Tag Archive: education


“Whore”

There is a time before fame, a time before the new universe is born, before the screen and the keyboard and the cell phone and 24/7 CCTV surveillance; a time before the absolute governance of celebrity, greed and gratuitous acquisition.

I am ten years old. I sit on a soft carpet in front of a small monochrome television in a terra-cotta room that exists not for human habitation but for the shelter and protection of the people in my father’s paintings.

It’s a room in a frame.

For the cobbler in the red fez it exists.

For the veiled women haggling over vegetables in the souk it matters. 

For the tall Arab girl gazing out across the rocky beach at Merkala, her djellabah blowing in the warm sea breeze it’s the future. 

For the kiff smokers drowsing at their pipes it is real.

For the fakirs, the snake charmers and the holy men and me?

I can’t speak for them but for me it is a vault for my father’s treasures.

Vernon thinks – A prison for his seed?

Vernon has known my father and has worked for him for a long time, since before I was born, but he still doesn’t understand him, his motivation, the way he thinks.

Craft is everything to my father: talent, intuition, creativity and art are delusions; know-how, workmanship, cunning, guile, shrewdness and trickery are more important than talent.

Talent, and to my father I think it’s more than just a word, is but a side effect of madness.

There are other pictures in my father’s house.

In the big hall, for example, are two full sized prints of original canvasses by a painter called Richard Dadd. 

When I was younger I would wonder if his surname was a misspelling of the other word for father.

Richard Dadd murdered his father with a kitchen knife, believing him to be the devil.

Is this why I am here, why I am constantly alone, why I am schooled privately by Sister Rose, why my father and I are never alone together, why he has never held me, smiled and called me his son?

Does my father fear that one day I might murder him because I am talented?

My father is in Hollywood, a place in America, working on a picture, that’s his craft.

He packages dreams and turns them into images that flicker on large screens in people-packed auditoriums. He has made many and they have made him rich. I watch them sometimes on television.

They seem to me to be all the same, although the settings are different. There is always a good man who usually has some kind of weakness, which he overcomes; and an evil man who seems to be strong in the way that the good man is not, but is ultimately shown to be weak.

Once, I ask my father if the dreams he packages are his dreams.

He smiles and tells me he pays talented people to dream for him, pays them well, makes them rich, pays them a lot of money.

And then he says:

“But not as much as the talentless people who pack the auditoriums to witness the talented people’s dreams pay me!”

Then he laughs a cold and unhappy laugh.

The talentless people, the ones who have made my father rich, are called The Public or, sometimes, The Fools or The Punters. 

The talented people, the dreamers, are referred to by my father as The Writers.

I decide at an early age that if I ever have the choice as to whether I am to be like my father or be a dreamer I will choose the latter.

A visit from my mother is promised, has been imminent since as far back as I can recall.

My mother is a drunk and a whore.

I read those words from my father’s lips one day as I watch him with Penelope in the garden. My mother lives in hotels and on aeroplanes with worthless men and sometimes tries to act.

An actor is another kind of dreamer.

My father has made a deal with other men of power in the dream business that they should never let my mother be a part of their packages.

I think perhaps this constriction on her may be the cause of her drinking and whoring.

Vernon enters the room. My eyes remain on the flickering images on the silent television screen. I know what he’s thinking.

He hates to be an agent of disappointment but it’s his burden, as having a drunken whore for a mother is mine, and I let him bear it.

It’s his own fault for putting off the moment: he should have told me immediately, this morning, after he had replaced the telephone handset in its cradle.

“Is it this afternoon, Vernon, or this evening?” My eyes remain attached to the screen, its silent images miniaturised in them.

He walks to the window and pretends to gaze out over the driveway.

The big metal gate strains against its chain in the light breeze.

I turn.

Vernon can feel the intensity of my stare on the back of his neck.

The question hangs in the air like dust caught in a shaft of sunlight.

 He turns and his eyes meet mine for a broken moment before they swerve downwards to the carpet.

His words, the pertinent ones, are almost out, struggling at the back of his throat to be released, but he fails them:

“Why don’t you switch it off, Jon,” he says instead, “how can you follow it without sound?”

The machine also has problems with its voice; a repairman is expected.

“It’s alright,” I say, “there’s a trick Sister Rose taught me… I can read the shapes the words make on the actors’ mouths, just takes a little practice. I’ve become quite good at it. The grey haired woman has just told her brother about the missing diamond…”

I’ll tell him, I don’t know how but…

His secret has become suddenly redundant, his burden is hollow; I can hear him thinking, his sadness and relief and something bitter that he recognises as shame: he knows I despise him for his cowardice, for his transparency.

“I know she’s not coming, Vernon.”

He kneels down and gently touches my face, his hand resting there a while before he raises it to my hair and self-consciously ruffles it.

His body shakes in a way that betrays the tremors in his heart.

There is nothing more to say about my mother’s latest aborted attempt at a homecoming but, like the fool he is he says it anyway:

“I’m sorry, Jon. She thinks she may be able to get back to the UK in a week or so, she’s reading for a part in a play. She sounded ok, but disappointed herself.”

I no longer feel disappointment. After all, it’s happened so many times before. You can’t be disappointed when disappointment is what you expect.

“Come and help me in the garden?”

I shrug.

The word “whore” is a word I’m not entirely sure I know the meaning of. I’ve heard it spoken on the television and I’ve read it on my father’s lips and I’ve called Vernon one in my head.

So my mother is a whore, but whores are not always women.

I know it must be something bad and sometimes, but not always, is about sex.

My father once called a writer a whore when they were arguing at a dinner party.

I think it has something to do with doing things that you don’t really want to do but you do them for money.

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A comment on gun crime in the UK

Below is a comment by Ms Vaughan, which I received in response to my Gun crime in the UK post (11/09/06). I decided to publish it here because of its current relevance.

22 February 2007, 12:31:43 | Ms Vaughan
I am a Connexions Personal Adviser working in South London and I come into contact with young people everyday.

In light of the recent shootings in the Black community involving young people, I feel that it is now time for us to offer practical ways to tackle the problems and move forward.

I believe that everyone in our community should be coming together now. I think that they need to be shown that they can overcome all things with only a little determination, confidence in oneself and nurturing from family and school.

I am pleased to share with you a web site that promotes this and will be of interest to everyone in our community: http://www.school-info4u.com

A particular demand exists for a web site that delivers clear and specific advice to parents and carers who are raising African-Caribbean children.

School-info4u.com has the leverage to make a difference.

This free resource aims to tackle many of the problems that are causing these young people to ‘go off track’. This might be in relation to various issues, ranging from school exclusion, gang culture etc.

I guess most people might find it deeply uncomfortable talking about what’s really going on with the state of our youth. But as long as we choose complacency over awareness, we can’t change the status quo. In fact, the problems will likely grow in magnitude until people are finally forced to open their eyes and deal with the consequences. As is the case now!

The sooner each one of us decides that we do want to know, and that we are willing to invite others to open their eyes too, the more easily we will be able to turn this situation around. I guess that this won’t happen overnight, but I retain optimism…a flicker of hope in these difficult times! 

For me it’s all about trying to do my little bit to try and transform our community…’ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach’.

I believe that any small thing that one person can do to help another will make all the difference and I feel as though I am doing this with the School-info4u.com project.

Take a look at http://www.school-info4u.com

Kindest regards

Ms Vaughan

I feel it incumbent upon me to apologise to my regular visitors for the considerable period of silence between this and my previous post.

This is due to my recent pre-occupation with an extremely topical whistle-blower project, which I hope to break soon in the national press and, of course, at this site.

In the meantime, however, I’d like to talk about robotics.

Isaac Asimov   formulated three laws related to that science, the first of which states that a robot should be programmed never to harm a human, either deliberately or by its inaction.

Seems quite logical, not to mention prudent.

However, robotics expert Shuji Hashimoto proposes a new and somewhat thought-provoking relationship between machines and their human creators.

He thinks that robots should be allowed to experience a kind of adolescence or “teenage”.

His rationale, presumably, is based upon the philosophy of some educationists who believe that individuals given a free reign in their post-pubescent years develop stronger characters and mature into more “rounded” and independent adults, better able to think for themselves and make decisions, than those of their peers who have experienced a more structured and disciplined pre-adulthood (one may be forgiven if she has forgotten that the subjects of this discourse are non-human).

Furthermore, he is of the opinion that they should be allowed to harm humans, even terminate them if circumstances so dictate, which puts Shimon Peres’ vision of a deterrent “based on miniaturised arms or on remote-control robots operating on the battlefield; perhaps even on a type of intelligence hitherto unknown, grounded in revolutionary nanotechnology” into frightening perspective.
 
Other concerns, meanwhile, occupy the minds of scientists and engineers engaged in a series of experiments at a house in Hertfordshire into the way people react and behave around its sole resident, a 1.2 metre tall domestic-servant robot with a silver  head and “sinister” gripping claws.

Early evidence hints that humans may be “uneasy” in the company of robotic servants.

Domestic robots, according to human-robot interaction expert Kerstin Deutenhahn, must be able to perform in a way that humans find “acceptable and comfortable”.

Perhaps some research of this kind should be conducted with our politicians and civil and public servants in mind.

Asimov’s 3 laws of robotics:

A robot may not harm a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Three Laws of Robotic Sexuality (1982) is a novel by French writer Roland C. Wagner. It parodies Asimov by introducing a corresponding set of Laws which govern robots used for sexual gratification.

The Three Laws of Wagner:

A robot cannot copulate with a human being without his agreement; nor can it be passive and let this human masturbate.

A robot must obey all perverse desires of human beings, except if they are in contradiction with the First Law.

A robot must protect its virginity if such protection is not in contradiction with the First or Second Laws.

Again, only a slightly fertile imagination is required to enable the transference of emphasis here from robotics to politics.

Are we there yet?

22/06/06 

Three years into a war in the country and after 2400 military deaths there, nearly two-thirds of 18 to 24 year old Americans cannot find Iraq on a map – of the Middle East.

And there's more:

"Thirty-three percent of respondents couldn't pinpoint Louisiana on a map.

Fewer than three in 10 think it important to know the locations of countries in the news and just 14 percent believe speaking another language is a necessary skill.

Two-thirds didn't know that the earthquake that killed 70,000 people in October 2005 occurred in Pakistan.

Six in 10 could not find Iraq on a map of the Middle East.

Forty-seven percent could not find the Indian subcontinent on a map of Asia.

Seventy-five percent were unable to locate Israel on a map of the Middle East.

Nearly three-quarters incorrectly named English as the most widely spoken native language.

Six in 10 did not know the border between North and South Korea is the most heavily fortified in the world.

Thirty percent thought the most heavily fortified border was between the United States and Mexico."

Source: The Associated Press

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