Kent Parkstreet

Baby Improvisation.

2013-05-18T23:32:00.001-07:00

A couple of friends, friends who are a couple, are having a baby soon. To help them get used to the idea I've offered to hang around their home in the evenings, to cry a lot and plead for attention. It's what I do at home on my own every night so it would be no trouble to me.

How do people prepare to be parents? I don't know. The whole baby thing has become an industry, scare potential parents enough and they'll buy anything. Tell them all the things that can possibly go wrong, all the things they can do wrong, then sell them stuff, dietary supplements to relaxation music, classes to alarms, everything that will make them feel they will be good parents.

I don't think anyone is a good parent. No one really knows how to do it until they've done it. The problem is that every baby is as different as every adult, folks have to make up the parenting bit in between to fit the individual child they have been blessed with. Feed and clothe them, improvise the rest.

I do know that all the little baby souls waiting to be born have purchased tickets in the Marlene and Mickey lottery, all hoping to be ready to go at the same moment Marlene is, that no child could ask for better parents. They are fifteen years younger than me and I wish they were my parents.

Even if they decline my offer to be loud and annoying for a few weeks, if they feel they are completely unprepared in every other way, they will do fine, because they love each other and already love their baby, all the preparation they will need. They can make up the rest as they go.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Work, Time, Social Position.

2013-05-18T22:09:00.001-07:00

The first woman scaled Mount Everest in 1975, a Japanese lady named Junko Tabei. Yesterday a Saudi woman named Raha Moharrak performed the same feat. I'm sure that thirty eight years ago Japanese men scoffed at the idea of a woman climbing mountains. I know that Saudi men are now saying that no Saudi woman should be climbing mountains in the company of men who are not their blood relatives.

Even when I was young and fit I could never have scaled Everest. Not a chance. I lacked the gumption to even get there in the first place, certainly didn't possess the tenacity to suffer through an ordeal like that. These two examples of women who ignored social rules not only got themselves organized to reach Base Camp, not only physically climbed a mountain, they both did much more than that, they set other women free, set other people free. They both put the ignorance of their own cultures on display, showed us all that we can do what we want if we really want to do it. This doesn't mean we can all conquer Everest, it means we can all climb the mountains of our own choosing, no matter what our society tells us.

Raha Moharrak can probably never go home now. She has broken a taboo of her culture, and made sexist men look dumb. Sexist men hate being made to look dumb. This may be because they are dumb and a little sensitive about it. So this woman has given up a lot to pursue her dream. It is possible her family will suffer for her actions if they remain in Saudi Arabia. Sacrifice is part of achievement.

The people who make the rules for us are often ignorant. They said women couldn't climb mountains. They were wrong. In 1975 a woman proved them wrong, yet some people still say it, women can't climb mountains. Slowly the general public learns, slowly the rules change, very slowly. It takes one person to break the rules to prove they don't make sense, then others need to follow, prove the point again and again, until the rules are changed.

We all have one dream or fantasy that is frowned upon by our society. For a Saudi woman to believe she could climb Everest must have seemed nothing more than a fantasy to her friends. That she has done it will help those friends, and us strangers, believe that we can make our dreams come true too. It must have cost her, work, time, social position, we would all be ungrateful if we didn't learn from her, take inspiration and follow our own dreams.

So I'll never climb Everest, not until they install a chairlift. I do have other mountains to climb. People tell me my dreams are a fantasy. They will remain a fantasy unless I'm willing to pay the price of work, time, social position. The social rules tell me to be sensible and do something else. I'd rather have Raha Moharrak as my guide.

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Teenage Angst.

2013-05-18T00:15:00.001-07:00

It's like a bloody stop light, right on the bridge of my nose. People are avoiding eye contact, to look in my eyes might be misinterpreted as gazing in wonder at the giant zit between them. It's big enough to have its own post code. Here I am, a forty five year old man enjoying the same social discomfort I felt as a fifteen year old. Thirty years later I still have no idea how to handle it, make a joke, say nothing, consider make up, stay home? The difference now is that I have to carry this unwelcome passenger with me on stage, under the bright, unforgiving lights. It is bigger and shinier than my saxophone, now an audience can share the embarrassment. I feel how Rudolph felt when he attended his first party where there were girls. If the stage lights fail we can all bask in the glow coming from my nose, I'll be a hero.

I stand on the dark part of the stage, get through the set, pack up, head home. I dodge my usual stop at my local cafe, the waitress is far too pretty to see me this way.

At least when I was a teenager everyone had pimples, it didn't seem so bad. Perhaps I cared less about how I looked then? I can't recall considering wearing make up back then.

It seems I'm doomed to being a teenager forever. Some may consider this a blessing, until they remember going out with a giant zit on their nose, like a bloody stop light, a social handicap even before a word is spoken, as if I don't say enough stupid things without being visually ridiculous too.

In a day or so it will be gone, I guess I'll laugh, I know others are already laughing, "what was that thing on his nose, did someone squeeze a ketchup bottle at him, did he sneeze into his spaghetti?"

All I want to know is when do I grow up? When does the teenage angst come to an end? Does it end? Does everyone else go through their entire life sporting giant zits on their noses and feeling like the last thirty years never happened?

Or is it just me? Me and the bloody stop light on the bridge of my nose?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

A Christian Cat.

2013-05-17T23:42:00.001-07:00

You know how a cat will enter a room full of people, leap onto the lap of the one person who despises cats, despite everyone else cooing and encouraging it towards them? You know how cats do that? Well, someone keeps on leaving Christian propaganda outside the door of my apartment. There are dozens of apartments in my building, why my door? Like a Christian cat, she, and I can guarantee it is a woman who leaves these pamphlets, picks me as the one person who doesn't want them. How do I know it is a woman? Of course it is. It always is, pious and awful, miserable and determined to share her loving misery with my company.

So I find these brightly coloured slips of religious invitation, come to a meeting and feel the love, outside my door, what do I do? If I take them in to throw in my trash will she think I've accepted them gratefully? If I kick them aside will I insult someone who is clearly mentally unstable? Either way I may be encouraging a more vigorous form of evangelism.

The really amusing thing is that my building is managed by a co op, a co op with a charter of maintaining social diversity in this gentrified area. Most of the people I share walls with are pretty dang diverse, some of them need a saviour, yet I never see the propaganda outside anyone else's doors. Why mine? Why? Because there is a Christian cat roaming the corridors of my building, I've been identified as the least likely to respond, so onto my lap she leaps.

And yes, I am that guy in the room full of people, the one a cat always tries to win over. Cristian propaganda makes me sneeze too.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Yes Nanny #2.

2013-05-16T23:47:00.001-07:00

I guess this sign for morons was thought necessary because morons ignored the obvious barrier. The Nanny State sometimes occurs as a reaction to infantile behaviour.

This is one of the first signs visitors to Australia see as they arrive.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

G. K. Chesterton On Atheism.

2013-05-16T20:55:00.001-07:00

"If there were no God, there would be no atheists."

G. K. Chesterton.

As much as I love your work Mr. Chesterton, especially The Man Who Knew Too Much, this, my friend, is balderdash. It is technically correct. Theists carefully controlled literacy for centuries, defined the terms, defined an atheist as one who does not believe in God. However, if there were no God, or gods, no belief in the Imaginary Sky Daddy, an atheist would not be titled an atheist, instead one who did not believe in a god would be titled . . . a person.

This argument, that atheists are iconoclasts, rebels, reactionaries, begins from the ridiculous belief in a god. It begins from the believer's insane desire to define everything and everyone in the context of that god. It begins as a method of winning an argument by defining the terms and labels.

Religious people run massive education and propaganda organisations, begin with their own children. In the past to define someone as atheist was an insult, it meant godless, therefore evil. Today there are many of us who have never believed in a supernatural entity, who live without the ludicrous illusion, being atheist isn't some sort of reaction to an alleged god, it is just a natural state if being.

Chesterton fundamentally misunderstood what an atheist is. He saw only a non believer, one opposed to his own belief. God or no god, gods or no gods, Imaginary Sky Daddy or no Imaginary Sky Daddy, an atheist is the same. As the atheist doesn't believe there is any one of these things he or she isn't defined by them.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The New Google Arse.

2013-05-16T19:23:00.001-07:00

"Oh, I notice you are sporting the new Google Arse, how do you like it?"

"It's terrific. It takes photographs, video, it's like having an iPad, in my arse. I can ask my Google Arse questions, chat, update my Facebook, Twitter, everything I need to do when I'm out and about, my Google Arse does it all."

"You seem really pleased with your Google Arse, are there any drawbacks?"

"Well, I'm not that keen on how I have to plug it in to recharge it, and there have been a few misunderstandings when I've been taking photos, otherwise it is brilliant. And it's so much easier than carrying a phone around, my Google Arse goes everywhere with me, it's so convenient."

"You don't feel you are intruding on other people, talking to your arse all the time, having a camera permanently available and pointed?"

"Soon everyone will have a Google Arse, it will be normal to talk to one's arse, talk through one's arse, the entire world will be communicating through their arses."

"I see. I guess that is already happening, just look at social media, I guess the new Google Arse is just confirming the trend?"

"You bet, Google Arse, the way of the future, we'll all be able to express ourselves through our arses, soon you won't be able to imagine that there was a time when we didn't."

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

God, It's Time To Go.

2013-05-15T23:27:00.001-07:00

God, you apocryphal bastard, you imaginary son of a bitch, causer of false hopes, inspirer of idiotic actions, give it up, leave the humans alone, depart in the disgrace you deserve.

A man takes a knife to the chest of a slain enemy, cuts out his heart and takes a bite, claims he is acting on behalf of his god. Humans have been behaving this way for thousands of years, claiming their god as their justification, this episode was filmed and uploaded to YouTube so those of us who wouldn't usually encounter such barbarism are made aware of it. Barbarism and gods go hand in bloody hand. At least gangsters have the courage to admit to desiring power, wealth, sex, don't hide behind a big sky man to justify their barbarity.

Soon, and probably very soon, one of these god inspired lunatics will get hold of a nuclear weapon, perhaps in Pakistan, then the bond between an imaginary god and humans will be broken. The few who survive will have no choice but to give up the notion of god. The lunatic who sends off the first missile will be certain he is going to heaven, the last believer, a fitting end to the nonsense.

It is up to all of us to rid ourselves of imaginary gods before it is too late. Stop donating money, stop paying lip service, stop giving the lunatic few the belief that they represent the majority. Treat gangsters as the criminals they are, even if they claim god as a rationalisation.

It is time for god to go, all the gods. It is time we ignored their nuisance until they get the message and leave. It is time we grew up and left our imaginary gods behind, time to become civilized humans.

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Frank Crane On Decision Making.

2013-05-15T21:01:00.001-07:00

"Most of the things we decide are not what we know to be the best. We say yes, merely because we are driven into a corner and must say something,"

Frank Crane

The old idea that most people live lives of quiet desperation occurs to me. We accept just about everything that is handed to us, rarely stand up and say what we want, even know what we want. I don't really know what I want, how can I expect to make good decisions?

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Rolls Royce Stem Cells.

2013-05-15T19:46:00.001-07:00

So years ago I knew some folks who owned vintage Rolls Royce automobiles. I guess the cars were about sixty years old then.

On the odd occasion my friends needed to have some work done on their cars they could write to Rolls Royce, have parts sent out. Not just any parts, original spare parts built at the same time as the car, stored in a Rolls Royce warehouse, along with stretches of fabric and leather, timber panelling, paint, all exactly the same as the originals, all stored on behalf of the owner. So when the seats were reupholstered they were covered in exactly the same leather as the original, no one could see any difference from the original, the seats were just new and comfortable again.

So if you are wondering how medicine will work in the future just look back to how repairs were once done at Rolls Royce. When we are born we will leave a bunch of stem cells at the warehouse, ready to be sent out for any repairs.

Simple, huh?

Good enough for Rolls Royce, good enough for me.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

New Or Old.

2013-05-15T06:46:00.001-07:00

Hey Jacqueline, remember that building site on Acland Street? The one beside the entrance to the supermarket? You know how it has been a building site forever? I went away for a decade and it was still a building site when I returned. It was a building site for years before I went away, before you . . .

Anyways, it is no longer a building site, there is a new building there now. You always knew everything that was happening in St. Kilda, I thought you'd like to know.

There is a cafe in the new building. I wonder of you'd like it? I think you would. I've started going there, the only place in St. Kilda we never went to together. It doesn't work. I still miss you sitting across the table from me.

I miss you every day of my life. Wherever I go, new or old, I miss you.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Wednesday, Washing Day.

2013-05-15T00:07:00.001-07:00

Wednesday is washing day. I can tell by the number of collared shirts in my laundry bag how many gigs and dates I've attended in the last week.

This week? Two shirts. Two gigs. No dates.

My laundry bag tells a sad story.

One Wednesday, washing day, I'll read a seven shirt week in my laundry bag, five gigs, two dates.

A Wednesday, washing day, too far away.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Public Transport Conundrum.

2013-05-13T21:42:00.001-07:00

My government talks constantly of its green credentials, spends a fortune on whacky schemes that do nothing to fix any problems. The one useful, practical thing any government can do, the one thing that is within range, is to provide a safe, clean, efficient public transport system, reduce the amount of time people spend driving cars. It is the one thing they don't do.

We have to ask ourselves why governments who claim to be green refuse to take the one logical step that they can achieve? Why?

The first reason that springs to mind is incompetence. Large public transport systems are difficult to build and manage, perhaps our politicians are incapable of getting the job done? The other reason is that public transport won't win votes. People like driving their cars, anyone suggesting they should pay taxes for a public transport system they don't want to use is going to be unpopular.

If climate change is real, if large scale fossil fuel mining is a bad thing, we'll all have to get used to public transport at some stage.

Aah, there it is, large scale fossil fuel mining, the real reason. Does your government have the courage to stand up to Big Oil? Mine doesn't, despite all the conferences, plans, schemes, nonsense.

Until we, the public, demand a useful public transport system, until we decide it is the answer to the big scary greenhouse monster, politicians will do nothing. I can't help wondering if politicians genuinely believe in climate change?

So the one thing my government can do remains undone. Why? Possibly for three reasons, incompetence, fear of the public response, Big Oil. It is up to us to elect competent politicians, to demand public transport, to make Big Oil irrelevant.

I wonder of we believe that climate change is real?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

My New Rap Career.

2013-05-10T01:44:00.001-07:00

Head full of rage,

Guts full of fire,

Put flame to the stage

Like a funeral pyre.

So,

Get your feet on your seat

Stomp the beat,

Tenderise it like meat,

Kent Parkstreet.

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

First Kiss.

2013-05-10T01:32:00.001-07:00

Breath like

A bar ashtray

At closing time,

Like the dregs

Of a short,

Black coffee,

Like garlic

And mature

Parmesan.

If she wants to kiss me now

She'll never say

No.

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Plastic Cows.

2013-05-09T22:41:00.001-07:00

There's something about grass that grows near the ocean, when cows eat it they can turn it into good milk. Do I know why? Of course I don't, I'm a city boy, how would I know?

So when I'm in Melbourne I live within a small patch, between the city and the bay, what was once dairy farms. A train and a tram came through, small, red brick homes for workers, two storey terraces for their bosses, grand mansions for the bosses of everything, what was the milking building near my place became a corner store, locally known as a 'milk bar'. That milk bar is now a swank cafe, the "ladies who lunch" take their weak lattes with soy milk. Milk now comes from many miles away, who knows where? How would I know where milk comes from? I'm a city boy.

This area has progressed so far that I can't afford to buy lunch in a building where tin cans of fresh milk were once stored. Even if there were still cows here no one who lives in this area would know how to milk one. How would I know how to milk a cow? Milk gets frothed in a little jug and poured into my coffee, that's what I know about milk.

Before the dairy cows Aboriginal Australians lived here. A temperate climate, good fishing, why wouldn't they? How far back can we go in search of a simpler time? I lived here when there was a milk bar down the road, I bought milk, cigarettes, on Sundays a couple of croissants there. I knew the family who owned the store, look back on those days fondly. I love having the tram running to within a block of my home, I certainly wouldn't fancy walking forty minutes into town for work. I wouldn't fancy getting up early to milk cows. I'm not sure how long I would survive as a hunter and gatherer along the shores of this bay, probably a day or two, possibly a week, I'm a city boy.

Perhaps it is just the human condition to look back fondly, to miss what was, to yearn for simpler days? I do know that what is here right now feels soulless, distant from reality. Imagine drinking specially frothed milk in my coffee every day and never seeing a cow? I see an Italian made coffee machine every morning, never a cow. There's no grass for cows to eat now anyway. I can order a Middle Eastern inspired salad with my French baguette, sit amongst folks who talk about the food, not about life. It all seems kind of crazy.

What is a city boy to do? I love the big city, I was born and raised for it. It is all I know. I love that milk gets delivered from somewhere, that a pretty girl froths it in a little jug for me, pours it into excellent coffee, yet it is completely unreal. I love that the sounds of jazz are the sounds of the city, not inspired by pretty bird song, it is my music, all I know. Perhaps the city is the new reality, all most of us will ever know?

I guess all the pasts I'm looking back on had one thing in common, an obvious culture. Tribal life, farming life, even a simpler city life. Some cities possess a culture all their own, Paris the obvious example. Melbourne has no particular culture, a mix of other cultures that hasn't set yet. Some time in the future it will set, become a city culture all its own. Until then it feels unreal, like a Lego town, a plastic life, plastic images of cows on the plastic milk bottles.

So I've reached no conclusion. I continue to live within this little patch in Melbourne, between the city and the bay, what was once dairy farms. I don't want to go back, can't wait for this city to move into the future. I'm a city boy dissatisfied by his city. The only answer is to move myself to another city, perhaps Paris, San Francisco, the natural habitats of the city boy.

I don't know. I'll think about it later, while I take expensive coffee in an old milking shed, made with milk from far away.

Parkstreet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Yes Nanny #1.

2013-05-09T04:11:00.001-07:00

Who'd have thought that a tram, essentially a moving floor, might stop and start, making balance difficult? Yet, every day folks fall down, or onto other folks. This signage for morons is designed to prevent morons who have fallen down taking legal action.

The Murdoch School Of Journalism.

2013-05-08T21:31:00.001-07:00

Many years ago some whacko in Berlin claimed to be in possession of Adolf Hitler's personal diaries. Naturally Rupert Murdoch was attracted to the story, struck a deal for exclusive rights to break the news and print some transcripts. The deal involved a small downpayment, the rest of the fee payable upon verification of the authenticity of the diaries. So Mr. Murdoch ran the story, sold millions of extra newspapers and therefore earned extra advertising income. He then ran the story that the diaries were proven to be fakes, another big seller. He then had the cheek to sue the whacko in Berlin to get his downpayment back, scored half a dozen huge days of sales for zero outlay. The man is a genius, makes money out of air.

I'm sure the question of good taste never entered his mind. It seems that good taste and making money are not often happy bedfellows.

Nearly all mainstream media now follows this school of journalism. Today unemployment figures were released. Every media outlet ran a story this morning, predicting what the figure would be, then reported the actual figure, then a story on why their original prediction proved incorrect. There was just one set of figures, three news stories. These people aren't reporting the news, they are making stuff up to sell advertising around. This is what most journalism has become. It isn't as tasteless as conjuring with the name of Hitler, it isn't so much different, I guess unemployed people found it a little crass.

There was a time when the position of journalist was a respected one. The job of reporting the facts to the public was considered important. It is still important to the public, less so to the mass media. Perhaps it isn't important to the public? Perhaps we prefer comic strips to news? It is what we largely buy and consume.

Of course there are still great journalists, and good ones doing their best. They mostly work for less money than hacks and are less widely read.

As always the solution lies with us. While we buy the newspaper with the HITLER DIARIES headline we get what we deserve. In the meantime Rupert won't make the mistake of going broke by overestimating our discernment.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

H. Beam Piper On The English Language.

2013-05-08T18:48:00.001-07:00

“English is the product of a Saxon warrior trying to make a date with an Angle bar-maid, and as such is no more legitimate than any of the other products of that conversation.”

H. Beam Piper, Fuzzy Sapiens

Some of us are inclined to take our language a little too seriously. We love the language of Shakespeare, notice how much it has changed over time, then complain when it changes again. Like anything else, when it stops changing, it is dead. If the language didn't change it would cease serving us, become a relic of a past time.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

String Of Pearls.

2013-05-07T22:28:00.001-07:00

In the movies they rub pearls against their teeth. Apparently this is the method to diagnose authenticity, or something. It looks like quite a fun thing to do, a quick test, an experienced tooth, a moment of thought, suspense, the announcement, fake or true.

If only there were such a test for humans. Pick up a potential girlfriend, rub her against your teeth, find out if she feels authentic.

There are millions of fake pearls for every authentic one. Girlfriends appear to come along at the same ratio. Authenticity is an old fashioned notion, it has gone the way of honour and respect. The only test I know of is time, like a plastic pearl a fake human deteriorates rapidly, the lustre doesn't last long.

Whether pearls are real or not is unlikely to be an issue in my life. That I can't afford to buy even quality fakes is one of the reasons I remain single. That and a desire for authenticity. If I ever do buy a string of pearls I will rub them against my teeth, like in the movies, just for the fun of it, I've no idea how to discern the real from the fake, apart from waiting to see of the shine wears off.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

What We Don't Know We Know.

2013-05-07T08:02:00.001-07:00

Have you ever wondered if an oven tray is still hot, reached out and touched it with finger and thumb, then thought, "well that was dumb, just as well it had cooled down", have you ever done that? What has really happened is that your brain has made a rough calculation, how long the tray has been out of the oven, what sort of tray it is, your brain already knew the tray was cool, your sensitive fingers were never in danger, they just confirmed what your brain knew.

Most prediction, foresight, prescience, psychic knowledge, prophecy occurs this way, if the medium knows it or not. We've all entered a room and felt we knew it would look as it did. Our brains aren't fools, they can see the outside of a house, the owner of the house, the entry hall, our brains have seen rooms before, of course our brains have a fair idea how that room will look once we enter it. Just because we are distracted fools doesn't mean our brains are. We collect and collate information constantly, we can't help it. Some brains collate better than others, some can see patterns that will come to fruition well into the future, some just feel they knew what a room would be like in advance.

Those who can focus and concentrate this talent are often mistaken for being in touch with supernatural forces. I find the capacity of the human brain to reach conclusions from subconsciously collected information enough of a miracle, I don't see any need to bring the fairies at the bottom of the garden into it.

We need to invent a test for the level of this ability, perhaps something more sophisticated than a hot or cold oven tray, apply this test to any who would stand for election to govern us. There is a fair chance most successful corporations are already managed by people with excellent predictive talents, why not our governments? Surely a better proposal than the current charisma test we apply?

Next time you feel a little spooked by deja vu, by an event you knew of in advance, by some experience most often titled "psychic"", take a moment to give your brain some credit. It knows more than you know.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Bow.

2013-05-06T21:14:00.001-07:00

I love the tradition of musicians bowing to the audience. In it's purest form it is saying thank you, we are nothing without you, together we made something beautiful happen tonight.

Thank you for the dignity of another nights work.

This formal bow, lowering the head to signify respect, is one of the few traditions of the old world that persists, we don't bow on any other occasion. It reminds me of the French tradition of greeting a shopkeeper formally, Bonjour Monsieur, and saying "Monsieur Le Bus" as one alights. Egalitarianism at its best.

Humility is essential to any performer, as is showing off. The final bow, after all the showing off, reminds us that the audience is the entire reason we are here.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

With True Love.

2013-05-06T07:27:00.001-07:00

Elderly couple,
In the seats beside mine,
At the recital hall.
"If you fall asleep,
Am I to wake you?"

An evening out with
True love.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Protest Protest.

2013-05-05T21:38:00.001-07:00

"What do we want?"
"New Reforms."
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"No tautologies."
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"To shout in unison."
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"To impress a member of the opposite sex with our conviction."
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"Well, some of us want to be picked up by a pair of chubby maternal arms and told that everything will be alright, and some of us just want a fight."
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"To rebel."
"What are you rebelling against Johnny?"
"Whaddya' got?"
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"Yes, we are all individuals . . .
"Now!"

"What do we want?"
"Whatever it is we want it now."
"Now!"

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

H. Beam Piper On Education.

2013-05-05T03:57:00.001-07:00

“It was a bland, tranquilized, life-adjusted, group-integrated sort of face -- the face turned out in thousands of copies every year by the educational production lines on Terra.”

H. Beam Piper

Mr. Piper was a science fiction writer. This quotation is closer to science non fiction today.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com