D.A. Cairns's Blog, page 48
May 10, 2014
El Magic
I have just finished reading a biography of former NRL superstar, Hazem El Masri. It is called El Magic and was written by Bill Woods. The issue of our sports stars being role models for our children and for the wider community is a vexed one. I believe we expect too much from ordinary people who happen to have outstanding skills in a particular sport and are therefore famous. It is a long way to fall from lofty pedestals and many do plunge, dragged down by the heavy weight of responsibility. Unable to cope with the demands placed upon them, they crumble and leave us disappointed and disillusioned. Hazem El Masri is a shining light: as an ambassador for the National Rugby League and as a hero of the Muslim faith. His story is well worth reading. Follow the link to read my review.https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/883862788?book_show_action=false
Which professional sportsperson is, or has been a wonderful role model?
May 5, 2014
Has the jury reached a verdict?
2014 A-Z Blogging Challenge Reflection
2014 was my second year participating in the challenge. I expected more this time. More from myself, and more from potential readers/commentors/followers, or should I say, more specifically I wanted more of them, not more from them. I am not a blogger. I am an author who blogs to share my views on whatever grabs my attention or pulls at my heartstrings. However, my blog is mainly a promotional vehicle for my novels, and to a lesser extent my short stories. My efforts over a number of years have produced very modest results, and the 2014 A-Z Blogging Challenge has served to reinforce my view that I could be the most 'not an overnight success' author in the world. (I dip my lid to the master of hyperbole, the late Bryce Courtenay.)
Furthermore I have garnered additional evidence for my claim that most people want fluff and noodles. Despite being a realistic optimist, I think most of my posts on Square Pegs are too dark and heavy, and they make people uncomfortable rather than splash them with sunshine and rose water.
I wish to very sincerely thank the 25 visitors to Square Pegs during the challenge for the 72 comments they made, and for their own blogs which I mostly enjoyed, even when they weren't really my kind of thing. Here is a list of my top 5 visitors with a link to their blogs.
Liz A http://lawsofgravity.blogspot.com.au/
Sharon Himsl http://shells-tales-sails.blogspot.co...
Vikki Thompson http://the-view-outside.com/
Maria Dunn http://delightdirectedliving.blogspot...
Alicia Ceresa http://prolixme.wordpress.com/
My favourite new blogger discovery was Gunmetal Geisha who I confess to falling in love with from the reading of her first post.
Gunmetal Geisha http://gunmetalgeisha.com/
My most commented on post was the last one. Z is for Zanzibar, and my least, with an extremely disappointing zero comments was S is for Sex Workers. Can you imagine labeling a post with sex and sex references, and not getting any comments? Links for both are here for your pleasure.
http://dacairns.blogspot.com.au/2014/...
http://dacairns.blogspot.com.au/2014/...
I think the blogging challenge has some problems now because of its size, and for the record, I'm not sure it's cool to skip days, or to combine letters or to have single sentence posts. Having said all that, I will return in 2015,and I look forward to continuing more wonderful interaction in the amazing diversity of blogland.
2014 was my second year participating in the challenge. I expected more this time. More from myself, and more from potential readers/commentors/followers, or should I say, more specifically I wanted more of them, not more from them. I am not a blogger. I am an author who blogs to share my views on whatever grabs my attention or pulls at my heartstrings. However, my blog is mainly a promotional vehicle for my novels, and to a lesser extent my short stories. My efforts over a number of years have produced very modest results, and the 2014 A-Z Blogging Challenge has served to reinforce my view that I could be the most 'not an overnight success' author in the world. (I dip my lid to the master of hyperbole, the late Bryce Courtenay.)
Furthermore I have garnered additional evidence for my claim that most people want fluff and noodles. Despite being a realistic optimist, I think most of my posts on Square Pegs are too dark and heavy, and they make people uncomfortable rather than splash them with sunshine and rose water.
I wish to very sincerely thank the 25 visitors to Square Pegs during the challenge for the 72 comments they made, and for their own blogs which I mostly enjoyed, even when they weren't really my kind of thing. Here is a list of my top 5 visitors with a link to their blogs.
Liz A http://lawsofgravity.blogspot.com.au/
Sharon Himsl http://shells-tales-sails.blogspot.co...
Vikki Thompson http://the-view-outside.com/
Maria Dunn http://delightdirectedliving.blogspot...
Alicia Ceresa http://prolixme.wordpress.com/
My favourite new blogger discovery was Gunmetal Geisha who I confess to falling in love with from the reading of her first post.
Gunmetal Geisha http://gunmetalgeisha.com/
My most commented on post was the last one. Z is for Zanzibar, and my least, with an extremely disappointing zero comments was S is for Sex Workers. Can you imagine labeling a post with sex and sex references, and not getting any comments? Links for both are here for your pleasure.
http://dacairns.blogspot.com.au/2014/...
http://dacairns.blogspot.com.au/2014/...
I think the blogging challenge has some problems now because of its size, and for the record, I'm not sure it's cool to skip days, or to combine letters or to have single sentence posts. Having said all that, I will return in 2015,and I look forward to continuing more wonderful interaction in the amazing diversity of blogland.
April 30, 2014
Z is for Zanzibar
Z is for Zanzibar
“The two men exchanged pleasantries then Wittaya quickly drilled to the core.
‘What happened on the Albany?’
Wittaya pictured Cassidy’s face during the brief pause before he answered. ‘Was it a mistake? Did someone do something wrong? Is that what you want to know?’
‘Don’t play @#$%ing games with me Cassidy. I need more than what I am getting from Admiral Masters. I’m getting the feeling that the Navy is closing ranks on this one.’
‘I’m meeting with Masters this morning, and I’ll be looking for more answers than I got yesterday.’
‘Why didn’t you stay and press him?’
‘I had personal business to attend to in Canberra.’
‘Personal business? For @#$% sake. We don’t have the luxury of personal business. This is serious. You understand that don’t you?’”from chapter 3, Ashmore Grief
For my final 2014 A-Z Blogging Challenge post, I will make my greatest leap. Freddie Mercury was born in Zanzibar. I have loved Queen forever. They are one of the all time great rock bands, and the man behind the mike and tinkling the ivories, Freddie Mercury, is one of the all time great rock singers. I read Leslie-Anne Jones definitive biography of this rock legend, and I was appalled by the man behind the music. It is no exaggeration to say that I seriously contemplated ditching Queen from my playlist. Wisely, I overcame that extreme initial reaction and I still enjoy their wonderful and unique sounds.
It did make me think about the divide between the professional and personal lives of superstars of music, movies and sport, and from there to thinking about politicians, and regular everyday low profile people like you and me. Is it a question of integrity? Do those who entertain me, inspire me in some way, or even lead me in a political sense have to be perfect people? Of course not, there are no perfect people. This is a vexed issue which cannot be dealt with in a blog post.
What, you may ask, is the connection to my novel Ashmore Grief? The characters in the book all have personal and professional personas. Readers will know more about them than many of the other characters in the novel with whom they interact. Most of us have public personas which may or may not align with our personal lives. Do you?
Photo sourcewww.telegraph.co.uk
“The two men exchanged pleasantries then Wittaya quickly drilled to the core.
‘What happened on the Albany?’
Wittaya pictured Cassidy’s face during the brief pause before he answered. ‘Was it a mistake? Did someone do something wrong? Is that what you want to know?’
‘Don’t play @#$%ing games with me Cassidy. I need more than what I am getting from Admiral Masters. I’m getting the feeling that the Navy is closing ranks on this one.’
‘I’m meeting with Masters this morning, and I’ll be looking for more answers than I got yesterday.’
‘Why didn’t you stay and press him?’
‘I had personal business to attend to in Canberra.’
‘Personal business? For @#$% sake. We don’t have the luxury of personal business. This is serious. You understand that don’t you?’”from chapter 3, Ashmore Grief
For my final 2014 A-Z Blogging Challenge post, I will make my greatest leap. Freddie Mercury was born in Zanzibar. I have loved Queen forever. They are one of the all time great rock bands, and the man behind the mike and tinkling the ivories, Freddie Mercury, is one of the all time great rock singers. I read Leslie-Anne Jones definitive biography of this rock legend, and I was appalled by the man behind the music. It is no exaggeration to say that I seriously contemplated ditching Queen from my playlist. Wisely, I overcame that extreme initial reaction and I still enjoy their wonderful and unique sounds.
It did make me think about the divide between the professional and personal lives of superstars of music, movies and sport, and from there to thinking about politicians, and regular everyday low profile people like you and me. Is it a question of integrity? Do those who entertain me, inspire me in some way, or even lead me in a political sense have to be perfect people? Of course not, there are no perfect people. This is a vexed issue which cannot be dealt with in a blog post.
What, you may ask, is the connection to my novel Ashmore Grief? The characters in the book all have personal and professional personas. Readers will know more about them than many of the other characters in the novel with whom they interact. Most of us have public personas which may or may not align with our personal lives. Do you?
Photo sourcewww.telegraph.co.uk
April 28, 2014
Y is for Yummy
Y is for Yummy
“As Mark settled himself at a table inside Peewee’s at the Point, he gazed out through the window across Fannie Bay to Darwin city. He sighed with contentment as he soaked up the exclusive ambience of one of Australia’s top restaurants. His contentment was devoured by the anxiety he felt about the salience of the occasion, and his bewilderment. What was he doing here? Less than a week ago, he had been dining with Lisa at The Jade Palace. This was a significant leap up the social ladder, and the company, although not as attractive as Lisa was bound to be intoxicating. He ordered a James Squire Sundown Lager, and a Puglises sourdough with wattleseed butter and bush tomato relish for an appetizer.”
From chapter 22, Ashmore Grief
This is something a little lighter, but no less tasty than most of my posts. I am not a foodie. I am not obsessed with cooking shows, nor do I spend hours in the kitchen because I love it. In fact, I spend as little time in the kitchen as possible. I do like food, and I have a good appetite. I am an adventurous eater. If I have to go back to the same restaurant, I will order something different from the menu. I will take a risk because I figure if I am out, and someone is cooking for me, why not try something different, even something a little weird sounding. I like food and eating out, but for me the food is always secondary to the company. Dining out is an interesting setting in which to observe human behaviour and I am a student of human behaviour.
We tend not to go to ‘fancy pants’ establishments like PeeWee’s at the Point because of the cost. Big plates, small servings and exorbitant prices tend to spoil the experience for me. However, last year for our anniversary we stayed in Sydney at Swissotel, and ate dinner at Jpb which is located inside the hotel. That was pretty special and I didn’t give a second thought to the cost. It was a special occasion and the food was superb. I had the Crispy Dutton Park duck leg confit, I think.
Tell me about the fanciest dining out experience you’ve ever had.
Pee Wees at the Pointwww.peewees.com.au
X is for Xenophobia
X is for Xenophobia
“Fourteen dead and six more critically wounded. He was still unable to interpret these events, to decipher the implications. Border protection had never been so deadly. It had never come at such a cost. What did it mean in terms of the perceived increase in people smuggling activity through Australia’s northern seas in relation to the heightened awareness of every citizen. Australians were xenophobes. He knew that. He’d experienced racism first hand, but he did not hold it against them. Even the word ‘them’ made him cringe. He was one of them. Why could he not think, automatically of us, rather than them? We, he thought to himself, deliberately correcting, are no different to any other nation on Earth. Filled with people who are afraid of what is different and of what is unknown.
He finished his cigarette quickly, suddenly aware that he was wasting time.”From chapter 3, Ashmore Grief
[image error] Racism is much more prevalent than most people care to admit. Many racists would not even consider themselves to be xenophobes even when uttering statements which are introduced with the phrase, ‘I’m not a racist but...’ Most people hold prejudice in their hearts and although they are not necessarily aware of it, it influences they way they think, behave and speak.
My wife was born in Thailand. She has lived in Australia for over 20 years and is a citizen. She earned a nursing degree here, and is now working in the Renal Unit of Wollongong Hospital. A qualified and competent professional, as well as a compassionate person and a diligent worker, she still experiences racism. People presume certain things about her because of her appearance and they equate her accented English as sign of inferior intellect. She has driven herself hard over many years of study and labour to prove herself good enough, and is only now learning that for some people, there is no such thing as ‘good enough.’
Xenophobes are ignorant and narrow minded people who discriminate against people and treat them disrespectfully, and in some cases, worse than that. Regardless of superficial physical differences, or cultural or religious differences, people are the same. We always have been and always will be. We have the same basic needs for food, shelter, love, security and purpose. When we fail to see and appreciate our commonalities, we are both blind and stupid.
Photo sources:http://blog.ryding2health.com/2013/06...
“Fourteen dead and six more critically wounded. He was still unable to interpret these events, to decipher the implications. Border protection had never been so deadly. It had never come at such a cost. What did it mean in terms of the perceived increase in people smuggling activity through Australia’s northern seas in relation to the heightened awareness of every citizen. Australians were xenophobes. He knew that. He’d experienced racism first hand, but he did not hold it against them. Even the word ‘them’ made him cringe. He was one of them. Why could he not think, automatically of us, rather than them? We, he thought to himself, deliberately correcting, are no different to any other nation on Earth. Filled with people who are afraid of what is different and of what is unknown.
He finished his cigarette quickly, suddenly aware that he was wasting time.”From chapter 3, Ashmore Grief
[image error] Racism is much more prevalent than most people care to admit. Many racists would not even consider themselves to be xenophobes even when uttering statements which are introduced with the phrase, ‘I’m not a racist but...’ Most people hold prejudice in their hearts and although they are not necessarily aware of it, it influences they way they think, behave and speak.
My wife was born in Thailand. She has lived in Australia for over 20 years and is a citizen. She earned a nursing degree here, and is now working in the Renal Unit of Wollongong Hospital. A qualified and competent professional, as well as a compassionate person and a diligent worker, she still experiences racism. People presume certain things about her because of her appearance and they equate her accented English as sign of inferior intellect. She has driven herself hard over many years of study and labour to prove herself good enough, and is only now learning that for some people, there is no such thing as ‘good enough.’
Xenophobes are ignorant and narrow minded people who discriminate against people and treat them disrespectfully, and in some cases, worse than that. Regardless of superficial physical differences, or cultural or religious differences, people are the same. We always have been and always will be. We have the same basic needs for food, shelter, love, security and purpose. When we fail to see and appreciate our commonalities, we are both blind and stupid.Photo sources:http://blog.ryding2health.com/2013/06...
April 26, 2014
W is for Wittaya
W is for Wittaya
"Looking back, it was clear that his father had used him. If he needed somewhere to sleep he would plead on Wittaya’s behalf, tapping into the sympathy generated by the sight of a helpless baby, or a young child. The women especially were horrified at the idea that Wittaya’s father should be dragging him all over the city from place to place. They would keep him and try to persuade his father that Wittaya was better off with them, but he always refused. There were even women who offered themselves to him, and volunteered to care for both Wittaya and his father. These acts of kindness were politely refused. His father also used him to stay out of jail.
No doubt he loved Wittaya in his own way, but in later years, as Wittaya grew up alone in various orphanages and foster homes, he realized his father had not really known how to love him any differently. If nothing else, at least he had delivered him safely to Australia. He died three months after they arrived from tuberculosis."
From chapter 4, Ashmore Grief
Some people, like Senator Wittaya Keawwanna, rise from the ashes of disadvantage and tragedy, and succeed. They trample obstacles as they strive to reach their goals. Rather than view their misfortune as an excuse for failure or a reason not to attempt anything, they use it as inspiration. And these people inspire us. We love ‘rags to riches’ stories, we delight in tales of lives afflicted with suffering in which the sufferers overcome, we marvel at people who rise above their circumstances.
What about those who don’t? What about those who are trapped in miserable cycles of depression, violence, addiction and self destruction? What’s the difference? Is it the person? Other people in their lives? Other external circumstances? Why do some people do well in life and others don’t? If life seems harsh and unjust, it’s because sometimes it is. Sometimes, I just want to go home to Heaven.
"Looking back, it was clear that his father had used him. If he needed somewhere to sleep he would plead on Wittaya’s behalf, tapping into the sympathy generated by the sight of a helpless baby, or a young child. The women especially were horrified at the idea that Wittaya’s father should be dragging him all over the city from place to place. They would keep him and try to persuade his father that Wittaya was better off with them, but he always refused. There were even women who offered themselves to him, and volunteered to care for both Wittaya and his father. These acts of kindness were politely refused. His father also used him to stay out of jail.
No doubt he loved Wittaya in his own way, but in later years, as Wittaya grew up alone in various orphanages and foster homes, he realized his father had not really known how to love him any differently. If nothing else, at least he had delivered him safely to Australia. He died three months after they arrived from tuberculosis."
From chapter 4, Ashmore Grief
Some people, like Senator Wittaya Keawwanna, rise from the ashes of disadvantage and tragedy, and succeed. They trample obstacles as they strive to reach their goals. Rather than view their misfortune as an excuse for failure or a reason not to attempt anything, they use it as inspiration. And these people inspire us. We love ‘rags to riches’ stories, we delight in tales of lives afflicted with suffering in which the sufferers overcome, we marvel at people who rise above their circumstances.What about those who don’t? What about those who are trapped in miserable cycles of depression, violence, addiction and self destruction? What’s the difference? Is it the person? Other people in their lives? Other external circumstances? Why do some people do well in life and others don’t? If life seems harsh and unjust, it’s because sometimes it is. Sometimes, I just want to go home to Heaven.
April 25, 2014
V is for Victory
V is for Victory
“Mark was at the Marrara Cricket Ground watching Australia play Bangladesh in the first test match when he received a phone call he was not expecting. The Top End sun beat down upon the heads of the players and most of the fans as Australia took control of the match early in the post lunch session on Day One. Stubborn resistance but the Bangladesh top order batsmen faltered after the break with the Australian bowlers claiming three quick wickets. The crowd was jubilant, cheering and swilling beer from plastic cups.
A lull in the vociferous celebrations allowed Mark to hear his phone, otherwise he might have missed the call. He answered without attempting to subdue his excitement.
‘Hello, Mark. Wittaya Keawwanna here. How are you? Do you have time to talk?’
‘Faark!’ said Mark.
‘Sorry, what was that? Did I catch you at a bad time?’
Mark yelled to his mate beside him that he needed to go and take this call to which his mate merely raised his plastic cup.
‘Sorry Senator. I’m at Mararra. At the cricket. I’m just trying to get away from the noise. Bear with me will you?’”
From chapter 16, Ashmore Grief
There are three games of rugby league on today, and three games of Australian Rules football. It is Friday but not a typical Friday. It is April 25: ANZAC Day in Australia and New Zealand. This morning many of us attended dawn services at various locations around the country to commemorate one of our most significant national days. This afternoon many of us will watch a game of footy or two or three. We will cheer for our teams and hopefully celebrate their victories. Our sporting heroes will entertain us and inspire us. However, today is not about sport.
On April 25, 1915, around ten thousand Australian and New Zealand soldiers died at Galipoli in Turkey as they attempted a poorly plalnned beach landing at what is now called Anzac Cove. The sixteen million lives lost during the First World War should have deterred us from further international conflict, but it didn’t. Victory came at a terrible cost, and as history has unfolded, we see nothing but misery and devastation as nations have fought each other. Men and women have served their countries fighting for what they believed in, and dying for it. Today we remember those who have died, not as a glorification of war but as an acknowledgement of the sacrifices made by honourable and brave people.The spirit of the ANZACs is alive and well in Australia. As we drink and eat and watch the footy, we will remember our true heroes. To all Australian armed forces personnel past and present, I say “thank you.”
April 24, 2014
U is for Unbelievable
U is for Unbelievable
“Thuza laughed.
‘I have been here for three months but I’m leaving soon. Would you like to come with me? Then stay strong, Little One. Stay strong.’
It might have been madness but it sounded so rational: not at all like a foolish fantasy but more like a plan. It seemed that Malee had a way out of the detention centre, or if not, she had at least done an impressive job of deceiving herself that such a thing could happen.
‘How are you going to get out? This is a prison. They won’t let you leave. Don’t be foolish!’
‘You are ignorant, Little One, and trying my patience. You’ve been here for one night and you are telling me the ways things are. You don’t know anything. Get up now. Let’s go and get something to eat.’
Thuza rolled over to face Malee. ‘I’m not hungry.’”
from chapter 7, Ashmore Grief
A friend of mine is overly fond of the adjective ‘unbelievable’ and so I want to dedicate this post to her. When I hear the word, or think of it, I think of her. Certain words or phrases are like that: they get stuck in your mind and are inextricably linked with a person. Either because of the peculiarity of the word itself, or their over use of it, the word and the person become one.
[image error] Blogging is a self indulgent past time for me, and a means to an end. To some extent writing is purely cathartic, but I also want readers, and so my blog is a self promotional vehicle for me to drive along the highway to fame. I have something to say, and I want as many people as possible to hear me. I want my name to be linked to words like classic and entertainment, and to phrases like thought provoking. I want my name indelibly associated with quality literature. I want a multitude of readers not only of my hasty, passionate and often somewhat gloomy articles but my stories, my novels. Having that desire does not make me unique, and yet I am.
It is unbelievable to me that I have chosen such a path. It amazes me that I have achieved as much as I have. I once dreamed of what I have now accomplished. With over thirty short stories published and three novels, I yearn for more. The unbelievable can become the undeniable, and I will never cease trying to prove it.
Photo source:http://oprisco.deviantart.com/art/unb...
“Thuza laughed.
‘I have been here for three months but I’m leaving soon. Would you like to come with me? Then stay strong, Little One. Stay strong.’
It might have been madness but it sounded so rational: not at all like a foolish fantasy but more like a plan. It seemed that Malee had a way out of the detention centre, or if not, she had at least done an impressive job of deceiving herself that such a thing could happen.
‘How are you going to get out? This is a prison. They won’t let you leave. Don’t be foolish!’
‘You are ignorant, Little One, and trying my patience. You’ve been here for one night and you are telling me the ways things are. You don’t know anything. Get up now. Let’s go and get something to eat.’
Thuza rolled over to face Malee. ‘I’m not hungry.’”
from chapter 7, Ashmore Grief
A friend of mine is overly fond of the adjective ‘unbelievable’ and so I want to dedicate this post to her. When I hear the word, or think of it, I think of her. Certain words or phrases are like that: they get stuck in your mind and are inextricably linked with a person. Either because of the peculiarity of the word itself, or their over use of it, the word and the person become one.[image error] Blogging is a self indulgent past time for me, and a means to an end. To some extent writing is purely cathartic, but I also want readers, and so my blog is a self promotional vehicle for me to drive along the highway to fame. I have something to say, and I want as many people as possible to hear me. I want my name to be linked to words like classic and entertainment, and to phrases like thought provoking. I want my name indelibly associated with quality literature. I want a multitude of readers not only of my hasty, passionate and often somewhat gloomy articles but my stories, my novels. Having that desire does not make me unique, and yet I am.
It is unbelievable to me that I have chosen such a path. It amazes me that I have achieved as much as I have. I once dreamed of what I have now accomplished. With over thirty short stories published and three novels, I yearn for more. The unbelievable can become the undeniable, and I will never cease trying to prove it.
Photo source:http://oprisco.deviantart.com/art/unb...
April 23, 2014
T is for Thuza
T is for Thuza
“She, like her fellow travelers, was throwing the dice for the last time, trying to reach Australia where they had heard stories of peaceful wide open spaces and a generous government. They had handed over their last coins, dumped their identity documents and begged with the smugglers agents for the privilege of being transported in miserable conditions on a dangerous voyage. In her case, her mother had arranged it all but with no money, and her pleas for mercy having fallen on deaf ears, she made an arrangement with one of them. It was all she had to give and he happily took it from her. She was seventeen years old. She was alone. Her name was Thuza.”
From chapter 1, Ashmore Grief.
In Ashmore Grief, Thuza represents the vulnerable, the lost and the hopeless. I live in paradise. I know nothing of war, famine or political or religious persecution. I was raised by two parents in a stable home, and all my life I have prospered in the fertile ground of freedom and affluence. I have had a wealth of amazing relationships and plethora of wonderful opportunities. I go where I want, when I want to, and I eat and drink what I want to. I have bucket loads of leisure time and my work is not arduous. I have never been struck by tragedy of any kind, and I have never been a victim of violence, nor been forced from my home. From time to time I get a bit lost, and I have experienced loneliness but I have never plunged into despair.
Maybe, you also have been blessed like me. Perhaps not, but if not, then you probably know someone who has suffered, or who is suffering. Why not me? Is that what you ask yourself? I do. Why have I escaped the evil which seems so prevalent in the world? I don’t know, but I’m thankful. I thank God for his grace and mercy.
“She, like her fellow travelers, was throwing the dice for the last time, trying to reach Australia where they had heard stories of peaceful wide open spaces and a generous government. They had handed over their last coins, dumped their identity documents and begged with the smugglers agents for the privilege of being transported in miserable conditions on a dangerous voyage. In her case, her mother had arranged it all but with no money, and her pleas for mercy having fallen on deaf ears, she made an arrangement with one of them. It was all she had to give and he happily took it from her. She was seventeen years old. She was alone. Her name was Thuza.”
From chapter 1, Ashmore Grief.
In Ashmore Grief, Thuza represents the vulnerable, the lost and the hopeless. I live in paradise. I know nothing of war, famine or political or religious persecution. I was raised by two parents in a stable home, and all my life I have prospered in the fertile ground of freedom and affluence. I have had a wealth of amazing relationships and plethora of wonderful opportunities. I go where I want, when I want to, and I eat and drink what I want to. I have bucket loads of leisure time and my work is not arduous. I have never been struck by tragedy of any kind, and I have never been a victim of violence, nor been forced from my home. From time to time I get a bit lost, and I have experienced loneliness but I have never plunged into despair.
Maybe, you also have been blessed like me. Perhaps not, but if not, then you probably know someone who has suffered, or who is suffering. Why not me? Is that what you ask yourself? I do. Why have I escaped the evil which seems so prevalent in the world? I don’t know, but I’m thankful. I thank God for his grace and mercy.
April 22, 2014
S is for Sex Workers
S is for Sex Workers
“ ‘These boat people are going to destroy this government. And I am going to destroy myself.’
‘What say, darling?’
Amy, like most of her imported associates in the sex industry, spoke just enough English to do her job: to satisfy her clients. For small talk, or God forbid a decent conversation, Wittaya would have to go to another bordello where Australian girls worked. The problem with Australian girls was that most of them did not smell as nice. Not their hair not their skin. Neither were they as soft and smooth, nor as genteel. For proper social discourse before, during or after sexual intercourse, he would have to put up with hair which smelled like cigarette smoke and leg stubble. They all shaved their pubic hair these days as well and pierced themselves. Navels were one thing, but the labia and clitoris? He shuddered. None of these women who sold their bodies to him for an hour were even remotely close to the perfection he knew he would never find. But he had needs, and this was uncomplicated: an anatomical transaction between consenting adults.”
from chapter 8, Ashmore Grief
I have become increasingly ambivalent about the sex industry over the years. There are elements of it which I find abominable and disgusting. Most of what passes for fun, I find at best distasteful and at worst sickening: toys, fetishes and orgies strike me as inventions of the Devil, wicked distortions of the beauty of sex. I cannot stand sexual violence to the point that I skip sections of books which describe such practices, or fast forward movie scenes, or at least avert my eyes. There is a lot of evil in the sex industry. Aside from unmentionable sex crimes, perhaps the worst sin is the exploitation of the weak and powerless, including human trafficking. I really hate all these things.
However, I cannot rouse any such antipathy for a business transaction between consenting and respectful adults whereby a client pays for sex. If a woman chooses to sell her body for financial benefit, then isn’t that her own business? Why should the provision of sexual services be stigmatized? What is the big deal if a relaxing massage includes what is colloquially known as a hand job? Is it a crime or a mortal sin for a man to pay for sex with a stranger if his wife will not make love with him?
I accept the moral, and some would say conservative ideal that is one man and one woman within the context of marriage, but...life is not that simple. Is the oldest profession in the world, a legitimate occupation? I think so. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Photo sourcehttp://nothing-about-us-without-us.co...
“ ‘These boat people are going to destroy this government. And I am going to destroy myself.’
‘What say, darling?’
Amy, like most of her imported associates in the sex industry, spoke just enough English to do her job: to satisfy her clients. For small talk, or God forbid a decent conversation, Wittaya would have to go to another bordello where Australian girls worked. The problem with Australian girls was that most of them did not smell as nice. Not their hair not their skin. Neither were they as soft and smooth, nor as genteel. For proper social discourse before, during or after sexual intercourse, he would have to put up with hair which smelled like cigarette smoke and leg stubble. They all shaved their pubic hair these days as well and pierced themselves. Navels were one thing, but the labia and clitoris? He shuddered. None of these women who sold their bodies to him for an hour were even remotely close to the perfection he knew he would never find. But he had needs, and this was uncomplicated: an anatomical transaction between consenting adults.”
from chapter 8, Ashmore Grief
I have become increasingly ambivalent about the sex industry over the years. There are elements of it which I find abominable and disgusting. Most of what passes for fun, I find at best distasteful and at worst sickening: toys, fetishes and orgies strike me as inventions of the Devil, wicked distortions of the beauty of sex. I cannot stand sexual violence to the point that I skip sections of books which describe such practices, or fast forward movie scenes, or at least avert my eyes. There is a lot of evil in the sex industry. Aside from unmentionable sex crimes, perhaps the worst sin is the exploitation of the weak and powerless, including human trafficking. I really hate all these things.
However, I cannot rouse any such antipathy for a business transaction between consenting and respectful adults whereby a client pays for sex. If a woman chooses to sell her body for financial benefit, then isn’t that her own business? Why should the provision of sexual services be stigmatized? What is the big deal if a relaxing massage includes what is colloquially known as a hand job? Is it a crime or a mortal sin for a man to pay for sex with a stranger if his wife will not make love with him? I accept the moral, and some would say conservative ideal that is one man and one woman within the context of marriage, but...life is not that simple. Is the oldest profession in the world, a legitimate occupation? I think so. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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