Daily (Or When The Mood Takes Me) Gripe: On Being “UnAustralian”!

General Interest, , , , ,

Fuck…I loathe that term. There isn’t even a way to categorise what is unAustralian – let alone having to put a capital “A” in the middle of a word…well, third letter in, anyway!

A couple of days a friend of mine wrote a verrrrrry long rant on the changing face of Australian culture. I read it all, to his credit, mainly because I disagreed with it all! Though he didn’t use the word unAustralian, what he had to say is tied into the same mentality. The word would have slotted easily into his rant.

I have to face facts – amongst my friends are some who don’t slot easily into the modern Australia. They are time-locked in a bygone era, where to be Australian was to be racist, intolerant and narrow-minded! This is someone who, two years ago, told me I was being “frivolous” going to TAFE to get my Certificate III in Fitness. That, indeed, all arts and humanities subjects should not be available through TAFE and universities!i didn’t hold back with telling him where to get off on that occasion, that we had a RIGHT to be able to further our education at any age, and in our chosen field. I heard no more about it. This is someone who also – though not now – post items from Islamic “watch” websites, who chose the slightest thing as a pointer to terrorism, and I have heard him spit bile at suggestions of the humanitarian handling of asylum seekers – illegal immigrants in his book. The only reason he has not been unfriended ( no capital “f” in that lol) is the longevity of our friendship, snd that he seems to have toned down his opinions over the years. His rant had bern instigated by an article in “Crikey” by a 17-year-old girl. A fluff piece – that I would have found amusing – on her tour through Canberra searching for the perfect macchiato, and her horror at finding a “Charcoal Chicken” in the centre of the city.

My friend felt that this type of coffee-culture elitism spelt the demise of Australian culture, values and lifestyle. Of course, to see this one has to assume that those values truly existed in the first place. He felt that we have become “soft”, too intent on the foibles of contemporary culture to any longer be able to uphold his values of a lost Australia. At no stage in his rant did he see himself as the lost person, out of touch, drowning in a rapidly changing world!

This puts me in mind if a recent post on the Starts At 60 facebook page about the Federal Government reintroducing temporary visas so that asylum seekers could spend time living and working in the general community. I had not seen the post, and another friend posted that she was so disillusioned by the comments she had read on the post that she had withdrawn from the subject altogether. Naturally, that piqued my interest and I had to check it out. Well, hadn’t that brought out the bigots and racists in their unadulterated hatred and spleen-venting! I was so disgusted, and posted my own comment on just how disgusting they were, and that how, having reached the advanced age and “maturity” that they had, they had, in fact, learnt nothing and needed to grow up. One if these horrendously disgusting people thought to take me to task, and informed me that they were not racists – and it was typical of my ilk, evidently – but merely offering an “alternative opinion”. I was pleased to inform him that a racist under any other disguise is still a racist! That attitudes if many older Australians just horrify me! Likewise, on a car trip to Melbourne with my partner and his mother a couple of years ago, as I sat next to her the front seat whole she took a turn driving, and we discussed life in the ‘burbs. With a triumphant glint in her eye, she was pleased to inform me that at a local meeting where she lived, they had overturned an application by “those towelheads” to open an Islamic school in the area. I was so mortified by her language that I was rendered speechless, as was my partner. Her attitude to people from the Muddle East who live here now so perfectly matched the opinions of my parents towards Greeks, Italians and Lebanese in my youth. As I have pointed out – on numerous occasions – I, thankfully, chose to ignore them. My parents ensured they had zero contact with these races, whilst I developed friendships with them through school, and in-home experiences with them.

I seem to be going a bit off-track here, but I’m sure you are getting my drift. We have a small population here, compared to most of the rest of the world, and yes we have an established culture, but it is a young one! It is also very malleable! Or so I was led to think! Just as our current hang-dog government thinks a return to the 50s would be a good thing, so do many others in our “mature” generation! I hate to say it but…do we have to wait for our current over-60 Baby Boomers to die before we dan move on! Do we need culture-shock tactics to get them to confront there own bigotry and racism! I fear so!

As a 60-year-old who doesn’t fit the mould, I see a different Australia to these people. A “fair go” has an entirely different meaning to me! I want to live in an Australia where all cultures exist in peace, and that the shared experiences of culture will broaden our horizons, and enrich our own Australian culture! I want the boganism of”Charcoal Chicken” to be as identifiable as the “elitism” of the macchiato!, yet the two live in peace alongside our culture of beer and barbecues! I want to see empathy and compassion for those seeking shelter here from the horrors of war and extremism. Despite the hatred and racism I have encountered on pages such as Starts At 60, my own personal experiences have been of people who are humanitarian and compassionate, who see injustice for what it is, and aren’t afraid to speak out.

There is no such thing as being “unAustealian”. It is merely a cultural shift that us yet to be generally recognised and accepted. The “fair go” still exists, and despite our government trying to sloganise and disguise it under the banner of protectionism and security, the bulk if us still want to see it practised for all wanting to live here. The boundaries may have changed, but the concept still exists.

I want a modern Australia. I want to see other cultural differences absorbed, and used to further enrich us! I want to see our fish ‘n chips beer-battered, our hamburgers become gourmet, our beers boutique, our coffees exotic. I do not want to live on a remote island cut off from world experiences, time-locked and worn down from the weight of continually challenging change! Only by accepting and welcoming change will we grow onto our full potential as a nation.

Indeed, we can all be Australian!

Tim Alderman
(C) 2014

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Daly Waters (part 13 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

Poetry, , , , ,

Early century ‘watering hole’
Dilapidated, run-down, arcane
Lost in another time
That told of depressions, harsh desert winds
Searing heat, and freezing cold.
An anomaly, a freak
No friendly faces to assist
A weary travellers trek.
Outback humour, only no one understands
The quirkiness of incorrect speech
Or toilet seats nailed to a tree
Underneath a collapsing verandah
Where, perhaps, once jokes were shared
With others of like mind.
Then to the street, and another scene emerges
Of bougainvillea, desert frangipani
And flame tree in full flower
And you wonder how can such beauty
Exist amongst the scattered ashes
Of an era long ago.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001

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Katherine Gorge (part 15 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

Poetry, , , ,

Drag marks in sand,
Crocodile belly bands to nest.
Geometric rock designs
Step up toward the red cliff face.
Contrast of red rock, and white
Stretching far above to green tree heights.
Tribal art,
Now faint in the arms of time
Adorns the walls above our heads.
More ancient tales of food and water
For others who pass
Close by this way.
Pebble strewn bridge divide
Between gorge and valley drift.
Tortoise follows shadowed slip-stream,
Swallows nests below craggy ledge.
A place of stories, a place of time
Disturbed none by our presence,
But keeping us mindful
Of the ages of this great land.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001

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Love

Poetry, , , , ,

I was asked today
How did I know
When I eventually fell
Totally, completely in love.
I pondered this for a while
Shrugged my shoulders
And answered
You just know.
It’s a feeling
A knowing
A heartbeat
Desire
Comfort in silences
An intimacy that is unexplained
Shared knowing
A transference of pain
He looked at me as if to know more.
I don’t feel I answered his question
I don’t think I really know how to explain
Just exactly when you know you are in love.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2012

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Nourlangie Rock (part 17 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite)

Poetry, , , , ,

Hidden gallery of art
Its artists long deserted
From the rock dwelling place
Nestled in its protective shade.
Stick spirit people,
Hunting red kangaroos.
While white kangaroo waits.
Flower art, outline of hands
Spirit people painting ancient signs
Of the lands true fruits
Its survival ways
Known to initiated, no other may go
To touch, to read these pictures.
A twisted vine,
Leafless in the scorching midday sun
Waits for times that are better
The cooling touch of rain
The cold desert night air
The silence of this gallery, lost in time.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001

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Simsons Gap (part 10 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

Poetry, , , , ,

Chalk white boulder announces our presence
To the rich red walls rising high above.
At the end of the valley, we glance through v-shaped opening
Toward the desert glimpsed through trees
Leafed in green, alive again after the rains.
In the dry sand of the riverbed, a ghost gum awaits
The next outpouring from the sky.
While stagnant pool tells subtle tale
That the wait may not be soon.
Through dry heat shimmer we raise our gaze
High above us to the red walled heights.
A single tree, stature small but strong
Struggles against the elements to survive
Alone.
The hushed quiet broken only by birdcall.
Time stands still here, as it always has.
Nature takes her time, there is no hurry here.
Alone.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001

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Last Mail

General Interest, Short Story, , , , ,

You’ve got mail’

The small icon in the task bar flashed. A flat, metallic female voice made the announcement. Wayne Jenkins opened the email program. He clicked on the ‘GET MAIL’ button, watching as 6 messages were delivered to his in-box.

Two were jokes from an overseas friend, and he deleted these without even opening them. Always the same jokes, often 5 or 6 a day. He was bored with them, but didn’t bother to tell them not to send them anymore. He didn’t want to ruin their fun. Another message was from his mother. He flagged it to answer when he had time. His mother had just discovered the joys of email, and was driving everyone in the family mad with them; group emailing everyone the most trivial titbit of family gossip. Still, he was pleased to have watched her go from technophobe to, at least, using the more basic computer applications. She was even taking lessons in Internet surfing at her local senior cits.

There were two emails from work mates, regarding some cost estimates the company was organising for a retail company. They wanted their firewalls upgraded, and some really sophisticated anti-virus programs added to their in-house systems. ‘Virtec’ stood to make a killing out of the deal.

The last email was from his friend, Alison. It was a private message. He hadn’t heard from her for a while. He noticed that the message had been forwarded from her work address, and there was an attachment. He clicked on the attachment, and his anti-virus program suddenly loaded. A window appeared on his message screen, informing him that the attachment contained a virus. It listed a number of options for dealing with the situation, including cleaning the message, deleting, or quarantining it. I small ‘ping’ sounded when the window opened, which drew the attention of George Rogerson, his supervisor. George came over, glancing at the window.

“Anything serious, Wayne?” he inquired, peering over Wayne’s shoulder.
“Nah, I don’t think so. The message is from a friend. She probably doesn’t even know it’s infected. What do you think I should do with it?” Wayne asked, looking up at the supervisor. “Clean and then delete?”

George looked serious for a second. “Naw, quarantine it, will you! And see if it has a name. Nobodies notified me of any new virus. Let’s see what the baby is made of,”, he answered, walking back to his workstation.

Wayne made sure George was intent on his monitor, and clicked the ‘FORWARD’ button on his mail program, then addressed the message to his in-box at home. A copy of the message and its attachment disappeared into cyberspace. He would check it out himself when he got home tonight. He scrolled down to the attachment, and noticed that the file name was ‘last~mail.vid’. Never heard of that one, he thought to himself. Maybe Alison had discovered some new virus, unintentionally. He shrugged his shoulders, then clicked the quarantine button. That should hold the little fucker for a while. He closed his email program, and went back to the document he had been working on.

‘You’ve got mail’.

The e-mail program at Wayne’s home had the same flat, metallic voice, only this one was male. He opened his browser, and downloaded the mail. Four messages from his mother, this time. The subject lines included ‘A messge from mum’, with the ‘a’ missing from message; ‘mickey’s cute saying’, with a small ’M’ for Mickey, his four-year-old nephew; ‘Some fun sites that Mr Nokes at the centre has found’. He couldn’t wait to see what the local 70+ brigade considered fun sites. He somehow didn’t think it would quite fit into his idea of fun. The last was headed ‘I got this from Alison’. He highlighted this message, and it opened in his browser;

‘What am I supposed to do with this’, his mother had typed, minus the question mark He really had to speak to her about using spell-check on her messages. ‘please answer by email.’ Wayne laughed. His mother was inscrutable sometimes.

The ‘last~mail.vid’ attachment was at the bottom of the email. Wayne screwed up his face. How many people had Alison sent this infected email to? He’d email her back later and warn her about what she was doing. Meantime, he’d quarantine it. He clicked on the attachment, and the anti-virus window came up. He quarantined the attachment, and went back to answering his mail, starting with his mother.

An hour later, he sent the last email. That should keep his mother quiet for a couple of hours. He swore she sat up half the night these days, surfing sites with outdated jokes, and probably checking up on the stock prices of companies running nursing homes. He wondered if she had encountered any porn sites yet! He could just see the look on her face! And he bet she never told Mr Nokes about them, either. The old blighter would probably have a heart attack at anything more blatant than a set of tits. He snickered to himself.

He was about to shut the system down, when he remembered the quarantined email. He doubted George would have remembered it at work. It’d be great if he could go in tomorrow with details of what it was about. With any luck, they would have an antidote for it by lunch time tomorrow, and have an update out to all their subscribers by late afternoon. He opened his anti-virus program, and clicked on the quarantined button.

It opened another window, with the quarantined virus attachment. His company had worked for years with this quarantine program, designing it so that any virus opened within it would be confined while they worked on dissecting it.
He clicked on the ‘last~mail.vid’ file name. It opened to reveal a teddy bear icon. The teddy bear wore a tiny tartan vest, and had his hand raised in welcome.

“Cute!” Wayne said to the monitor. He clicked on the small icon, and a specially designed anti-virus multimedia player opened within the quarantine section. His company had designed this software to cater to any contingency, and at times like this he felt sure that the millions spent on product development every year was warranted. He waited a minute for the player to load the video. The pause button was accentuated.

Wayne pushed the pause button, which turned itself into a ‘play’ arrow. There was several seconds of blue screen. The teddy bear with the tartan vest appeared on the screen. He turned his waving hand over, and stuck his thumb up in the air. Over the computer’s sound system came a small, scratchy voice:
“Sooner or later, someone, somewhere had to be a stupid fucker and open up this package. Don’t you know that last~mail means just that – last-mail!”

The screen went blank.

Wayne had a split second to see the teddy bear smile!

Tim Alderman
(Copyright ©2002)

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An Outsiders Overview of the HIV “Industry”

Article, Gay Interest, General Interest, Health Information, History, HIV/AIDS, , ,

This year marks, for me, 33 years of living with HIV/AIDS…though now it is just HIV. I consider it a landmark, as back in 1996 I was admitted to Prince Henry hospital with chronic CMV retinitis, chronic candida, chronic anaemia, wasting syndrome (48 kg and going down), 10 CD 4 cells, and no immune system, and was not supposed to leave…at least not under my own steam. I did, thanks to advances in medications at that time, very aggressive treatment and a lot of will power. I don’t give a fuck how negative many HIV+ guys are about life with HIV. For me, this was the great singular event of my life, a pivotal point that resulted in life-altering decisions, a mental overhaul, and the knowledge that there was a hell of a lot more to life than HIV. It altered the course of my life, and for better or worse I have never looked back.

I was a speaker for the Positive Speakers Bureau for 12 years before realising that when you continually tell a story you start doing it by rote. The time came to opt out before it becomes totally meaningless. I have also written for “Talkabout” magazine (the flag ship publication of Positive Life NSW – formally PLWHA NSW Inc) for 15 years, as a features writer and a columnist. I also spent many years on the Publications Working Group. As a writer I see my role as not only to inform people, but to provoke debate, at times to be opinionated, to raise questions, to address abuses and unfairness and to be, when required, controversial. Unfortunately, my time with “Talkabout” taught me that to get published in a HIV publication you need to walk the safe road. To be controversial is to be tolling your own death knell. Mind you, this censorship has nothing to do with the editors who, in my experience, have been nothing but supportive. Community Health and a certain AIDS council provide funding to the magazine, so to poke your nose into sensitive areas will ensure your censure and non-publication.

As a HIV+ person writing about HIV issues I have always found my hands tied. I have written two extremely controversial articles on HIV Issues over the years. One, on Options Employment Services using HIV clients as a free work force in the guise of “work experience” was so watered down after threats of suing PLWHA, the editor and myself (I truly wish they had) that by the time of publication was a mere shadow of its original fiery tirade…despite the fact that I had evidence of this going on.The manager even took me aside and “suggested” that I quieten down my opinions as they were providing a service to the HIV community. Shortly after, they went broke and disappeared. The second article was amongst the best pieces I have ever written, and covered the controversial area of bug-chasing (HIV- guys who deliberately have unprotected sex with HIV+ guys in the hope of contracting HIV). The magazines working group deemed that by writing about bug-chasing I may have been promoting it amongst a certain sector of the community. Considering that the practice is well documented, is acknowledged and exists I failed to see how being informative about it was in any way promoting it…oh shit! I forgot that community health and certain HIV organisations wanted to keep their heads buried in the sand about the issue…and they held the purse-strings. Censorship is alive and well within the HIV community and always has been. Want to tell the truth about what is going on or want to expose something? Not on their watch!

But despite this I continue to write, though I keep it to the more nondescript these days. I do enjoy being published! Since moving to Brisbane I have been phasing out my writing for “Talkabout” (which after 15 years of being published in pretty well every issue, has gone unacknowledged by the organisation itself, though not by the editors), and have started writing for QPP “Alive”, the magazine of Queensland Positive People. Same story, different place as far as funding goes, I’m afraid. Nothing controversial will be coming out of here either.

33 years ago at the start of the HIV shit fight, people never questioned anything about treatments, definitions, philosophies, or courses-of-action. We were in crisis mode and anything was better than nothing. We let a lot happen that in more sane times, in more accountable times, would never have been allowed to happen. This far down the line it is time to start asking questions, time to demand investigations and redefinition into many aspects of treatment, time to look back at some of the historical record and say “we were wrong”, and set the record straight. I no longer allow my doctor, or the HIV establishment, or the drug companies to dictate my path to health for me. I follow my own path, which is dictated to by knowledge and experience. 11 years ago I made a decision to halve my daily medications, and dose myself once a day only. Considering the negative impacts of huge amounts of HIV medication on the body I decided to take a risk. Well, this far down the line my health has never been better (though diet and exercise also contribute to that), my viral load has remained at undetectable, and not only has my CD4 count remained stable, it has in fact risen considerably. In fact, on my blood tests all other readings – except CD4/CD8 – are within range. Considering the recent emphasis on drug regime “compliance”, and considering my own circumstances, I am forced to ask – controversially, naturally – if the compliance issue is being driven by HIV specialists, or by the drug companies who stand to make a fortune out of HIV drugs. I will leave that question in the air for you to mull over and answer for yourself. This is a personal opinion, and one I am entitled to.

With the release of the brilliant “Dallas Buyers Club” the truth about AZT is finally out there. Pressured by my doctor to go on it in the latter part of the 80s, it is the one decision of my HIV care that I regret. I had read the report from the “Concorde” study in France, I knew it was described as “Human Ratsac”, yet I still finally gave in, and witnessed the immediate decline of my health as it bashed my immune system into submission. Needless to say, the long-term affects are disabling, and were not worth the risk. I still hear those who work in the HIV “Industry” – as indeed it was and still is – banging on about how it kept the wolf from the door – it didn’t! It poisoned and destroyed our immune systems, and left us vulnerable to opportunistic infection! It effectively killed many of us. As a drug to assist with maintaining CD4 counts it was a total and complete failure! And I am not the only one to say so! Ask any one who survived AIDS their opinion on AZT! Minor control of HIV did not start AZT situation. How the FDA in America handled the AZT situation and allowed wed the drug companies to dictate treatment options, block other drugs put out by rival companies, and chose to ignore or acknowledge research from overseas was a disgrace.

Even now in 2014 ignorance lives on. I continually hear, read and see HIV being described as AIDS! It is NOT AIDS – it Is HIV or HIV+! For fuck sake get your facts right! HIV is a viral infection, and AIDS are as the initials infer – Acquired IMMUNE Deficiency Syndrome! They are infections contracted by a breakdown of the immune system! The two do not necessarily go hand in hand, and you can have one without having the other. People undergoing aggressive cancer treatments which knock the immune system around are left vulnerable to the same infections triggered by AIDS in the plague years. Drug addicts also.

There are – and I am not being unkind nor ungrateful – those who have worked in the HIV Industry for too long. They are burnt out, and out of touch. If you only wander in HIV circles, you will only know that singular perspective. These people are indoctrinated, lacking in vision, and single-minded in their approaches to HIV and its management. They are blinkered, and only ever spiel forth statistics and the same information that we have heard for the last 30-odd years. They seem incapable of acknowledging different perspectives, new ideas, or revisiting and re-evaluating the old philosophies and education. Without an insurgence of new blood, HIV is in danger of stagnating and just at a dead end. Their current publicity of “Ending HIV” is a fantasy, and they know it. As long as HIV is in Africa, and in countries like Russia and China where education is almost non-existent or played down, HIV will never end. Empty words to seem to appear to be doing something, is just a waste of money. The HIV Industry seems to be very good at this. Always about 2-years behind actual need – just look at the employment needs of AIDS survivors in 1997/98 – when services were introduced they were way off course. You can only have so many programs that teach you how to write a resume, or attend an employment interview. Every single return-to-work session I went to do talks at had the same people in them. They just moved from one group to another, never putting the teaching into action. Where was the advice for people who wanted to be re-educated, or start a business, or upgrade a hobby,or buy into a franchise? It was non-existent. These people were the ones who fell through the cracks for lack of support and services. This has always been an ongoing problem. Naturally, the lack of funding is always blamed – though enough money to pay huge salaries – when really it is a lack of foresight, and imagination. Of course, everything is now wrapped up under the umbrella of Community Health, so any hope of imaginative thinking is now out the window. Those who hold the purse-strings control everything. It is a sad state of affairs. Groups like “Positive Life” no longer acknowledge their roots, nor do they move in the directions set down by the original founders. They are out of touch with their memberships, are indeed losing them. In the race to save money they are dropping resources that keep everyone active within the group. Even Positive Speakers Bureau inductees are now told what to talk about, and bang on about the same old messages and sprout the same old statistics. The trouble is…no one gets sick any more, so there is nothing to talk about for an hour. Perhaps it has outlived its use.

If one has to be totally frank, service delivery, information and services are no better now than they were 20 years ago! In many cases, they are worse. One friend of mine complains of the lack if easy access to HIV meds, and he has to spend a lot of time travelling to obtain them. He also comments on how he and his partner feel isolated and-reclusive due to no social groups to mingle with, and the constant heed to continually go through your medical record every time you change providers. Pretty sad state of affairs considering he only lives in Canberra.

Being my 33rd anniversary of life with HIV, and with World AIDS Day approaching I have written a personal retrospective of that period hopefully for publication around that time. It is 2,500 words long…not a lot of words for 33 years. If you are interested, follow the link. Not quite as controversial as this!

Getting On With It! A 33-Year Retrospective of Life with HIV/AIDS

For information on the Concorde Trial – http://aidsinfo.nih.gov/news/5/concorde-trial
Tim Alderman
(C) 2014

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A New World Order

Poetry,

Everything is different today
The world has turned and changed.

It is not the innocent place of my youth
Nor the time-worn one
My parents once called home.

It is not a tame world
Nor frightening in its ways
It’s just that what is here today
Is different from yesterday.

Powers greater than those who rule
And higher than those who pray
See this world as a lonely place
And yet, when I woke this day
To sunshine, wind and rain
A lorikeet tapping at my window pane
I felt that this world of today
Is a world that can be mine.

Tim Alderman
Copyright ©2001

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