Over the falls

This is a post from my morning pages completed at http://750words.com . These early posts are frequently disconnected, semi-cohesive train-of-thought ramblings, and they very seldom see the light of day. I recently re-read this entry from September last year and it resonated a bit with me - perhaps because it is a product of my sleep-fogged brain. If you're interested in writing, sign up and get started writing your own 750 words a day. It's kind of fun!  What is it with the ability to know anything at all, with the ideas that we float along in our heads, the half structured, the impending and the unknown tangible fleeting moments that scuttle around in our minds as we weave our ways through the day. Carrying in our minds this impending activity - one that, while started can never really be finished - that there's no urgency, only a vague kind of responsibility, a light and unfettered dusting of supposed-to, once that has gone, and it is so easily resplendent in the gala...

I awake in the quiet of the morning, reclining on my bed, made by the finest mattress-makers in all the land, filled with natural fibres and customised support structures, designed to ensure that I awake from each night's sleep revitalised and refreshed. I rise into the sunshine amid the sounds of the parrots frolicking in the garden, and don fine robes, crafted far off in the orient. I dress for comfort and warmth, and that which I seek I find instantly in my wardrobe, filled with many, many such clothes for all occasions. As I descend the staircase, I feel that perhaps I should like a warm, invigorating beverage to ease the chill on this winter morning. "As you wish, my Liege" - A beautiful white clean china cup, with intricate floral designs, and an ingenious machine that heats water almost instantly sparks into life with a gentle boiling hush. While I wait the idle minute or so, I gaze out at the tropical landscape, quietly encompassing the view, a dense majesty so ri...

At the edge of the world, where the sand meets up against the crystal cylinders of the rolling blue windswept ocean lived a simple and humble man, who had forsaken the land and his family. He stayed, for the most part, drifting around in the water, floating with the waves, riding the swollen anticipation that stemmed from the storms far out to sea on a hand made board. Fed up with the complications of the land, of the stupid human machinations of society, of people, and responsibility, he had awoken one morning with the seed of an idea. And over time, although that seed was poised to blossom into a crazy proposition, he nurtured it, referred to it in quiet moments standing at the bus stop. He held it close to him, and it was never far from his thoughts. This is how to grow oneself an idea - one holds it in the top of mind, and when pressured or sad, one recalls it. Soon, the idea will start to bud. Far from being fully-formed, an idea in the process of unfolding doesn't need to be ...

I've always fancied myself as a writer for Rolling Stone. Living a wild reckless, rock n' roll lifestyle, touring around with no fixed address, being all edgy and drug addled and fuck-you establishment... Being one of those guys who can't speak, interviewing people who can't talk for the benefit of those who can't read... ...Overall, It seems I have (fortunately) chosen a somewhat different path, but part of that reckless dream lives on in my new blog, Musichord . Along with an old friend, Charles , I'll be posting my thoughts on new music I like. Yeah, as a couple of aging hipsters, it's tempting to hate everything that the kids come out with these days. But it turns out there's a lot to like out there. And if you're looking for something new to listen to, or just for that voyeuristic pleasure that comes from skipping through somebody else's iPod, you can head over to our new website - You can also get us on Facebook , and Twitter , too. Rock ...

We spent New Years in time honored family tradition, on the beach under a glorious clear sky, with the Western Outer Orion Arm of the Milky Way luminous and scattered above the warm summer waves. This year, I've decided to focus on production rather than on consumption. If that sounds a bit odd, well, perhaps it is. It seems to me that in this coming decade, the massive increase in information availability, brought to me through the internet - through Facebook, and Twitter, and mainly through a never ending supply of smart, insightful and amusing humans to provide me with content, results in me feeling obligated to consume it all. That I should read each heartfelt status update, and follow each interesting link. I should upvote salient points of view, demote and chastise those less pleasant. I should "Like" things I read, (Except when the tone of the status update indicates that "liking" would be inappropriate: "Bob was abused as a child - 12 people like ...

The cockroach, like all creatures, is a miracle of evolution and adaptation. It's unique segmented body design, and it's hardiness and durability are legendary among popular parlance. It can survive in the most trying circumstances, subsist on almost nothing and thrive on on the most meagre fare. But there is one thing that it hasn't yet adapted to - a perfectly flat, even surface. Such a thing has not existed for the vast majority of the cockroaches millions of ancestors, and the modern day cockroach is now frequently found adventuring across such surfaces, in the corners of bathrooms and under microwave ovens all over the world. The problem with flat, even surfaces only becomes apparent to the cockroach when it is unfortunate enough to capsize, and land on it's back. Its method for righting itself is to wave it's legs and antennae wildly, in an effort to grab a hold of the leaf litter, sticks or grass of its habitat, and using the unevenness of the ground, get e...

So, I’m Momo. What? Why’s it say “So, I’m Momo?” What? What are you doing Dad? (laughs) Dad, just go back, back, back back. Delete, Delete – Dad! – You’re not meant to be writing this, Dad. Dad! Dad!! Back –uh – Do back! (frowns) (looks sad, but says nothing) Why don’t you just delete all that? And THEN we can do the story – if you delete it all. Make all the letters go away! Why not Dad? You’re just doing random stuff. This isn’t the story.

I found myself, standing in the entrance to a massive building, being guided by an unknown force that was far too big for me to resist or even to question. As we herded into the alcove, I could see up ahead, an ascending escalator with people riding smoothly up one side, and down the other. Suspended in mid air above the escalator, were 10 different coloured gaseous squares, like a series of lasers swirling through a mist, all at head height. I watched as people boarded the escalator, and rose up, their heads each passing through these strange coloured zones. Semi-reluctantly, I boarded the escalator, aware of the endless jostling queue behind and in front of me. Easing my way up to the first zone, I felt it pass smoothly over my face. It felt strange, though not unpleasant - like that fuzziness that you feel when you wake too early in the morning. I moved out of the zone, leaving the feeling behind. As I continued the ride up to the top, passing through each of the different coloured ...

Squatting down on the cement pathway, huddled amidst the short shadows of the passers-by, is a small child. As people stir past him, ambling on their daily chores, he watches them pass intently. Periodically, he stiffens his back, puffs out his chest, and yells. “MANSPRAY!” The locals ignore him easily, continuing their amiable conversations as they proceed. Most are wearing bilims around their heads or shoulders. A woman carries a small baby nestled in her woven string bag – others are full of lime pots, food and cigarettes. The sidewalk is a deep rusty orange, the colour of the Beetelnut tainted streams of spit that spurt unexpectedly from the mouths of those who crowd into it. The oppressive humidity seems to lift a little in the middle of the day, to be replaced by the blazing heat of the sun. “MANSPRAY!” I have always had trouble intentionally ignoring people. I have a kind of universal respect for every human, which seems to include at a minimum that I will genuinely listen to a...

The late morning sun lights up the slats of the wooden blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor of the room. The winter solstice just passed, and the wind behind the pane of glass shuffles the trees slightly, as if trying to find a more comfortable position to settle down in for the coming day. Seated cross legged on the bed, typing these words into a computer, is Gordon Taylor. He yawns, stretches his toes and removes the blue hood from his head. What kind of a story is he planning to tell you? In truth, he doesn't know himself. He is inspired to begin writing only because he loves the way words sound when they are describing things, the way they can conjure a picture of reality using the abstract constructions of letters and phrases. In truth, such a notion is not the best reason to begin to write. The best reason to write is to share a tale, to amaze, affront, astound and challenge the reader (that's you). Gordon would dearly like to be able to construct such a tale...

Dark Galaxy was a web based strategy game that in early 2002 became a huge time sink at the software company I was working for. I can't actually remember the point of it, or how the whole thing worked. But while shuffling through some old files, I stumbled upon this story that I had written about it. Tosh re-lit the lantern as the rest of the workers filed into the small portable kitchen. “Another turn’s work completed” “Yeah- I reckon that harvest should keep ‘em going for a while” Tosh was tired. Tired of farming. The genetically enhanced super food crops would soon be ready for more harvesting in another turn – then what? Off they’d go again… More harvesting, more carrying, more trudging through dirt. The food would be loaded onto the giant robocarrier that would take it off to the holding cache. I hope those folk in the colony appreciate what we do for them, Tosh thought, distastefully. The lantern cast eerie shadows on the scraggly beards of the workers as they took off th...

This post is in honour of my father's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I couldn't be there in person this year, but I was there in spirit. And as one of those solemn and awkward blonde kids, I hope this story will give you some insight into how much that day meant to me, as well as to you both. Herb and Ailsa swam towards their summer cove, for what seemed to Herb like the thousandth time. The morning sky was a pale grey as Herb idly broached the surface, taking a quick breath before returning to his spouse. "I still think we should have stayed home. The water isn't any warmer here." "Yes, Dear", Ailsa said, almost automatically. "And you know, Hank was going to take us out to visit that new wreck he found. I wanted to see that..." "I know Dear. It will still be there when we return, I'm sure" Herb opened his beak as if he was about to speak, and then thought the better of it. They swam on together in silence. The summer cove ha...

In a crowded hotel room, hastily assembled, the desks arranged in a U shape. Business people are seated sedately, all wearing collared shirts, some with ties, listening to a discussion about the grant funding capacity of the Australan Government in Papua New Guinea, and the benefits to the state of Queensland. Lame jokes elicit predictable polite courtesy laughter. The Queensland Treasurer, a young politician looks bored and fidgets idly with his pen. It's not surprising. The topic bores us all, and I am forced to write down what I see in order to give the appearance that I am taking notes. I look up and nod periodically, as if to say "Yes, that's a good point" or occasionally with a furrowed brow - "I don't know about that..." Nobody notices. Secretly, everyone's mind is wandering. The Asian gentleman to my right is fighting sleep- his eyelids conspiring against his desire to be seen to do the right thing in this artificial social envionment. "...

Apparently web based social services need to be named after animal noises. We have Twitter and now Buzz, so that's the birds and the bees covered. Hopefully Microsoft or Yahoo can get in on the act with something with a bit more grunt - Oink! Or "Moo" perhaps... Seriously though, a few things struck me about Buzz that I wanted to share. Google has, via gmail, been collecting a lot of my social capital. It knows who I talk to most, and presumably at least semantically, what I talk about with whom. In the back of my mind, I was vaguely aware that this was going on, but Google's "don't be evil" mantra kind of reassured me that this data wouldn't be exploited. With the launch of Buzz, it becomes apparent precisely the scope and scale of this profile mining excerise that Gmail has been. As a heavy Gmail user, buzz came pre-configured with all my friends, and had 75 interesting posts from them, at launch. Compare this with Google Wave, which launched with ...

Late last night I picked up my Ukulele, where it had been lying neglected in the corner of the office, under a small whiteboard covered in work scribble. And as I was reading the work scribble, and feeling quite overwhelmed by all the work I have to do, I absentmindedly played this little diddly - which I decided sounded kind of like it should be a ringtone - so I turned it into one. If you have an iPhone, you can download it here - just drag it to your ringtones directory in iTunes, and it will show up on your phone when you next sync.

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold - William Carlos Williams

A friend of mine died today. He wasn't a particularly close friend, or even someone I had spent a long time with. He was a work colleague - we'd worked together at TOWER Software. To Me, Keith was a bit of an enigma - a records manager, ex military, he was organized and careful in his approach to his work. I could always be sure that when I needed a stapler, or sticky tape, that I could find it easily at Keith's desk. When the cancer took hold of him, his desk was often empty. (This made the task of sneaking paperclips much less pleasant. ) Keith's specialty was the JITC (Joint Interoperability Tactical Command) Certification process . If that sounds boring, well, just wait - it gets way more detailed. The US Defense force certifies Record Keeping solutions to ensure that they comply with their strict policy of retention and control. This process is immensely complicated - it requires compliance with literally thousands of different rules and regulations. Because it is ...

This Financial Crisis on Wall Street thing started me thinking. Since we arrived in the US, I've been contemplating how strange it is that America seems more concerned with money than it does with people. And now, with a trillion dollars already handed out to high finance, and discussions about even more massive handouts, well - it's pretty clear who America loves the most. For me to send my children to University here in the US will cost me about half a million dollars, assuming average current College prices. If I get sick, say with an expensive disease like cancer, I could be easily looking at 300,000 dollars a year in treatment costs . When it comes to preserving my personal health, or my ability to contribute to society, the United States wants to contribute absolutely nothing. And yet, the US Government will spend trillions of dollars - that's over a thousand billion dollars resuscitating businesses that have effectively done stupid, bad things . The kind of thing t...

I sit, pensively leaning over my keyboard, stilled for the first time in an hour. The lilting piano music had caught part of my conscience. I stare out the window at the Virginia sunshine, fading in the afternoon. The green, filtered light falls dappled onto the lawn between me and the dogwood tree at the gate. An elderly gentleman pedals along James street, wearing a blue denim hat and a white T-shirt. Somewhere, a fanfare announces the advent of something. Some kind of thought dances elusively as I stare abjectly into the world. And then it hits me. That the time spent is gone. That great intentions and potential are worthless. The future is also worthless. Green light is reflected from the trees in an instant. I think about it now.

I haven't seriously written anything here forever. I was re-reading some old posts, and realising that I really liked reading them. So, in the interests of posterity... Living in America for the last two years has been a wonderful adventure. It's been strange, and entertaining, and frustrating and all the things that life probably should be, if you're trying to make a decent go of it. But, times change, and the lure of Australia is calling us back across the Pacific. So, me and the family are going to pull up stumps and head on home in October. (I still haven't figured out baseball. ) This brings a huge amount of stress, and excitement, and chaotic planning, and other things that life probably should be, if you're trying to make a decent go of it. I feel like I have two different todo lists - one for work and one for home. And when I look at each of them, I think - yeah, I can do that in two and a half months. The trouble is, there's two of them... Cognitive Bi...