The Flying Ship

The Flying Ship

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Hairless Shurgles are our Friends

There could be tiny people on the top of my head, living a simple, rustic life, subsisting on the small, many legged animals that they hunt with spears through the vast jungle of hairs.

There probably isn't.

There could be a naming master, who sits in an office building, writing things down on pieces of paper, and sending them to people in authority, explaining what they should call new things. Things like kankles, or squidoids, or flummery.

There probably isn't.

There could be a small pink teapot balanced carefully on top of a very high mountain, that when struck with a spoon, lets out a reverberating ring that makes birds who hear it oddly peckish.

There probably isn't.

There could be a hairless shurgle at the bottom of every well, that refuses to interact with humans in any way, but that bares us no ill feeling.

There probably isn't.

There could be a person reading this that has realized how to make time travel possible, but doesn't really feel like sharing.

There probably isn't.

There could be a point to all this.

Monday, January 12, 2015


Dear Rupert Murdoch,

I live in a country desperately trying to remain at peace with itself.

Everyday, it seems that the atmosphere of hostility to citizens that have committed no crimes, that simply want to live peacefully, is increasing.

This is caused (largely) by people who do not even live here, that are committing violent acts overseas.

Your comments that 'Maybe most Moslems peaceful, but until they recognize and destroy their growing jihadist cancer they must be held responsible.' are not fucking helpful.

You are not fucking helpful.

We must not be a nation divided.

Sincerely, the voice of sanity in Australia.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014


Okay. Tomatoes. They're a fruit. Not a vegetable.

No way! Tomatoes are used in the same places we use vegetables. They aren't a fruit.

Vegetable (noun):

A plant, or part of a plant used for food, such as a cabbage, turnip, potato or bean.

Fruit (noun):

The fleshy product of a tree or other plant that contains seed and can be eaten as a food.


That means that all fruits that we eat are also vegetables (tomatoes, apples, pumpkin, cucumber). But not all vegetables are fruit (broccoli, cauliflower, carrot, asparagus).

So yeah. Just go home and stop arguing one way or the other. Tomatoes are both.


You may think it's weird that I rant against people arguing about whether tomatoes are fruits or vegetables.

But it isn't really about tomatoes.

It's about humanity's frustrating obsession with the concept of binary exclusion. Lemme explain.

To most people, it seems like things have to be one thing OR the other. It drives me freakin' crazy.

Good or bad.

Ugly or beautiful.

Right or wrong.

Fruit or vegetable.

Because humans are obsessed with things being one thing or the other, they exclude the possibility that sometimes, and in my experience usually, these apparently contradictory ideas go hand in hand.

But the the truth is extremely resistant to simplification. Walt Disney was a racist... Who made a large number of sweet and beautiful animated movies.

Albert Einstein was a genius and revolutionary thinker. Who cheated on his wife.

The Internet is a magical thing. That is frequently filled with stupid people doing stupid crap.

A car is a wonder of engineering. That pollutes our precious environment.

A lion is majestic, and so is the zebra it kills to eat.

Because of a lack of acceptance of these things, we have stuff like sexism, racism and homophobia. That while others are different, actually, they're also the same.

If you accept that the world is not a simple place, that a tomato is a fruit AND a vegetable, you might just find that the world actually makes much more sense.

Binary is for computers, but you're better than that.

Sunday, April 27, 2014


Those that know me well will know that I hate many things. But there is one thing that I hate most of all, yes, even more that certain weirdly specific types of equines. 

It's conspiracy theories.

We all hate them to some degree. But, the reason why I hate them is, I think, rather unique. 

They prevail that this world is not as it seems. That it is a curtain for something darker, and deeper. Something interconnected and strange and complex. But what is this thing that works the puppets?

So, it's aliens.

No, wait. It's the CIA. 

Ah, no, it's the lizard people, who wear human skin. 

It's that damned illuminati! Keeping us in the dark!

Of course, none of these things are real. They're ridiculous. Phenomenally. 

But I don't have a problem with them being ridiculous. I find that reality is frequently ridiculous. 

I have a problem with them, because they're boring. The whole vast universe, a great rip piling ocean of mystery. And yet, the best you can come up with are little grey dudes who want to probe you in interesting places?

No, the truth is infinitely vaster and more true than that. 

The very concept of infinity cannot be grasped by a human mind. Whatever strange denizens lurk beyond this small circle of firelight, they are far beyond the comprehension of you and I. 

Do they pull the strings? Are there strings to pull? Does it watch us? He, or she, it and they, all useless. Language is incapable of even giving the most vague name to whatever it is that you and I feel when we hear the reaper sharpening his scythe. That fear of mortality. It's more that just that, isn't it?

We're conditioned to ignore it. But it's there. Squirrelled away in the back of our minds. Everything we do is a distraction from it.

The strangeness of sentience makes us know it is there.

This weird vagueness is all that can be put into words. It is beyond us to know.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

The Unremembering

There is a difference, you see, 

Between forgetting. 

And unremembering. 

I have dreams, or dreams of dreams. 

There is the snake lady, so silvery, so green, so silky. 

She asks me, "Oh pretty boy, why do you want to be God-King?" 

I say something or other. 

She says, "Oh pretty boy, don't get distracted," 

The knight, so lost, opaque in his loneliness, ever so nearly transparent. 

"You must be what you must be!" He says. 

I say a thing or two.

"You must not wallow! You must struggle! You must walk!"

They fight.

The snake lady, she strikes his armour. Long, beautiful fangs.

He holds her so tightly. Her scales reflect his strong grip.

I leave them to their battle.

Never pausing, well, only to speak to me again. 

I wait for the drums. 

Do they fight?

I have forgotten. 

One forgets most everything, wandering through the library, the titles on the spines, strange hieroglyphs, the air, baked and cooled, the grey marble walkway, the echo of my own footsteps. 

If there is peace, it is in the unremembering. 

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Couch Potato

So, look, life is complicated. Life and what comes after.

But you know what isn't complicated?


It's beautiful. It's simple. It's pure.
It's the answer.

I remember when dad came home with our first television. I remember watching that expressionless black screen... come to life. To speak. To act. It understood me. It loved me. And I loved it, forever.

People don't think about that word much. What it means. How long it is.

Back when, well, y'know, before, I had friends. Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Family. Co-workers. I used to run and drive and swim. Rock Climbing, stage diving, lovemaking.

But none of it meant as much to me as that single, simple box in my lounge room. It was like... You know those Buddhists? How they do that praying stuff? And they, like, get in touch with the universe or something?

A chick in a bar once, she said to me

"I hate TV. It's crap. It's old."

I punched her.

That's how it is for me. That's how I watch Tv. Nothing matters. Nothing.

So, when he came, you know, Him, he was all, "We gotta go,"

And I was all, "No way man. Get lost. You're blocking the set. I love this show,".

So he said, "Fine. I'll be back later."

But I wasn't listening. There was a funny ad on. It had a dog who caught a Frisbee. Classic.

Sometimes there are other people on my couch. I don't care. Sometimes they turn the set off. But I can still watch it. I just turn it back on.

The electrician came, because one of the people was complaining about it. "Dunno what's wrong with it lady. Just get a new one."

But it didn't matter. I was still there. I could still watch my shows. Hey neat. Cartoons are on.

What was I saying? Oh yeah. The people.

They went away. They all went away after a while.

He came back. You know.


He said, "You've been here too long. You're too old. You're too lost. You gotta come with me,"

And I was like, "Shuttup man. I can't hear what the newsguy is saying."

He sighed. He left. What a buzz-kill.

I hear one day, all the sets will be broken.

But not mine. Still got it. Right here.

I hear one day, God will burn the Earth.

That don't matter. So long as the quiz show still rolls. And it will.

I hear, one day, the sun will go out.

That don't matter. They'll still show re-runs.

Hear that one day, entropy and energy will finish their fight. That the multiverses will collapse. That heat-death will come, and everything will end.

That don't matter. Because I'll still be right here. On my couch. Watching weekend specials. And midnight classics. And the morning news.

I'm not worried.

Friday, September 6, 2013

My life story

This is what I'm okay with my life story being:

He was born.

He grew up.

He said some things, and did some things. Because he thought some things.

Some guys liked them. Others didn't.

He drank a lot of beverages.

He owned plenty of stuff.

He met a bunch of guys.

He died of being pretty old.

Some guys were sad. Others weren't.