outside environment, meaning a lack of empathy for others, and a view that the world only revolves around him.

The actual photo-op, the image of the president holding up a Pentecostal bible reveals further hypocrisy, because we know, Trump doesn't read, let alone the prose of the Bible, because the Good Book is way above his actual literacy level. This circus act was purely for his 'fake christian', evangelical followers, and nothing more.

The reason this story has gone viral around the planet, is the blatant showboat walk to the Church when only before, the peaceful protesters were shot, gassed and bullied out of the way. More astonishing, some right wing supporters compare this “walk” to Churchill, after London was bombed, walking amongst the ruins in support of the English people. This is absolute spin, propaganda, and utterly disgusting. Bone-spur Trump is all bark and no bite: A bully and a coward, as all bullies are, scared and weak.

We can see these actions and inaction's, this utter hypocrisy, around the planet concerning Trump's “leadership”.

I hope that the majority of the American people can see it as well.

Thoughts on the Protests

It was not surprising to witness overseas countries protesting in support of the American people. At first Berlin, then London, and today, New Zealand. This Saturday, Melbourne, Australia will be protesting “Aboriginal Deaths in Custody”, which has been occurring for at least a century. (Also in support of the American people) Citizens across the globe are tired of racism and police brutality, and the manifestation that, police do not work to protect the people, but the rich and the establishment, the 1%.

My eyes have been glued to the internet, viewing on the ground reporting from many independent news outlets. In many cases, these reporters were specifically targeted by police. Press badges in full view, cameras rolling, the police didn't care, and shot them with projectiles and tear gas...for the police, everyone was the enemy. Indeed, I came across a CNN (black) reporter being arrested, despite following exact protocol designated by law enforcement. My summation, the American police are rogue, protecting the rich, white few, and killing people of colour without consequences, and this is a big part of the reason people are protesting.

But there are also underlying reasons that the people have hit the streets with such gusto and blatant anger: the American economic system itself.

This is not to take away from the core reason of police brutality, but perhaps, to point out that the combination of Covid 19, the physical lock down, and importantly, the utter disregard economically, for the basic welfare of the American people. In a nut shell, the so-called “Care Act” gave over $4 trillion to the banks, corporations, and dubious DC lobby groups. All this done while throwing the people crumbs, that is, a single $1200 check and a few month extension on unemployment benefits. Because of the lock down, businesses have been closed for months, and small checks from the gov, in reality, will do nothing to help. The government is not only physically killing the minorities with bullets, their killing them by starving them to death.

What is even more troubling, the establishment and their mouthpieces, are projecting on abstract countries and groups, as reasons for the protests.

Trump is blaming Antifa, a anti-fascist, relatively small group, known for their aggressive tactics. Of course, this is pure propaganda; while neolibs', by way of the MSM, are blaming of all things, the Russians! These accusations are put out there without a shred of evidence. However, this propaganda will be believed, because the MSM currently, are designed to spread disinformation in order to sway public opinion for the benefit of the 1%.

It cannot be stressed enough, not only are these protests about police brutality upon people of colour, but the disregard of the US government to take care of its people during a world-wide pandemic.

I find Trump running and hiding into his bunker, turning out the lights of the WH, reveals an establishment scarred and scared by their utter greed and disregard for the American people. This is only the beginning.