The Star and the Cross, there for a Moment...

Abstract:

Time heals what reason cannot.  ~Seneca

Prelude:

It didn’t feel like any old ordinary day in my garden that March 1960, as the Australian Raven flew up onto the power-line and barked its call. The power-line swayed a little, attached to a graffiti plagued power pole that was attached to a particular transformer that buzzed too much. The reason it wasn’t all that ordinary was because I was feeling rather dreamy and relaxed. Everything was slow and THAT wasn’t all that ordinary, especially  with three year old grandchildren most weekends, two respected literature blogs to maintain, messy year 7 school assignments to mark and a husband who swears at me in Italian when the sink has only a few dirty dishes. Yet at that indulgent lazy moment, for no reason I could ascertain, the transformer seemed to amp its buzz, just a minor decibel or two. This I found was a little eerie, not to say rightfully curious, but on top of that it was right before, splash! Tock! The hose tip I was using to water the white Chrysanthemums launched itself head-first into the wooden fence. These curios events however were nothing compared to when all of a sudden, everything, including time, seemed to slow to a near pause and I was suddenly entranced by the flowing sounds and sights of the clear tube of water,  how it flashed in crystallization in the straight spokes of the butter-autumn sunshine. 

 

Three Visions:

In a two world blink, I was suddenly back in a familiar dancing meadow, the forest outskirts of Grazzanise, Sicily, 1943. Back looking into the flowing brook waterfall near the foot of a large hill that towered like a sitting Buddha, looking out over the nearby seaside. Being there again, ahh, it just felt so vibrant with life force, as if everything glowed with little inner lights under the cellophane of existence. The wild rosemary, the honeysuckle, the daisy bushes, the geraniums, the spring! O the spring… Yet it was crossed with a fearful memory, no! They can’t come here…. No! That sound, it’s just a bee hive… Forget about it, I bet the silly Domarcos have been throwing rocks at them again. But where has the bird song gone? Why is it so dark all of a sudden? Was I so busy picking flowers that I missed the approaching darkness in those clouds? Then the shadows! O the unnatural shadows struck me.  NO!!! Not here! The birds of hell have come! Demons in the sky!! I screamed at them from my heart “YOU AREN’T MEN!!” And then the town’s air raid sirens began to scream too. I leapt like a dear from a forest fire towards the house with my only two thoughts, where were the bomb shelter keys? And most of all, where were my children, all alone.

 

Two of the latter thoughts of fear rushed to quell me as I rounded the slate garden path, clinging to me as I tried to calm them with fearless words; “don’t worry, they won’t come here…” yet the truth remained, I was trembling as they lifted their heads from my dress towards the formation darkened sky.  And where was Ariana? Where was my eldest? Why did she have to be so in love? Fungula! Calm yourself. They have a shelter too, family quarrels can wait, wait until it’s over. Find the keys quick, O by the grace of Christ! Let me find the keys. A second wave of P-38’s passed overhead, I had remembered their name from when Lorenzo listened to the news on the radio. Lorenzo thought the Allies would never bother with Sicily, we were much too small, and the Fascists would blow over the Parliament in time, nothing would really disturb our peace. Boom! The first root shaking blasts, a couple of km’s away, they were carpet bombing Civilians! The Criminals! The spectre servants of Lucifer! Where were the keys? Not in the kitchen cupboard spots, not in the lounge coffee table draws, where would he have put them? Was he so angry that he lost them? Why didn’t he tell me!

 

Boom! Another blast shook my memory, the night before he left to fight in Egypt he had been reading a book of mine, actually reading Dante! My heart leapt for joy as the ring tinkled on the shaft and fell into my hands. I ran out of the kitchen back door as I heard and then saw my hearts greatest fear, a low flying angel of death beginning an arcing swoop for my home, our life. Quickly as I could, I swooped my children into my arms and ran into the underground cellar in the back yard. But as I went to close the door, the door with a star on the handle, my soul almost pounded out of my body, “Mumma! Mumma! I’m coming Mumma!” But Ariana was too late, a world ended in a fiery boom, the words “mumma” echoing in my empty consciousness as it all went white.

 

“Mumma! Mumma! Wake up Mumma!” it was Jianna, her high cheek bones below anxious crystal blue eyes, but I didn’t recognise her at first, she was so grown up, “are you ok mumma?” she said. I was so confused, my head was aching “what? Where am I? ARIANA!” I rushed to find her, but getting up caused my head to explode with a giga-watt throbbing pain. They all looked at each other with concern, “Ariana?” I suddenly realised where I was and shook my head, I was safe, back in the new home, back in Doncaster. My husband was franticly talking on the phone, no doubt wasting time and other people’s money on an ambulance I didn’t think I’d need. “Lorenzo!” I commanded, “why are you bothering them Lorenzo, I’m ok there’s nothing to fear about a little day dream.” “But mumma” Adelle protested “you passed out mumma, little Joey came to find me mumma, o he was so worried, he said that you were standing there looking at the flowing hose for ages mumma, just standing there, then you fell over in the garden with a yell! We have not been able to wake you for…” But as the rapids of her concern flowed over me I couldn’t concentrate, all of a sudden the room started to spin, “look at mummas eye Vito” I felt lightheaded, a deep vertigo, I then remembered Dantes poem, the one where the bomb shelter key was hidden, Lorenzo looked at me, dark penetrating eyes from the phone, he put it down without saying good bye.

 

I felt the urge to speak to him, to recite, they were a poetry sensitive family and a calm hush fell over them as I spoke; “Here vigour failed the lofty fantasy, but now was turning my desire and will, even as a wheel that equally is moved, the Love which moves the sun and the other stars.”  And as I spoke the last syllables, I looked out the window looking for the evening star, my daughter. Yet with no stars in the sky I felt the grief at losing my eldest hit me like a tsunami, an age old grief returning from the depth of my soul, I began to sob , crashing convulsions and heaving breathes and my family embraced me, heart and soul. “I’m not waiting” said Lorenzo, and Vito agreed, the girls put a grey woollen blanket around me and I was hustled into the car. I was feeling so delirious and beginning to think they were right to be so concerned. My head was full of throbbing pain and everything was so slow, dream-like and blurry.

 

We got out onto the freeway and the blurs increased their ghost streak on the world, everything, as if in a white rapid. All until a moment of clear-quartz clarity where the sky was filled with huge grey beast like clouds and a single silver-golden ray illuminated an old green farmers truck next to us.  There in the passenger’s seat, a small girl was looking at me with a furrowed brow. I couldn’t handle her look, such fear and worry from such innocence, I averted her gaze. But looking back again she was suddenly my eldest, she smiled, “Ariana!” I yelled, but in a blink she turned back to the farmer’s daughter who, to my numb wonder, fogged the window with her breath and drew a six pointed star and then behind the star she then made the sign of the cross with her hand as tears streamed down my face.

 My youngest Adelle embraced me “she’s in heaven mumma, she’s ok mumma, she’s with god”. Sobbing, I averted the girls penetrating gaze again. Yet a moment later, I understood and felt a kind of divine bliss at this strangers blessing, a bliss I had only known in my younger days in the church, in prayer with god. I then smiled back at her and looked down to the whirring wheel, the hub cap glinted just like the water from the garden, everything silenced, slowed to a near pause once more.

 

In a two world blink, I was suddenly sitting on hard wooden slats of a bumpy troop carrier, looking at the glinting hub capped wheel of the carrier next to us. Then I looked down, reached under the grey, drenched woollen uniform I was wearing, pulled out a necklace, kissed it and said a prayer to a god I did not know. A soldier to my right laughed and in Italian said “Giavani you mad man, which heathen God do you think is going to help us here? These are easy gates of hell my friend, you’ll only find the test of our strength and skill in this place…”  I looked at him and smiled defiance.  Yes I knew this stocky, dark chiselled man talking here, I would know that confident humorous undertone anywhere, it was my husband, we were about to approach the Egyptian front at Sidi Barrani, 1940. 

 

Boom! A mortar shell hit the far side of the truck I was staring at, which screeched off and ditching head first into the grey muddy bank. Our driver swerved and hit the accelerator and I could hear the radio man going crazy. A few more mortar hits barely missed us, one making my ears ring as the bumps made the world utter chaos, but we had made it, we were lucky, we had a trench at the top of a hill, we had machine guns, thick sand bags and the safety of some of the best armoured vehicles Italy had ever made. “They say they’ve broken through to the south” I said, “ha! Let them come… I can shoot fifteen at a time from a place like this” boasted Lorenzo, I believed him too, the British were foolish in trying to take this city, we were expected to win easily when our reinforcements arrived and then storm through the rest of Egypt. 

 

As we disembarked, another mortar shell hit close by, I started to wonder if these actually were mortars considering the size and intensity of the explosions. As I wondered about this my fears were quickly confirmed with the groaning whir of an enemy Bomber in the cloud. Luckily, a mobile anti aircraft truck pulled up beside us and started hammering flack shells into the air, shortly after, as we headed into the trench, a distant cloud alighted with a warm boom, illuminating the hearts of the troop in a great “hurrah!” “Still think we need God my friend?” said Lorenzo, I only smiled and ducked over the edge for a few shots at the enemy.

 

Then it was de’ja’ vu, I could hear another heart thumping whirr of an aircraft engine close by, on approach to our position. And then it appeared, like a phantom hell-bird out of the grey-beast cloud, a Hurricane fighter, machine guns aimed right at our trench.  I thought; this pilot is a demon! This attack is surely suicide! Our anti-aircraft gun levelled, aimed and boomed, but it missed by a mere foot and ran out of ammunition. I nudged Lorenzo on his machine gun, who wheeled it around as we all rose our weapons skyward. But we were too slow, I heard the rattling of its weapons, the trench ground before me erupted in a shower of men, mud and blood and then with a white striking flash, a deafening thump, the world disappeared as my ringing ears took over. 

 

Then I was looking up to the sun setting sky, the only sounds, my heart beat and a faint buzz.  I heard distant shouts, as I saw the evening star, so bright in the clearing dusk-purple, the evening star where a dark figure appeared in slow motion. Turning into Lorenzo streaming with tears, I could tell with his noiseless lips that he was trying to say “hold on, don’t die, it was going to be ok, we got the bastard, they were going to get me to the medic…” But I, feeling the truth, put my hand up to my chest and felt the gaping bloody hole and felt the short frantic breaths from drowning lungs. I knew death at that moment and reached into my uniform, I looked him in the eye and pulled out my sons golden star necklace from my chest, held it out to him as I told him what was in my soul… “I’m sorry Lorenzo…”  “I like you… but I feared the love of our children… forgive me… I know not the designs of our separate faiths, but tell my wife, love is life… please… do this for me… give this to…”

Epilogue:

In a dark room with one dim glowing lamp in a silent sobbing part of the hospital, the great Lave Drago of Sicily, loved by many and brought through dream to stroke, had died in her coma.  Yet as the tears flowed and the cries of ‘mumma’ filled the air, Lorenzo quietly leaned over to pick up the Bible, the Bible he had never touched since the death of his mother. And as he rose and began to speak from the chanced page, one of David’s psalms, each word was timeless familiar to the family, the centre of love in their meaning;

1    The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want.

2          He makes me down to lie

     In pastures green: he leadeth me

          the quiet waters by.

3    My soul he doth restore again;

          and me to walk doth make

     Within the paths of righteousness,

          ev'n for his own name's sake.

4    Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,

          yet will I fear none ill:

     For thou art with me; and thy rod

          and staff me comfort still.

5    My table thou hast furnished

          in presence of my foes;

     My head thou dost with oil anoint,

          and my cup overflows.

6    Goodness and mercy all my life

shall surely follow me

And in God's house for evermore

        my dwelling-place shall be. 

And then it was that Georgio, cried out for Ariana’s love from his sleep on the other side of the
world, as the Drago family said amen, and sobbed again as the buzz from the hospital machine
faded. It was then that the ghosts of Lave and Ariana, leaning on Lorenzo’s last syllables, on his
shoulder and holding his hand across the void, were there, yet only for a moment… 

 

Monsanto of War

                                                     

Did you know that millions and millions of protesters world-wide took to the streets on the 25th of may to protest against GMO foods? If you didn't you could be forgiven, you haven't been helped all that much by the media regimes that seem to dictate world news... But just in case, heres alittle update, GMO foods or genetically modified organisms and their by-products, are flagshipped by the behemoth, multi-national corporation Monsanto, a company that has signalled its intentions to mute labeling requirements world-wide, mute scientific investigation into its products, set ex members of its corporation into FDA positions world-wide, sue, bully and mafia gang farmers for the use of its product, a product that has been proven to kill the pollinating bee population and cause tumors and brain damage world-wide... in short, they must be stopped before the future of their failed science murders the future completely.... [for educational purposes]

to learn more visit:
www.march-against-monsanto.com/p/learn-a…anto.html

jasonmaxwell · Monsanto of War

On a Community's Shift of Power: From Gardens to Computers...

                                 Published October 22, 2012 at 900 × 599 in Photos by Glenn Stephenson
                                         http://www.burgeroff.org/photos/photos-by-glenn-stephenson/day-one/

an Essay by Jason B.R. Maxwell,

29th March 2013.
Bachelor of Art student,
Curtin University.
For educational
purposes

 

Abstract:

 

Activism today has at its disposal unprecedented means of New Media representation,
 but does it amplify the power and number of activists engaged in the actual physical process?
This paper attempts to identify where the new medium achieves an international resonance
and a cultural link to new media consumers political engagement, while undergoing
a theoretical examination of a case study in the “No Maccas in Tecoma” protest.

Key words: Activism, New Media, No Maccas in Tecoma, political engagement.

Introduction: The complexity….

The ways in which the “active audience” (Thompson via Jenkins, 2006) signals a shift in
power from media institutions to media consumers are varied and many.

Yet to paraphrase Bakardjieva (2012) on their quality, theorists in the past have expressed an

over-enthusiasm for New Media’s power-political agency and its current form and future
 potential has turned out to be far more complex than first imagined (p.64). That being said,

New Media IS a significant advantage to whoever can weld its power and, in the interest of

exploring how to do so in regards to the protester-consumer, this essay
attempts a case study of the new media savvy “No Maccas in Tecoma” (NMIT) community
(burgeroff.org, 2011). It does so in two ways; analysis of group formation with plurality
of a digital "Mediapolis” and second, how these groups form a New Media culture
that requires “direct connections” to the ‘real world’ people and cultural practice to gain
its significant consumer advantages (Savvas, 2013, Bakardjieva, 2012, p.66).

  

Alert the audience!

 

The first way that the “active audience” (Thompson via Jenkins, 2006)
signals a shift from the media institutions to the media consumer concerns a new plurality

of the “Mediapolis”, which is described by Bakardjieva (2012) as a “heterogeneous web of
media technologies, actors and practices that spans the private and the public realms” (p.66).
This ‘mediapolis’ in current form enables community spheres to ‘link’ and frame new
“possibilities for collective action” (Bakardjieva, 2012).  Used extensively by protesters today,
the ‘mediapolis’now organises and directs attention in a real time environment previously
unavailable to pre-mobile groups (Wall, 2005, Gordan, 2006, Bakardjieva, 2012). For example,
in the case of the protest against a McDonalds restaurant made by the relatively small
community of Tecoma, the communities organisation techniques were successful in
directing institutional attention which proved vital in the formation and effective sustained
community engagement.

 

However, the Dandenong’s community has history of successful local political a
activism without engaging new media, as poet Duggan (2002) states in February

1992; “their message to McDonalds go elsewhere, we love the hills and for the hills
we care” (p.17) and they were “three times” successful in dispelling McDonalds
(Johnston, 2012). Therefor this communities case study can only be used in-so-far
as a marginal new media shift.  What made the NMIT shift special, was the way in
which citizens combined with “netizens”  (Bakardjieva, 2012, p.71) to transform
individuals in and out of existing groups to a stable network of anti-McDonalds
supporters called “Burger off”, a website and group with elite members, political
supporters, finance and media campaigns spanning events, council engagement,
social media, art spheres and institutions
(burgeroff.org, 2011).

 

Yet in the early stages, when restaurant planning was knowledgeable to
consumers via traditional institutions in March 2011, new media amplified it using
individual spokespersons to alert an even greater public via blogging-politician Cr. Dunn

and online members of the Tecoma Village Action Group (TVAG) (Cr Dunn, 2011,
tvag.org.au, 2013).  Using their blogs, institutional influence, and Facebook accounts,
more individuals combined with these politicians and pre-existing institutions to educate
the community action, which managed  to form an unprecedented council response, with
“over 1,100 individual community objections … lodged opposing the proposal”
(burgeroff.org, 2011). 

Thus, it could be argued that had not council objection instructions and
promotions’ spread across new media with such timeliness and visibility by these ‘netizens’
online, that such numbers would not have been previously possible.  This line of civic agency

inherit in the internet merges with Bakardjieva’s  ‘private and public Mediapolis’ in a
new way to produce what Dahlberg (via Bakardjieva, 2009) calls the “emergence and
growing visibilityof “counter publics” composed of groups and interests that are not
represented in the mainstream public discourses.” (p.91). 

Despite minor initial mainstream institutional engagement, the protest today
represents the ‘active audience’ as a major emergence of a politically empowered
grassroots organisation (burgeroff.org, 2013). For this is an organisation that was able
to build collectively, enough momentum to direct the ‘Mediapolis’ of worldwide
institutions, from California to Japan and has initiated a permanent political act with a

“new planning statement” to prevent further planning developments
(burgeroff.org, 2013).

 

The cultural context: Should we be Gardening?

 

The second way that the contemporary “active audience” 
(Thompson cited in Rosen, 2006) signals a shift from the media institutions to one
of the media consumer, concerns a contextually cultural engagement of an online
“living space inhabited not only by images and discourses, but also by people with
their daily thought and action” (Bakardjieva, 2012, p.67). In a working paper on
creating engaging sites such as these, research by Bukowski, Newcomb & Hartup
(2006) has found that “friendship ties were a key motivation for members to join
such groups and stay involved.” (via Vilenchik & Shresthova, 2012, p.19).

 

Yet to engage the friendship groups that make an online community as vibrant
and richly frequented as the NMIT community, Vilenchik & Shresthova (2012) outline

 three methods; method one: “Build Communities: Build, encourage and sustain
community affiliations and friendships, not only to promote civic goals but as valuable in
their own right.” Method two: “Tell Stories: Create and use narratives in ways that
encourage emotional investment and connection to the organization” method three;
“Produce Media: Encourage and sustain action through media creation and circulation”
(p.19).

 

As has been stated in the NMIT case, the first method; ‘building communities’
had already (partially) occurred, even in the youth, yet as one NMIT Facebook participant
 Elicia Savvas (2013) has commented; “Young people [in Tecoma] are highly politically engaged,

despite the rhetoric from some older people, but it doesn't seem successful without making
direct connections beyond social media.” This mirrors Westlakes (2008) view that generation
 Y has increased levels of political interest but tend to recoil at the point of protest action
(pp.37-38). So, the question was; how can one thread youth and seniors together to make
a group with these ‘direct connections’?

 

This was when the protest came up with a brilliant game changing idea. After the
civic council action had failed to stop the restaurant in a late McDonalds appeal to the

powerful institution the “VCAT tribunal’, the community rallied around the grassy public
space that was now undemocratically scheduled for destruction and on October 14th 2012,
 they planted a community garden (burger.org, 2011).

 

This action not only gained massive public attention as it borders a major arterial
road for the Dandenong’s, but it also claims a very public space as community owned

instead of privately owned, an action similar to the Occupy Movement, but with a more
permanent result. Shortly after, the gardens peak media moment occurred when the story
made the “seven nightly news” and it is clear in that report that NMIT encompassed all
generations in true grass roots activism, including many students from across the road at the
primary school (egymoh52, 2012). After that the garden continued to form a central
meeting point for the campaign and truly ‘built, encouraged and sustained personal
relationships to promote civic goals and as a value in their own right.’ 
 

But as these sites proceeded to ‘share the storey’ on social media, a counter
culture developed at the same time.  This formed as a rather abusive Pro McDonalds

site simply labelled “Tecoma McDonalds” (2011). Here, unless one counts a single case
of arson vandalism to the NMIT garden, (Webb, 2012) ‘Tecoma McDonalds’ group
actions remained mostly in the private level of the mediapolis, in what is known as
“subactivism”, (Bakardjieva, 2012) a level of activism where “identity construction [takes place]
through subject positioning vis-à-vis social and political discourses and relations, [and]
friend–enemy distinction and identification with collective formations
[are made]” (p.71).

 

In contrast the ‘subject positioning’ only strengthened this media savvy community and
they  continued to share the storey of the unanimous council-VCAT rejection via

the garden site which ballooned media creation onto online spaces such as Youtube.  An
example of this is the evocative “remediation” (Bolter, 1999, p.45) “reclaiming Tecoma” which
can be seen linking a community cultural heritage of healthy organic food with the garden
 and aiming this statement at the McDonalds restaurant (MrTJsmith79. 2012). These
combined cultural acts mirror what Bakardjieva, (2012) describes of in her anti-logging case
 study, where public spaces where used for similar, effective “physical … dimension[s] of the
mediapolis [which] proved to be an essential space of appearance … [bridging]
the online and the traditional media” (p.71).

 

 

Conclusion: A strong Community reverberates

 

Despite the fact that the McDonalds restaurant will probably go ahead without
 a massive high court apeal, that in complexity, it could be argued that without the
“active audience” (Thompson cited in Rosen, 2006)  engaged in new media the NMIT
protest would still have been as large and as passionate as ever, it must besaid that
the shifting powers to the media consumer is there in this strong example.Strong
because in this essay the ‘No Maccas in Tecoma’ community provides
stable evidence suggesting an increased level of participation from well organised,
 informed and internationally recognised online groups engaged in a Mediapolis that
 has positively and permanently affected the local and state governmental process.
Strong because the Tecoma community culture is now firmer than ever in its cross
generational social ties of both new media and real space and the spin off effect of
 grassroots health food culture has been spread far and wide. Strong because in the
interest to further research, this article suggests the idea of the new media political
family agency and identifies interest-action borders to be explored in a greater depth
so as to ensure the audience is always not only politically active, but potent where
 and when it counts.    

 

 

 

Reference List:

 

Bakardjieva, Maria. (2012). Reconfiguring the mediapolis: New media and civic
 agency New Media Society. 14(63). Pp. 63-79. DOI: 10.1177/1461444811410398.
 

_______________. (2009). Subactivism: Lifeworld and Politics in the Age of the
Internet. The Information Society. 25(1). Pp.91–104. DOI: 10.1080/01972240802701627

Bolter, J. D., & Grusin. R. (1999). Remediation: Understanding New Media . Cambridge,

 MA: MIT Press. pp. 44-50.

Burgeroff.org. (2013). Accessed 23rd May 2013: http://www.burgeroff.org.
 

Duggin, Francis. (2002). No, They Don’t Want McDonalds in Belgrave. Songs
of Sherbrook. AUS. Self-published. p.17.

Dunn, Cr. Samantha. (2013).Cr Samantha Dunn: The official blog of Greens
Councillor Samantha Dunn, Shire of Yarra yanges. Blog Posts May 21^st 2011 to present.
 Accessed: 21^st  May 2013: http://crdunn.blogspot.com.au/2011_05_01_archive.html.

Gordon, J. (2007). The mobile phone and the public sphere: mobile phone usage
in three critical situations. Convergence. 13(3). pp.307-319.

Johnston, Chris. (2012). No fries with that. The Age Victoria. December 16^th.
Accessed 23^rd May 2013:
http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/no-fries-with-that-20121215-2bg4y.html.

Kligler-Vilenchik, Neta. & Shresthova, Sangita. (2012). Learning Through Practice:

Participatory Culture Civics. Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism.
USA. University of Southern California. P.19.

MrTJsmith79. (2012). Reclaiming Tecoma. [youtube]. October 17^th. Accessed 21st
 May 2013:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1wDZZDboZM&feature=player_embedded.

McDonalds Tecoma. (2012). Facebook Group.  Facebook.com. Accessed 21^st May:

https://www.facebook.com/#!/TecomaMcdonalds?fref=ts.

Savvas, Elicia. (2011). Facebook Group Posting. 21^st May, 5:51pm. No Maccas in
the Hills. Facebook.com. accessed 21^st May 2013:
https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/168109379936618.

Seedy, Kimberly. (2011). HAVE YOUR SAY: Do you want a McDonald's in Tecoma?.
Free Press Leader. 13^th April. Accessed 22^nd May 2013:
http://free-press-leader.whereilive.com.au/news/story/hungry-for-the-hills. 

Singer, J.B. & Ashman, I. (2009) ch. 19: User-Generated Content AND Journalistic
Values. In S. Allen & E. Thorsen (Eds.), Citizen Journalism: Global Perspecitves.
New York: Peter Lang. pp. 233-242.

Rosen, J. (2006). ‘The People Formerly Known as the Audience’. Press Think.

http://archive.pressthink.org/2006/06/27/ppl_frmr.html.

tvag.org.au. (2012). McDonald’s. [July] accessed: 21^st May 2013:
http://www.tvag.org.au/McDonalds.html.

Wall, Melissa. (2005). Blogs of war: weblogs as news. Journalism. 6 (2), pp.153-72.

DOI: 10.1177/1464884905051006.

Westlake, E.J. (2008). Friend me if you Facebook: Generation Y and performative
 surveillance.The Drama Review. 52(4). pp.21-40. Accessed 23rd May 2013:

http://muse.jhu.edu.dbgw.lis.curtin.edu.au/journals/the_drama_review/v052/52.4.westlake.pdf.

Webb, Emily. (2012).Tecoma Maccas fight turns ugly. Free Press Leader. 29th October.
Accessed 21^st May 2013:
http://free-press-leader.whereilive.com.au/news/story/tecoma-maccas-fight-turns-ugly/.

 

My deep thanks to the "burger off" community group for their continued fight to
save our community from this corporate disease...

w a lentil burger
-Jas: D

 

 

the fifth sphere is waiting...

          (http://art.ngfiles.com/images/98/mindmaster123_green-light-sphere.jpg)


Ball lightning is an unexplained atmospheric electrical phenomenon. The term refers to reports of luminous, usually spherical objects which vary from pea-sized to several meters in diameter. It is usually associated with thunderstorms, but lasts considerably longer than the split-second flash of a lightning bolt. Many of the early reports say that the ball eventually explodes, sometimes with fatal consequences, leaving behind the odor of sulfur [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ball_lightning]

-of interest, I read in a book I didn't buy, a book on crop circles, that they have been photographed many many times in and around these mystical sites of communicated symbology...
are they interdimensional beings/interdimensional points of communication? for if anything could break the rules of the quantum field and jump the spines of the planck scale, these mystical centres of power would be it... this poem leaps to the ideas of the elder watch, the beings hoping and guiding us, time after reincarnated time to reach their awareness power and take our place...

nameste dear reader...

-Jas :)

an ode to the art of fire twirling...

a poetic attempt to capture and respect the immense ritual of the confest fire circle in poem, this feels close to me, but compared to that feeling, that grace of dance and togetherness, only the now can know it, so go to it... Nameste my beautiful tribe...

Cree Prophecy...

Only once the last tree has been chopped down,
Only once the last river has been poisoned,
Only once the las fish has been caught,
will humanity realise that one cannot
eat money....

With respectful thanks to The Cree Nation, the following youtube has been made with this poem, this prophecy, this warning of mammoth proportions of consequence and responsability for our modern world, the music is by Xavier Rudd and the shaman therein is my lovely fiancee Elise O'Connor...

Enjoy Surfers!

-Jas :)