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When the Picasso exhibition was showing at the Art Gallery of NSW a number of years back, I accompanied Mrs Flysa despite my misgivings, which proved to be well-founded. The abstract paintings were stereotyped and uninspiring, and the relatively few attempts at portraiture appeared amateurish. The term sacred cow came to mind, It was a relief to escape and view the magnificent works of the masters in nearby rooms. By comparison, The Sons of Clovis by Evariste Vital Luminaisand The Defence of Rorke's Drift by Alphonse de Neuville, were as day is to night compared to Picasso.
Read more: The Art of Deception by Flysa
Claiming to save the world from the global warming ghosts, climate alarmists are smashing our future with Green Wrecking Balls.
One day, when sanity returns to the world, we will be able to tell a future generation, “We were here when science lost touch with reality. We were here when the medical profession lost its mind. We were here when feelings displaced biology.”
Yes, we will get to tell the shocking story unless, of course, our society completely falls apart and self-destructs. Otherwise, we will get to bear witness to these days of societal madness and insanity.
For over 100 years our country’s economy was wrought from gold. The gold that was mined from the ground and the gold that came from the golden fleeces of our unique strains of merino sheep. The common expression was that Australia rode on the sheep’s back.
The 4th of August marks the 6th anniversary of my father's passing. He was married to Redhead for 65 years and they enjoyed a marriage that was firey, fulfilling and fun. It was a marriage of two Geminis and, to those of you who follow the stars, that portends a rather tempestuous and exciting relationship.
Redhead and Raymond F Peters were and are individual characters of a calibre rarely seen these days. They have and had determination, self-will and a strong belief in what is right and what is wrong.
While we celebrate the life and death of people who have the conviction and self-confidence to stand up for what is fair, then all is good in the world.
When that strength is stifled and the voices suffocated, we must hear alarm bells ring and the church bells tolling the death knell of our civilisation.
Read more: Peace Love and Harmony - even when it takes a shovel
Over the past few days, we have had issues with disqus deciding that certain people are banned, or unable to log in.
We have experienced posters being banned because a third party has decided that our comments sometimes offend someone.
Threats of being banned from the platform...
Things are not good.
I read with great delight the article on Saturday from Possum Nana about her wonderful childhood memories of a caring and loving mother and how her fondest recollections were of this saintly Florence Nightingale figure sweeping in and out of her life and how she has memories of this idyllic angel.
Well, let me tell you, that. as a child and adult, I share those memories. But with one big difference. Redhead was and is a fierce woman. A giant of a woman ( dispite her diminutive stature without high heels ) and how mothers can be both the Florence Nightingale and the Queen Bodicea all rolled into one. My Mum Redhead is just such a woman.
You do NOT cross Redhead!
" I have many vices but thankfully gambling is not one of them."
I wrote this as a comment on the blog a while ago and I was alerted to the fact that this was, in actual fact a strange thing to say.
I had to step back and consider this statement. A comment, made in haste, suddenly put under the microscope of public opinion.
The keywords of course are vice and gambling.
So, what is a vice and what is a gamble?
When, on 20th April 1653, Oliver Cromwell blasted the Rump Parliament in Britain, he gave a speech that could well be delivered in Parliaments around the world today. His passionate words were those of a man who had had a gutful of the lying, self-serving people who were betraying their country to get a slice of a very corrupt and tainted pie.
When I re-read this speech this morning, I could not help but think that it is time for a global cleanout of the cesspits we call Parliament and how our Politicians are overfed vultures feeding on the Carcass of the People they were elected to protect and represent.
When I was a kid ( and I don't mean baby goat, I mean a small child of the human variety) my mother was some kind of demi-god. She was the person who ensured that my bed was snug and warm, clothed in crisply washed sheets that smelled of sunshine because they had been hung on the clothesline and swung in the breeze on a lazy summer's day.
I remember when I was a kid and she tucked me in at night, often so tight that I was cradled in a tight jacket of sorts and she would kiss me on my cheek and whisper " sleep tight , don't let the bed bugs bite " and the light chord would be pulled and I would wonder what a bed bug was and why it might bite me.
But the sandman would come and before I knew it, I would wake up, stretch and wander out to the smell of hot porridge and warm milk, sweetened with honey.
Much is written these days about wise men. About foolish men. Dangerous men. Men who stir the pot for self-gratification or for brownie points on their Santa list. Men who do or did brave things and bucked the system in order to do what is right.
These men will come and go and history will gnaw at their bones like pieces of meat to be devoured and rendered back unto ashes with only the history books to remember their legacy - faithfully recorded or severely edited, depending upon the political and societal climate of the day.
So who are the men that we can look up to in times of darkness and despair?
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Conservative opinions by PatriotrealmCC BY-ND 4.0
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