Bob Quiggin: [Rupert Murdoch bows to the Queen, Michel Filhol HEM bows to Greece]

The image of the old lady faded into unknown youth.
Bob pondered the meaning.
The final view was a seamless mix of daughter/father/newbie.

Being no stranger to speech, he consulted a mentor who suggested the woman, a fragile and rigid old Grandmother of 103+, had taken a final step of psychic immersion into her blue ribbon daughter.
Apparently she didn’t want to die.

Bob had read it all … knew how cheap the world had become.
Watched celebrants of love’s majesty replace free-love hippies only to evolve into the drone of more.

The law of more.
More for less.
He’d seen Orwell’s 1984 come to be. Even grabbed a couple of bargain cameras thinking he could outplay them at their own game.

Understandable.
Bob.
Top student 1976

Yesterday Lizzie complained “horrible” at Kate’s headless, wedding dress effigy.



Guillotine



Luckless Kate.
No idea the vicious generational line of whimsical be-headings haunted mum.
No matter. Liz had the money and Kate was, after all, only a minimal piece of territory Newspeak 
Billy had dredged off some Scottish catwalk.

Poor Katy.
Thought the Queen would dote on her art …that she’d be endeared forever.

Forgot rolling heads and hearts still pumping mindless little geysers of blood from severed necks are not so easily erased from the minds eye.

Elizabeth Windsor

Back to Bob.
He’s oft thought if she only found some relatives,
…anyone …group …class …sub-class.
Surely a few sturdy payouts could ease her troubled mind.
Bob Quiggin …realist lawyer …knew they’d all be coming out of the woodwork.
The payouts and class actions would go on and on till the Tudor line had the clout of a sentimental dead leaf blowing around Hyde park.

…the leaf the bureaucrats wouldn’t touch with their clean clockwork-club leaf machines.

Ah the bureaucrats!
The talk fest that hid culpability.
No responsibility.
No compensation.
Bob knew how easy it was for Rudd’s lackeys to do “sorry day”
…The aborigines were all dead or at best diluted and minimised to the grey-zones.
Australia’s mineral-frenzied bean counters would laugh at class action for a decimated eco-system, a race wiped.
It sounded great to say ‘sorry’ grab the money and run, throwing a few crumbs over their shoulders shouting gratitude for the pension.

Mr Bob Quiggin.
Offered a job at ANU in cross cultural relationship dialogues.
Great money.

He knew how cheap money had become.
No amount could buy across the board quality.
(It never could)

Bob was top shelf.
He smiled a subtle twist of incredulity at their delusion in offering him the post.

Bob.
Bread and butter, ultimately, was never greatly more than bread and butter.
He used to enjoy the variations, the textures the often delicate distinctions of the world he’d come from.

And now the milk wars, $5,000 dollar babies, V8’s for the price of a used mountain bike.
One world. One law.
The food of a type. The housing as if.

And Rupert.
Had the chance to contest airwave ownership in his buildings.
The banal conversations wafting through the airwaves of his buildings.
The coded signals were in his space.
Uninvited?

Instead he whimpered about his ‘humblest day’
With all that money and commensurate legal clout he bowed to the bureau.
(Bob secretly thought it because Rupert was old and had wasted a lifetime of spare testosterone on unworthy objects)

NY Stock Exchange

Bureaucracies.
Indeed!
Bureaucracies are territorial.
Governments win over entrepreneurial drive any day when the chips are down.
They manipulate military minds ...the men and women who’ve died generation after generation for the healthy ideal …the ideal polluted twisted and sold for zilch to contend spare office space in triplicate.
NATO and the UN, the ‘one world’ governmental bureaucracy.
Territorialism in double speak.

Oh dear …pay up Rupert.
Pay up James …seize the airspace …we’ve won the day …yet again!
We’re such wonderful bureaucrats.
Are we not Jude?

The author has a nice radio …listening, scanning.
Mr Jude Morris, teacher?
Mr Jim White, opportunistic thief?
Mr Rupert Murdoch, publisher coward?

She scans and scans …no signal …static.

Back to the old lady.
She didn’t want to die but the machine gave out.

The daughter?
Apparently Shakespeare held all the answers!
No one reminded her he was dead.
Had been for centuries.

…was a bit of an underground guy at the time but that’s all changed.
…the bureau worked out twas too much truth in it.
…cashed it for boot polish and school curriculums.
    (static law ~ passivity ~ religious law)


Alliance Francais Canberra,
Michel Filhol ... espouses ~~~~?   ??

Michel Filhol HEM, economist.
Childhood memories of historical repartee.
The urbane household.

Agglomerate History of France:
Mountain ranges.
Defensible on 3 sides by Navy.
Navy port, North Sea.
Ultra modern military.
Bonaparte …Bismarck.
Interweaves Catholicism with France’s military might.

Intellectual …Artistic …Cultural.

Socialist !
(bailing out work anorexic Greeks yet again)

Nuclear power …not so sure?

Why not Michel?
Surely time’s right 4 a few mutations!

Footnote:

Johanna Sigurdardottir, PM
Iceland

ICELAND Prime Minister Johanna Sigurdardottir stated to Foreign Minister Össur Skarphédinsson "the real reason Greece is being propped by the Eurozone is bureaucratic nepotism on a global scale"
....   "The inefficiency’s preferred as a potentially messy carve up of Greece could compromise the welfare of Greek officials"