Bright little warbler of the air,
The world to thee, I ween, is fair;
And free thy life from shade of care
So gaily dost thou sing.

While from thy happy throat is sent
That flood of song in ravishment,
Thou shamest me without intent —
Sad mourner that I be.

To one who knows not grief nor care
I doubt me not this world is fair,
And “pretty” “pretty” everywhere
As thou dost iterate.

But birdie dear, didst thou but see
The world as it appears to me,
Then “pretty” “pretty” might not be
The burden of thy song.

But oh! could I like thee arise
And wing my way toward the skies,
Not here, ‘mid human miseries,
One moment would I dwell.

But once released from bonds of clay
I’d upward soar till thy sweet lay
Did in the distance melt away
Amidst an awful space.

I’d pause not till, through shining breach,
I’d catch, in songs that seraphs teach,
Notes only angel voices reach —
Where my loved one is gone.

Ah, birdie! were it thine to know
The grief that makes my sad tears flow
Thou couldst not sweetly warble so,
Thy little heart would break.

— Louisa Lawson

Shifting Baseline Syndrome. 

It was nice in the 1950’s

It was not so nice in the 1990

It was positively bad in 2020

Here we are…

As a spider will make its web on a crown. Nature will gives no special consideration to you, or your human things.

For every crumb of toast, there is a star in your eye.

For every grain of sand, there is a star in the sky.

I am Godzilla, you are Japan.

I am the Straight of Hormuz, you are Iran.

I read his T-Shirt, it said ‘Ofcourse I Talk to Myself’. I think I get it. Do you get it? Am I asking you, or am I speaking to myself right now? I reading, just speaking to yourself? Who else are you engaging with, with your shirt. Are you speaking to yourself, when you take your shirt off? What are your pants saying to people. Sometime they are on and down and saying things. Other times, they are off and in the drawer – saying nothing.

That’s what it says. Though, perhaps not to all of us.

Today’s Confucianism

A leak on Level 1, is one problem.
A leak on Level 5, is five problems.

Our military man, needing to relive himself wandered a short distance into the forest. By the ravine and the bridge, he pulled down his trowsers, only to be disturbed by two dark skinned children who merrily crossed the bridge from one side of the ravine to the other. Our man pulled up his trousers swiftly and pretended he was out for a walk, admiring the view. Lagging behind the kids, was their father. The group of them walked back towards the town, which was occupied by our man and his fellow troops. Past razor wire and big trucks which rumbled by. Our man, spoke with the father, who was considered and walked slowly with his hands in his pockets. The father recommended a book, which by sheer coincidence our man had read on the plane over. 3 short pages. The father brought the book from his pocket and asked our man what he thought of the middle passage where the school burnt down and the children were all trapped inside. Our man, frowning, said it was a horrible scene that depicted perhaps many things. The end of childhood, the ravages of war and human cruelty. The father nodded, passing the man the collection of short stories ‘as a gift you see’.

Later that day our man read the opening page of the book, where a soldier walked into the forest to relieve himself, only to be stumbled upon by two children and their father. They crossed the bridge. The soldier didn’t notice, and the father struck him across the head with a club and rolled his body over the cliff edge. Later that day the school burned.

Sometimes I clean above eye line, as a joke. It’s like having a secret. Knowing that out of sight, the door frame has been wiped clean of dust and grime.