Before I begin, I need to outline that I am seated on the fence in this occurence; that is to say that I am observing this happening from multiple perspectives. However, I wish to focus on the most unpopular, as it may prove worthy considering the mass writings on this topic revolve around the more popular opinion. This is a sensitive topic, and I do not in any way aim to offend persons on either sides of this argument; I wish simply to bring to light the possibilities of what seems to be missing in this narrative.
Jake Davison: 22 year old deceased male from Plymouth who shot and killed five people before he turned the gun on himself.
Basic headline, right?
We will also come to witness, in the next few days, strings of words the media will use to fuel a reader's interest in the matter: 'Incel', 'blackpill', 'loner', 'gun-obsessed', 'American-born', 'propaganda'. What we will not witness is sympathy directed at anyone but the victims, and particularly, never the shooter themselves.
Is that what we're missing in our society at the moment? Are we missing the general empathy needed to understand why something like this seems to be recurring?
Before this, let me explain briefly some of the key words from above. Word one: 'Incel'. An 'Incel' is an abbreviation of the terms 'Involuntary Celibate'. It is a derivative of an online sub-culture filled with persons who desire an intimate companion, but feel as though they are too unattractive in various forms to find one. Thus, hatred has formed against those in society who do have an intimate companion, and comparisons are drawn, in a possible attempt to identify why.
A few instances have occured where self-proclaimed members of this sub-culture have taken on violent rampages in order to quell the sense of anger they hold for certain members of society. It stands quite true that we are never sure of the exact motive of a murderous person, however it seems the media is always quick to jump onto the assumption train and illuminate all the negative aspects that have been bred from this 'Incel' sub-culture.
All? No. I don't actually think all the negative aspects have been covered.
Take, for example, the very motivation for the sub-culture: loneliness. Every person, at any given time, has experienced feeling alone. It is not a pleasant feeling, and it is one we are quick to try to rid ourselves of, as human beings are philosophically said to be social creatures, and it is in our very nature to want to communicate and connect. So what happens when we do not have these basic forms of communication and connection? Loneliness.
Another motivation: a feeling of unattractiveness. This can stem from aspects of the phyiscal, to aspects of the sexual. It may be true that we are all our own worst enemies in the sense that we find parts of ourselves absolutely appalling, and then turn to hate our entirety becuase of said parts, however how would it be like to feel as though some other person identifies these parts of you as 'unattractive', and then works to aid you in believing so? Imagine the sensation of tickling yourself. You cannot do it. But when someone else tickles you, that's when you feel the effect. This may work in a similar way. Self-hatred is already such a strong sensation; what of the sensation, then, of hatred coming from someone else? Or even worse, assumed hatred?
I think that Mary Shelley's Frankenstein still rings true in our society today: we are too quick to judge the external. Dating apps ask you to placate yourself in the form of pictures and a few words; resumes ask you to display some skills; social media apps ask for little hints of your opinion and ask others to give theirs (don't get me started about 'Cancel Culture') - we are constantly judging one another.
And the media exacerbates all of this. It awaits, a predator, striking any form of prey, and begins the fear and hate-mongering processes of applying words and images in order to evoke reactions. And that is what is happening now.
Yes - there are several victims, and of course, I extend my grievances and apologies to their families. But I also extend it to these people who are fuelled so much by the judgments around us.
I constantly say this: it is imperative to treat others the way you wish to be treated.
So, how do we achieve this in our time?
As a teacher, I still experience bullying. Words exchanged, actions. Just the other day I saw some students hide the exercise book of another, and giggled ferociously; it's not funny, it has been done before and achieves nothing but the circulation of hatred. It wasn't even funny when I was tripped over for being 'fat' and came home every day with grazed knees, and have constantly clicking knees when I walk or ascend stairs. It still isn't funny. And it's such a degrading thing to watch someone being berated.
That's why we should extend a form of understanding towards this sub-culture. It hasn't stemmed from anything but the mistakes of human beings. And within it, are humans just trying to understand why.
Now that the media has decorated this sub-culture with words the general public associates with it, it will be harder for the general public to establish and utilise some form of empathy. It seems like we only fight hatred with hatred, and we never seek to understand it.
Let me show you this screenshot I took from another headline:
What is this headline trying to say exactly? I won't feed your mind; rather, reader, I invite you to think of it in a perspective you normally would not think from.
Here is my rendition:
The difference is that the rendition simply seems to understand why. While the media is focussed on the potential that 'Incels are a Terror threat to the UK' (I am not even kidding), primarily because a weapon was used and his Youtube showed subscriptions to gun channels, it does not focus on how to help balance the world in terms of achieving harmony in connections.
His videos, partly depicting a cry for help, have been removed. I second the notion that now we won't be able to understand his motives, and we won't be able to try to grow and develop as a society to ensure that everyone feels seen, welcome, and included. It has been removed. That's it. All his words, his ways of thinking, gone.
We work so hard to divide society, and I still haven't seen such hard work put into bringing it together.
If you know me, you know that when the time strikes, and that time has more than once struck in the recent years that I have been both critically and socially aware of my prejudiced surroundings, both near and far, I am highly driven to verbally combat racial prejudices. When I hear of any racially-charged attack, I spend the entire day obsessing, indulging myself, reading articles and watching news reports and, if the social media world permits me, watching recorded videos of said racially-charged attack until my mind sufficiently builds up a retaliation that I infuse in a post about the attack on my share of the social media platform that is Facebook, or better yet, Blogger.
*** I WARN YOU FROM NOW ***
If you don't want spoilers, please exit stage right.
If you are yet to see the movie, please view it before reading on, and return to this post after you have, so that you do not encounter any spoilers.
In a regular viewing, it can be noted that Get Out is a movie, in short, which depicts the African American as an icon of fashion, 'the new black', which can be bought off at a privileged white person's mansion in a fucked-up auction concealed as a Bingo game. The African American is more desirable to the buyer if they have qualities that the buyer desires: one buyer wanted to purchase the protagonist, Chris, who was lead there by his deceiving girlfriend who fetishes the African American male (and female), because he would be a great fellow golfer like Tiger Woods (who is mentioned as this scene plays along to add to the level of racism depicted), and another, who eventually ended up buying him, wanted him for his eyes and his love of photography. Another desirable trait is that the African American cannot defend themselves, as they have been brainwashed by Missy Armitage, Chris' girlfriend's mother. After being brainwashed, their speech is formed around obeying the commands of the white people, and any injustice they feel or any form of expression that does not please the white person is suppressed by the hypnosis as their free self is locked in a dark space (pictured below).
But Get Out is more than just a movie that echoes the purchasing and selling of an African American slave, the actions in which, you best believe it, actually disgustingly occurred several times in human history. It is more than just a statement, more than just a twisted horror and thriller. It is a response. It is the response we, the people in human society who actually value the idea of a utopia free from prejudices of any kind, have been desiring. We have all witnessed the increasing hate crimes that have been adding fuel to the fire of the Black Lives Matter justice-seeking movement, and this movie, arguably, may be an additional splash of fuel to that fire, allowing the fire to burn even brighter, reeling in more attention to the equality of the human race.
In fact, more than anything, I highly believe that Get Out has opened Pandora's sister's box, in that what it has unleashed is not necessarily a view of all the bad in the world alone. That would be too easy for the racially prejudiced white folk to comprehend. It would be a mere slap-on-the-wrist approach. How bland! Why show them a fictional realm of action and consequence when they are barely moved by real-life videos of consequence and consequence? Crime and punishment? Instead, Pandora's sister has come out of her rendition of the box. And finally, too. She has been waiting for the right time, and Peele's Get Out has granted her the exact moment of high power. She has the high hand, here, outing herself at the peak of the release of a new form of protest which will revolutionize the movie industry. And so, Out she Gets, wielding only one object: a mirror.
Why a mirror? Out of all the things she could be carrying? Well, you see, sometimes the best weapon is the weapon of realization. Once a wrongdoing is made, the wrongdoer seldom is explained the wrong of the wrongdoing. They are offered two forms of explanations: the first, through visuals in protest signs, and the second, through the law. But laws sound so complicated. It is easier to say, "hey, you have fucked up because you shot a person based on their skin colour you prejudiced asshat" rather than "on the count of homicide, we have found the defendant guilty". Law prefers to keep things concise. Neatly arranged so that the delivery of a sentence is fast and simple. I prefer the long, hard road of verbal explanation, because I really don't think that racist members of society are understanding how their racism is affecting their victim. They really need it spelled out to them:
S T O P W I T H Y O U R R A C I S T B U L L S H I T.
But this is where my dear friend 'realism' steps in. Realism is a concept I have become all too familiar with in my literature studies. It basically stipulates that if you hold a mirror up to the world, its reflection is a depiction of the world itself. Kind of like a mirror in real life. But that reflection is based on where the mirror is aimed at, who is in the frame, and whose perception is being shown. Those are the controlling elements. And, in a way, Jordan Peele is holding up a mirror to a certain fraction of society, to show that small fraction of society how big their impact is, and how tired the rest of the world is with their shit.
Shit, of course, being shootings and mass shootings and crimes that have been and gone and will still come, despite the holding up of this realism mirror. Its display is, nonetheless, very important, as most of the audience who have seen this display have subliminally taken in its messages. I am here to help them surface. And this surfacing can be done with accessing my muse, which is what Get Out has precisely done. In fact, nothing has driven me closer to this form of my muse than the viewing of Peele's Get Out. Having watched most of Peele's satirical takes and contributions to the comedic world, this contribution, though comedic in a twisted way, penetrates the joy you feel when you uncomfortably laugh in the movie's very awkward-feeling-inducing scenes, and plants instead little memory chips that notify you that these are moments derived from our unfortunate realities. That these depictions are not entirely loosely-based, and that they very much are the key foci to the moral and ethical wrongs that lurk in the world's supposedly happy little suburbs, in particular, the neat and tidy suburb that the first character in the first scene of Get Out finds himself uncomfortably navigating in.
I look at that neighborhood and I see darkness, and I fear the darkness alone. But that is just me, me who has a night light in her room. Me who is scared of the night time and of black-outs. If I were walking in that neighborhood, seeing a pair of headlights will comfort me, as they would tell me that I am not alone. But from the modern-day African American male's perspective, or at least from the one depicted, I cannot help but note that seeing headlights is not a great feeling. And, like a deer in the headlights (excuse the pun but please note that there are a lot of deer metaphors contained in the movie, this being the first), he froze, and was beaten and shoved in the back of that car. His uneasy feelings in a seemingly safe looking neighborhood goes to show us, the audience, that what is safe for one person may be the direct opposite for another. Safety is no longer a universal product. It has become a trap which, if one is not too careful, can ensnare one.
It made me think of an analogy of a rabbit trying to escape. A little white rabbit, it's tail fluffing about as it frantically hops away to ensure its life is kept. And why wouldn't it, considering Flanagan and Allen's 'Run Rabbit' was playing? It made me think immediately of Australia's minority group - the Aboriginal people, who are much like America's African American people. In particular, though, I remembered the movie Rabbit Proof Fence, wherein the main metaphor that the movie screams is echoed by the quote that the rabbit-proof fence "keeps the rabbits on that side of the fence, [and] keeps the farmland on this side of the fence"; the rabbits, of course, representing the 'pests' that are the minority, and the farmland representing the oppressive and prejudiced society that works to rid itself of them. The fact that 'run rabbit run rabbit run run run' was on loop could allude to the fact that the rabbit in the song is being personified to represent the protagonist, Chris, and that he, like the rabbit, is a pest in society, and that he needs to run to ensure he is not killed.
What is particularly chilling, though, is reading the rest of the song's lyrics:
On the farm, every Friday
On the farm, it's rabbit pie day.
So, every Friday that ever comes along,
I get up early and sing this little song.
Run rabbit - run rabbit - Run! Run! Run!
Run rabbit - run rabbit - Run! Run! Run!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Goes the farmer's gun.
Run rabbit, run, rabbit, run.
Run rabbit - run rabbit - Run! Run! Run!
Don't give the farmer his fun! Fun! Fun!
He'll get by
Without his rabbit pie
So run rabbit - run rabbit - Run! Run! Run!
The first verse shows, when taken metaphorically, how normal the culling of the pest is, and how constant. It is so constant that a day of the week is allocated to it. The last verse shows the animosity of the farmer, wherein even though the farmer may not harm or capture the pest, he is satisfied in the game alone, and that the fact that the pest is there will always give the farmer the 'fun' and thrill of the chase.
Another motif in Get Out, apart from the rabbit,is the image of the deer, or the buck, which adds to the lovely mise-en-scène. The deer is first seen in the starting scene - almost killed by Chris' girlfriend, and is seen paralysed while screaming, alluding to what will happen to him - he will suffer and the peace and calm of death is not quick to come. It is white to show the purity and innocence of the minority. The next time a deer is seen is in one of the main rooms in the Artmitage's mansion. It is a prized piece of taxidermy, and represents the minority - this is highlighted when Chris later uses it to ram its antlers into Dean Armitage, Chris' girlfriend's father, killing him. This is the most satisfying part of the movie, as Dean, earlier, states that the less deer there are, the better. He was proud of his daughter running over the deer on their journey, which alludes to the concept that the deer is the hunted, the minority, the 'other'. The less there are of 'them', the more comfortable the hunter feels. Though Dean shows his strong political bravado highlighting his liking of Obama as president, he is neither ashamed nor afraid to display his hatred of the minority in physical form, taxidermy, and in other forms, such as the auctioning off of the African Americans his daughter brings home.
A blog post highlights this interesting fact about the image and the context of the buck:
'A buck is also a known post-Reconstruction racial slur, used to describe black men who refused to acquiesce to white authority figures and were considered a menace to white America. The “black buck” became a stereotype in America throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries that reduced African-American men to the villainous role of savage brutes, who would cause devastation to white property (including the rape of white women), and thus necessitated brutal measures in order to maintain order, for the good of the community. In Get Out, it is in this context that the buck’s mounted head is transformed into a symbol of white dominance over the black male.'
The placement of the buck thus proves to be a strong form of social commentary on its own, given its context. It is imperative that the contexts of things, given the opportunity, are explored, so as to ensure messages that the provider of these meaning-infused things have a mode of communication to send their messages through to their audience. I am a spokesperson for all things image-containing, and I am quick to pick up on motifs because of that. Given this information, you must believe me when I state that Get Out is a wonderful and powerful visual display of modern day oppression, and most certainly, a visual representation of the effects of racial prejudice. That is not to say that in this fantasy-film, that the prejudices are not overcome or dealt with. But that there is the problem. It is just a fantasy, despite its being brought forward by realism. Hopefully, this fantasy will be clear to most of the audience as a yearning, rather than a visual rollercoaster-ride, which is how most of the general public perceive most horror or thriller movies. But look deeper, friend, and you shall see intended things that generate so much more meaning. And rather than shock you alone, it will sadden you.
Let me digress, and land on a lighter note; the images above are artworks. The first, an American icon, is 'American Gothic' (1930) by Grant Wood, and the second, a parody of the first, 'Get Out' (2017) by Eddie Holly. It is quite a gothic display, wouldn't you agree? Much like the movie, I think. It connotes that the mansion is sinister, that the suffering is suppressed and that there is pain behind their smiles. Could it, then, be reminiscent of the modern day experience of an African American citizen in America? Can it be seen as a realist display the oppression of a group of people who are marginalized, and constantly at an unease? In whose perspective are we viewing this mirror's reflection? Shouldn't it be a collective perspective of every human? Is the message still unclear?
Get Out is a movie we need while America is under Trump's rule.
Hell, it is a movie that needs to be seen under any president's rule. It is a movie that reminds humans to be humans, not racially-injust assholes who do more harm than good to their society, and others. It has come to this, fellow persons: we are so racist that a movie has been released to show us how racist we are, and that implies, through horrific imagery, that racism is a bad thing. The fact that we need to be told that is quite sad. One would assume that, in a world where one who lives is destined to come to their deaths, we would bind together, not bring death closer. We are tossing aside fellow members of the human race to make death comfortable. We are making death a warm cup of hot chocolate and sitting him by our fireplace while our fellow humans are outside in a snowstorm without shelter and without hope, when instead we should leave death outside.
"You aren't welcome. Or at least, not yet. You can come in your own time," we should tell it, "and we can no longer work with you to bring injustice into the world. Aren't you breaking some sort of code by choosing to be the ally of some weak-minded humans who wish to wreak you upon someone because of the colour of their skin?" Death will most likely agree, because at this rate, to be non-human is more human than being human.
Get Out is a movie we need while racially-infused crimes occur, typically from those who are meant to subdue criminals and restore justice.
And it is a movie we need to remind society that racism needs to Get Out, that justice needs to Get Out, that human equality needs to Get Out and stay out.
Now Get Out and watch it.
I would like to take a moment to show my appreciation of all of society's role models who have taken the time to create and share on their social media sites videos of themselves having buckets of ice floating in water poured onto them. I would like to show my appreciation to the 28 million people who have actively taken part in the latest band-wagon craze, that has surprisingly not yet been the leading cause of the rapid increase of pneumonia - I await the news headline for that. I would like to show my appreciation to all those who have made themselves prone to the acquisition of pneumonia by dousing themselves in icy cold water in order to avoid contributing money to the charity responsible for finding the cure of Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, formally known on all social media platforms, or formally known, rather, as of late, out of absolutely nowhere, as 'ALS'. And we have this buffoon to thank - Chris Kennedy, a golfer from Sarasota:
This man thought it was necessary to perform this strange act to raise awareness for 'ALS' - how? Quite frankly, I do not know. I am hypothesising that temperatures have soared so much so in America that most of its population now finds it necessary to have an icy shower and peer pressure from the sharing of the recordings of these showers have created the reenactment of this in countries all over the world, like my own, Australia, who is currently suffering from temperatures probably lower than the temperature of the icy cold water itself, otherwise known as 'winter'.
But really. I appreciate all of those celebrities whose videos continue to flood my news feed on Facebook. It is so nice to see fresh drinking water being put to good use! Who needs all that water, anyway? It is perfectly fine, it is not like we need to walk for kilometers and fetch it from a well and walk all the way back to our homes in order to share the bucket of water we walked so long for with the rest of the members in our family who are dying of malnutrition and the lack of food but need to maintain their water levels just to see another sunrise. No. Not at all. By all means, please, let us all join hands in harmony and waste water, film it, upload it and watch scientists look into microscopes that will assist them in finding the cure for ALS, a disease that kills two Americans per hundred thousand a year, because who cares about the 5 million Africans who die every year from hunger and thirst, an average of ten every minute? Certainly not former president George Bush. Nor does Bill Gates - but then again, Bill Gates cares for nobody.
I look forward to seeing more of these 'ice bucket challenge' videos - maybe one of those videos will actually contain a person who cares for the cause and not for the publicity! I hope we continue to film them until plants overrun the planet and they eat humans because of the lack of water left. Bathe, precious humans, bathe in the greed of your benefits and sense of denial.
I have been working non stop all day on my artworks that are due in next week for a subject at uni. I have been working on these all over my house and my father's shop and finally I have landed in the warmth of my kitchen. Eavesdropping on the television, naturally and inevitably seeing as it is always loud, I came across a television show that was on prior to the FIFA soccer match, Portugal versus Germany. It consisted of some Australian comedian interviewing rather patriotic and drunk Americans who apparently fit the stereotypes that he heard about them before being exposed to them. And the point that was brought up was quite interesting, and very accurate - upon asking these Americans where they were from, each one of them named a state within America - Boston, Chicago, New York, and so on. The comedian made a point - "do you expect everyone to know all of the states in America?" And the fact is that we do. Whenever somebody foreign, usually spotted with an accent when they walk into my father's shop when I am serving and usually brought around to ask me of my personal origins, asks me where I am from originally, I say Australia. Then I go on to explain how my parents are from Lebanon. And only if the person is Lebanese will they ask me, "from which area in Lebanon?" But I have never said anything other than Australia for my place of origin. Quite frankly I do not think that foreigners would know where Melbourne was. They might know Sydney, Tasmania and New Zealand but certainly not Melbourne. It is very interesting. I know most of America's states without having traveled to either one of them. I know about their famous landmarks and of the tweaking of accents in each one and the stereotypical portrayals, whereas Australia has one stereotypical portrayal: bogans. I know more about them than about the states in my own country. It may have something to do partly with the fact that I am obsessed with everything American, and partly because America in its entirety is a universal place. America is so universal that I have lost interest in anything Australian. Australian movies have become absolutely intolerant. Australian accents have become ridiculous. Australian culture has become shameful. America has such a profound effect on me that I am willing to leave behind half of my cultural roots in order to be consumed by this nation of greatness. It seems like the social norm to drink alcohol from red plastic cups at parties and to chant "U S A" at big stadium games. And that strange American man in the show surely was right about America achieving "world domination". Well, it has at least dominated my world.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, underneath all other lands, lived a land called 'Down-under'. In Down-under, there was a big fluffy koala bear named Ken, a giant two-legged kangaroo that hopped through the bushlands named Karl, a tinier version of Karl with big glistening eyes called Wally the wallaby, a lazy brown hedge-like being called Wilson the wombat and a strange duck-like animal called Pat the platypus. Ken, Karl, Wally, Wilson and Pat were sick of eating the same grass, sick of drinking the same water and sick of seeing the same boring old scenery. "Let's get out of here!" screamed Karl one day, hopping in from a hunt. "This place bores me!" "Aye!" agreed Pat. "This water is slimy now. I can't swim through it properly and the fish can't see me, they've bumped into me a dozen times today!" "Oath, no wonder why you've got a boofhead!" joked Wilson, slowly, in a monotonous voice. The crew laughed at his voice and not his joke. "Struth, let's go then!" said Wally, in his little voice, marching on ahead of the group, off on a journey from Adelaide to Melbourne in search for new food. "Wait up, mates!" squealed Ken from the treetops. He leaped off a branch and, with a thud, landed on Wilson's back. And they were off. Ken held on so tightly to Wilson's back that his skin pulled backwards and made him look as though he had gotten a facelift. "Blimey, would you fellas look at Wilson's face! Looks brand new!" joked Karl. Everyone erupted into laughter. "Stop that," he tried, but they laughed even more. "Sorry Wilson mate!" said Ken. He hopped off his back and walked beside him. "Didn't know thar'd happen." He tied some gum-leaves around his neck to entice him to keep moving. "Just make sure I don't eat 'em, hey mate? Don't wanna sleep around all day." "No worries mate," replied Wilson. "Oh get a tree," remarked Karl, and hopped faster away until he reached the edge of a cliff. "Time to climb down, mates!" exclaimed Karl, excited at the fact that he could just about bounce off anything without getting hurt. This would be a very simple task for him. The crew looked down at Melbourne and its many terrains. In some areas it was snowing, in some areas it was tropical, and in some areas it was dusty. They could not believe their eyes. Off in the distance, it even began to rain in one area. "Oh, I don't know about that, Karl, I don't like heights!" Wally started to shake and his behind Karl's big tail. "Oh, blimey," said Karl, "we'll just have to leave you here then!" Wally looked up at him with his big eyes and Karl's heart melted as they began to water. "I'm kidding!" he continued. "Let's take that creek all the way down! Look out, Melbourne, here we come!" When they reached the creek, they looked up to see strange trees. It looked as though sausages hung off them. They passed bushes and bushes of heath myrtles and soon Karl was fed up with having white petals all over him. "Let's take to the creek, shall we?" The creek was icy cold, but refreshing. Wilson struggled to keep his head up so Pat agreed to swim below him in order to make it a little more buoyant. Ken clung to Karl's back this time, Karl splashing water all over those behind him as he stomped through the creek.
They ventured further into Melbourne and arrived at a nice little location just as the sun began to set, still on Melbourne's outskirts. It was foreign enough for them and they were happy. They slept well that night, by the creek, when all of the sudden Pat awoke to a strange voice. "Who's there?" he whispered out. "Me!" replied a strange voice. "'Me' who?" A strange looking creature came out from behind a bush. "Who are you?" Pat asked, intrigued. "I'm Cyril Curlew, thank you very much. Who are you and why is your beak so wide?" "What beak?!" exclaimed Pat, mildly freaking out. He woke the entire crew. "Blimey, who's your mate?" asked Karl, eager to know who the strange creature was. "Yeah!" said Wally, hopping out of his little leaf hut. Ken and Wilson, who were spooning, woke up and rubbed their eyes. Wilson fell asleep again and Ken nudged him back awake. "What are you all doing here?" Cyril asked. "We want some new food. We were sick of our scenery but it looks the same here, I guess." Pat stroked his little head as he spoke. "Ah," said Cyril, "new food..." "Have you got somethin' for us to try?" Wilson asked, now wide awake. "As a matter of fact I do!" He handed them a jar with dark brown spread in it. "W-what's that?" asked Ken, anxious about eating something other than his gum-leaves. "It's Vegemite," responded Cyril. "I made it by accident. I found some wheat, it dried up in summer and I don't know. It just happened. I can't tell you the rest because I want to be famous for it. But you can have this jar to try it out." "Thanks!" the crew cheered together. Soon the crew began to put Vegemite on anything they ate. Ken spread it on his gum-leaves, Karl spread it on grass and occasionally ate some off Wilson's back as Wilson ate from Karl's Vegemite covered grass piles. Pat spread it onto molluscs that he found in the creek and Wally dipped his berries into it. It was delicious and they eventually finished the jar. "Oh no!" exclaimed Ken, "what'll we do?" "We'll go get more!" Karl got up and hopped off to Cyril's nest. "G'day Cyril!" he beamed as Cyril woke up. "What is it, buddy?" "We want some more of your Vegemite, please!" chirped Pat. "We love it!" added Ken. "Yeah!" agreed Wilson. Wally nodded all the way through. "I've got three jars left. Use them wisely, I can't give away any more, mates." "Thanks!" they all responded. That night they ate up all three jars and woke the next day to a mouth full of ulcers. They could not speak. They wondered back up along the creek back home and weeks later they healed and they never spoke of Vegemite again. Ken ate plain gum-leaves. Karl and Wilson ate plain grass. Pat ate plain molluscs. Wally ate plain berries. This is all my fault! thought Pat. I need to fix this. He snuck later that night into the creek and followed it down to Cyril. Cyril was fast asleep. Pat broke into his Vegemite cabinet and retrieved the last two jars and placed them in the creek. He watched them float away into the distance. No animal from the crew ever spoke of it again. Months later, Pat's friend from America, Sassy the squirrel, sent him a message with her friend Fred the falcon. It read: 'Hey Pat. Just had a spoonful of yucky brown stuff from an Australian jar. Yuck.' To which he responded: 'Hey Sassy. Easy on how much you eat. It's nice until you eat the whole jar. Try.'
Luscious green fields juxtaposed to the trodden dried Australian landscape which lacks rain, large blue voluptuous bodies of water nestling stable trendy huts in contrast to shabby cosmopolitan hotels, and the welcoming smile of all those foreigners as opposed to the unwelcoming glares received by fellow civilians in my hometown; travel brochures are the worst torture devices known to all mankind.
And the worst thing is that I cannot afford a holiday. Well, I can afford a holiday but I cannot afford a decent one, and I mean that in financial and general terms. What I mean by 'decent' exactly is firstly some place I dream to travel to, such as America, and the length of time I would spend there, probably a month or two or maybe even a year, and in general terms I wish to return with no problems. I wish to come back home to a clean slate, one not rocked by the marks I have left here in terms of my educational pursuits. I know from the observations of others that this is achievable, however I am far too insecure to pursue this. At the same time that I want to travel, I want to run and hide. I fear even travelling to the fridge - what happens if a wall decided to fall on me and kill me in a freak accident? What if the fridge did this? What if someone holding a knife was hiding behind that fridge? And the knife they were holding was the one my mum has only because she needs it even though she fears its size and potential? What if in that case I get killed and all they write on my tombstone is 'irony'? See? All of that. Now, imagine my reaction to being on a plane for longer than twelve hours. Oh Lord, and do not get me started on my phobia of toilets. Yes. I do indeed have a phobia of some toilets. This began from a little childhood gig. Basically, I was on the toilet. I was around seven years old. My sister came in, who was four at the time, and ask if I had finished. I said yes, because at the time I just sat there and read after I was done too - nothing has changed. So, she reached up behind me and flushed the toilet whilst I was still seated. Ever since that moment, flushing sounds frighten me and stainless steel bowls frighten me and so does the height of the water. Another thing is attachment, a thing I am all too familiar with. I know that if I travelled somewhere I liked, I would find it difficult to leave that place. I would want to stay there until I wither into ashes, until I am once again one with the land, even if it is foreign land. This is problematic because I would cling to this place despite me having no stability. I know that I can create some stability but I am not sure if I am stable enough to do so as of yet. All of this will take some time. I still have some self-exploration to pursue before I go on to pursue someplace else. And the financial pursuit will be another struggle. This is why travel brochures are evil. They prompt me to think of all these and many more reasons as to why I should enter the travel store that they are advertising and up and leave wherever I am. I probably have enough money at the moment to allow me to travel to Greece and buy a donkey and feed it for two months before me and that donkey starve to death, unless I train it and I adapt to eating raw fish, in which case we would raid the famous fish markets like Aladdin and Abu did for that loaf of bread.
