I Lion King

They laughing point in wonder, when the truck coming sunup and sun-downer.

Each day rolling and stumbling over the quick earth.  Man paths criss cross over my kingdom all over, all directions, like incessant searchlights, like the bright bright tracker light at night. His swinging arm fast left and right from the tracker seat.   It’s an old seabed of time covered in grass and acacia bush and other plants I don’t really know the names of.  I don’t bother  with the plants, more a meat eater myself, and it has to be fresh mind, no more than a couple of days lying in the sun.  Usually I don’t worry, if I don’t get to the kill in time, well there are others to finish things off. We’re all hungry and today has looked promising, but nothing…  Everything this morning was good and fast and clever, and I guess we just have run out of luck.  I am getting a bit old sure enough, but that is not the issue.  No.. It’s the leg really… bastard…. My fault really.  Getting a bit old, but then I tried to get in on the hunt for a small buffalo, and of course, messed it up.  Should have left it to the girls.  They would have had him.  Instead we all go hungry, and I am here sitting on a lame leg with hurt pride.

Still yesterday we finished off the young elephant.  Not much left of him now, since the young cubs and their mum finished off the remains.  Something strange about the trunk though.  Couldn’t eat it.  Perhaps the calf was sick.  Not sure.  Told the young fuzzies,” leave the trunk for the buzzards.”

They’ve arrived.  Took their time to find us.  My lioness’ were a bit clever for them, led them off the usual track for a bit.  But Sally with the spotlight is too good.  Sally has been around, and she watches the other animal kind, who of course if you know are a dead giveaway for a kill. Sitting back in the shadows of the game.  But there Sally was, sitting on the front of the truck in the tracker seat…  So sure of her self and her triumph in finding us all.  The newbies are sitting in the back seats, all eyes and cameras clicking.  Somewhat scared of the whole thing.  I sit there in the spotlight though.  I’ve had enough for the day really.  It’s the leg, a back one.  I can walk ok, but don’t ask me to spend a lot of energy all at once now.  The dust and cool earth is kinder at night.  I’ll wait here a bit.  Perhaps the females will get something soon.  I have an idea about the mountain, but then that is at least 5 miles away across the plain.  Still the spotlight shines.  The newbies are taking snaps with their cameras and phones.  The driver is explaining how life is out here.  He knows a lot really, too much, it’s more than a game to this guy.  He is a hunter, out to show he is smarter than any of us.  Which he is.  No question.  He know’s his place.  Never had to use the gun.  Never even taken it out of the case in anger.  But we become celebrities, the combination of Sally and Terestrius, the driver … it’s too much.

The girls of the pride had caught up, fantastic hunters, but getting lean and a bit mean after no real kills for a day or so.  Everything was quiet really, with a bit of a buzz in the truck with the newbies, glad to have got to see us all.  I looked over at them.  The girl teenager in the middle of the truck looked away.  A little frightened perhaps.  Seeing me up close and personal after all this anticipation. Sally was still grinning a bit in the tracker chair out front.

Sally flick’s off the searchlight, and the drive off looking for the others.

Yes tonight, there won’t be any rest for us.  We will be gone, and walking most of the night.  I really don’t feel like it.  It’s the leg really, but if I wait, what will happen ?  Won’t one of my brother’s sons younger and faster, take his chance ?  He will kill me for sure ?  Take his chance for the pride.  A good pride really but then again, only one can be king.  Still I am not done yet.  I will be miles away with the rest of them, up in the mountains before dawn and seeing what the light without the tourist trucks will bring.  The light of a new hungry day looking down on the criss crossed tracks across my kingdom.

Vacation Dreaming

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Meanwhile, you were all writing and tweeting about things, I spent a really magic two weeks with my wife and eldest son Ben, in Paris, France on vacation. [ Since he lives there, ] we both thought it would be great to combine a holiday away from blogs, twitter, emails, work and just take it easy in a distant environment for us, but close to Ben, who we rarely get to see otherwise.

Being absent from the social.net for a while has been a great ! The photo is just one of a bridge over a small creek in Bayeux, France.  Plenty of stories, don’t know where to start telling them, but eventually something will occur to me.

String Theory – Force of Reason vs Mass of Criticism

—S-T-R-I-N-G—

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Which comes first – chicken legs or egg timer?  I think for me, it was probably the egg timer. Chicken legs came later in life.  Mum used to make baked chicken but memory is strong on egg timers which weighed more in my mind that chicken legs.  Certainly egg timers have more mass than force, at least from outside the realm of the timer.  I mean it’s all force with a chicken leg, scratching around in the dirt looking for grit, with their head cock-eyed down to the earth and sky for an instant.  No the face of an egg timer is pretty straight and it doesn’t exert any force whatsoever, except on the mind of the child watching it.  Which is why egg timers, mechanical ones are a pain – they tick along like a chicken scratching.  What you really need is the timer that just has sand falling down inside a glass.  Yes but they are hopeless mate, what happens is that the sand falls down due to the force of gravity, it has some small mass, and then when it’s all down you basically spin the thing over and it starts again, but unless you are watching it, you don’t know when the time limit is reached. I think there is something comforting about having a ringing or dinging of things, ring ding at the end of an allotted span of time, you wind it up, set it on the table, and then at the end of the time interval, it rings, just like the phone.  So you go get your egg and turn it off on the stove.  Yes for sure now you don’t need an egg timer – now I can set any time I like on the microwave, put the egg – all mixed up – inside a bowl – and just turn on the microwave, which automatically turns off – and the ringing thing is to tell me to “REMOVE FOOD”..

As if I didn’t know anyway – hungry for the egg, and eggs come before chickens as you all know.

Yes it’s all chicken and egg with mathematics as well.  What comes first ? The chicken of an idea or the egg of theory.  Which has more courage, which succumbs to the mass of criticism or the force of pure reason. Lets be reasonable now.  The old equation learnt in high school – F = MA is the same.  It implies kind of that Force = Mass x Acceleration.  Newton again, but definitely gravity existed before the apple on the tree, and the Acceleration faced by the Apple was due to the Gravitational Force acting on it’s mass.  So a more natural equation would be —- A = F/M … yes I think I like this better, but you see typesetters don’t like division A = F/M.  So what happens when the mass goes to zero – dummy. ? I hear the critique coming – then basically the acceleration is infinitely better isn’t it.

So what you are saying is that without the Mass of Criticism, there would be infinite acceleration of an idea, with just the slightest amount of reason behind it. Yes, it can get a bit that way with people.  Wake up with an idea, hide it from the critics and with a minor reason – go destroy something.  It is very hard to make something decent without a mass of criticism to balance your force of reason out.

I had an idea about string theory.  With a kiwi fruit just sitting there on the table, it looked so … I don’t know passive – just sitting there, as though not to be loved, forced down by gravity on a table waiting for someone’s enjoyment or neglect.  Inside a whole universe of life, but outside, just an object of still life. Waiting for a painter or something.  As an Idea with no reason whatsoever, I felt the urge to tie a string to the kiwi fruit, as though it was a present perhaps, or like the world on a string perhaps.

There are many string theories, most of which are not comprehensible by the average person, even mine.  I am sure my string theory, an idea, without the force of any reason whatsoever, with the gravitational impact of a whim and with the mass of intellect of what it takes, waiting for the microwave pseudo egg timer to go off, or my wife to say “please REMOVE FOOD from the table, and what is that silly string doing tied to it ?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUPERSTRINGTHEORY

When a kid turns 100cc and bends something

on the road somewhere in Australia..

Ho Ho, on the bike at last.  The sun was going down at the farm, and the old dusty farm homestead road was the only track there was.  Such a bike at such an age of 15 or so, meant a chance to prove what a rider I could be.  No more stupid mini-bikes for me. With no thought I took off at flat chat. The road was narrow and once past the first curve in the drive started down a steep grade with corrugations all over, and the sun strong going down over the mountain.  I tried the brakes, of course they were bent or something from some prior stack.  I ended up in a heap of dust and rocks after squealing all over the dirt.

I must have been knocked out a bit, the bike’s headlight was climbing up through the dust into the sky, the hot heavy engine was stopped, and I was under it all.

I made it back to the homestead in the dark somehow, not with the bike, which wouldn’t start, but somehow I had made it back. I explained how the bike must has slipped from under me.  The brake lever was bent or something.  Perhaps I bent it.

I got in the shower to get clean, my arm hurt a lot, and my hip as well.  Painful it was to wash it all off. The blood and the dirt.  The mother of the house took a look and said, you will need a stitch.  Lets find the doctor.

We got in the sulky, the only vehicle left and went into town.

The doctor was no where to be seen, it was night, and all were at the opera house for a centenary celebration,  not too common in the outback.

He came in to the surgery, and stitched up the arm with black thread. Took a look at the hip and put a few in there as well.

It was late, and outback getting real dark and cold.  We piled back into the sulky and took off back to the farm.  The arm had got a bit stiff on the drive back but the mother of the house where I was staying seemed a lot happier to have had the doctor take a look and do some repairs.

Of course I was totally humiliated, having to admit that i had fallen off a bike, a 100cc motorbike at that. Bit the dust ! ! and had a scar on the elbow to remind of the event forever.  Ahh.. the mental pain was far greater than the actual.

100cc of blood lost – of petrol used – or power given – or forgiven – in the outback – a night to remember for the town’s 100th birthday – and my elbow is still bent,  just like the brake !