Hello Roamers,

Wauchope, which is a few ks west of Port Macquarie, is holding a Country music Festival from 8th to 10th January next year.
Frank Ifield will be one of the compares, Jade Hurley will perform a 2 hour show.
For more info go to
www.wauchopecmfestival.com

Cheers
John
Go-Roam Australia!
http://roamersclub.com
http://grey-nomads.org
http://theroamersclub.wordpress.com
http://greyroamers.wordpress.com

Hello readers,
Up until now this blog has been a mixture of information for seniors and grey nomads plus my own personal blog.
Today I started a new blog just for seniors/grey nomads so in future this blog will just be my personal blog.
Cheers
John
Go..Roam Australia!
The address for the seniors/grey nomads blog is
http://greyroamers.wordpress.com

This is my new blog specifically for Seniors/Grey Nomads.
I’ll be posting information specifically for you and it will refer you back to my specific website
http://grey-nomads.org
I hope you find it beneficial.
Most of the information relates to Australia but will include other countries as well.
Cheers
John

first; i want to write about what happened to david.

it was the 31st of October, heads were fuzzy, footsteps and progress was slow, we had said goodbye and thanks to some fellow volunteers, and drank some wine, as we do, the night before, did not sleep enough after spending too long tuning a guitar and sipping whisky nightcap/s. the 6am wake up every day of the week is still 6am every day of the week. I had been staring at my computer screen for hours trying to determine if I was being productive or more useless than usual. I wanted to go to the farm and help burn the bricks, or help weed, or help mulch. But I was doing something, I remember I was doing something… useful, while staring at the screen.

I chose rice over spaghetti that day. Like most days, if I had the choice.

11.30am and I must be consumed by water, I needed to be consumed by water, the fresh cool delicious water of lago Niassa just there, waiting, calling, perpetually, just there.

I see some staff on the beach chatting about something, I pass and say hello, “im going in there,” I say to dev, pointing at the blue, “nice,” he responds.

I strip to my bra and nickers, and put my goggles on. There are some waves breaking close to the shore, I swim past the beginning of their swell and a bit far out to swim alongside the lakeshore – david comes past me in a canoe, david is from the farm, and although we don’t share a language, we’ve had fun, we’ve managed to laugh, and work together, digging pits for the mud bricks, carrying bamboo, weeding, eating cassava and plantain bananas, and drinking tea.. “where are you going?” I ask. “Yah,” he says, always ‘yah’. “Are you going to the farm?” “Yah, no, Mala, Manure,” he says pointing north; he’s going to Mala, a nearby village to collect manure for the compost. “Okay, tunana bambuyo,” (see you later) I say. “yah..” he goes…

and I go swimming down the lakeshore, slowly, bobbing over the waves. When I come back after a few minutes, I notice some other staff in the water, hurrying to get out and put their shorts on, I wonder if its because they don’t want me to see them in their undies… Jamie, one of the staff from guest-management, runs over the platform that goes out on to the rocks just past the harbour. He runs back and up to the office. I see two fishermen come around from the rocks in a dugout canoe, and I think it must be because they’re not supposed to be fishing so close to shore, and they’re going to get yelled at.

Devon, one of the mzungu managers, rushes back down with Jamie and Willard and on to the platform; I get out of the water and wrap a sarong around me just as other staff come rushing down, I wonder what’s happening. Joal, a carpenter, is next to me and says, “guy from farm, canoe,” and signals it tipping over, “david?!” I say, shit, I run over to the platform and see that the guys are in yellowfin, the speedboat and are looking in the water, fuck… I run back to the lake and see them pulling the green canoe out from the water onto the boat… my heart takes gulps of air and starts to beat faster.

I grab my goggles and run into the water and swim out the boat, just near the furthest rocks, I’m cursing and breathing and cursing in time with my strokes. I start to swallow air and dive down a meter or so, to see the bottom, I can see it, but nothing..
The boat comes over to me, can you see him? No, where was the boat? I keep diving down and looking around, rocks shock me as I spot them, up and down, my head feels like it’s being squashed together between an iron clamp the deeper down I go. We keep looking for 20 mins or so, the boat circling around, and the guys looking over the edge. Finally they leave to see if/what the fishermen saw…

I swim back to shore and run around to the rocks on the other side of the bay, in case he’s over there somewhere, I clamber up and over the rough black and white stained surfaces, my feet gripping as I move. I’m still swearing as I move from one high point to the other; I look around, the clouds are semi-covering the sky and in the cracks the lake glistens and shoots crystals into my squints – I keep seeing breaks of water out further, ‘is that him?’ please let it be him, after about another 20 mins I see the speedboat coming back, so I go around and see that they continue looking around where they pulled up the boat.

I slide roughly into the water again, by this time the swell has picked up a bit and the waves are stronger – I swim over to them and dev says “the boatmen said they saw him swimming to the rocks, and we spoke to emmanuel (at the farm) who said one time david ran away into the bushes when a rock got into the water pump and he was scared.. so he might be okay..” – oh, but no one has seen him. We would have seen him. We keep looking, and eventually someone from the boat points somewhere, I follow them- now emmanuel and some fishermen have come out in another boat and we stop at the same point, he’s pointing down, I duck under, a meter or so, and see a shape, it shocks me, I see it’s an orange shirt – like the one’s the farm staff wear – I pop up, it’s his shirt, shit, oh shit oh fuck, oh jesus, I go down again and see it again, clearer.

People are further over and I move with them, I duck down and see him, david, this image will never leave my mind – he’s lying there, on his side, as if sleeping, arms bent and near his head, as if near where his pillow would be, he’s swaying with the undercurrent; I go up. ‘oh jesus, oh fuck, its him’ – I go down, there are other guys swimming now, trying to see if they can get down to him. It’s too far. He drowned.

I’m in between the boats now, and there’s a lot of commotion, people know, they know he’s dead, but people are moving fast, or slow, I don’t know.

Eventually one of the staff dive down with a rope and manage to loop it around his legs – they pull him up onto the boat, and as his torso is making its way over the edge, his limp arms flap over his chest.. I just watch..

I think, ‘should I do CPR?’ Should someone try? It’s been over an hour now, there’s no chance.

They take him back to the land, and I swim back to shore; I wrap my sarong around me and move to where everyone is gathering – the women are separated from the men, and one person starts wailing, and others join in, they start screaming and crying and fall to the ground sobbing – I don’t know where to sit, should I stay with the women or the men, I stay with the women for a little while; then we move over to join the men – discussions are happening about what to do, – we have to send a message to his family, who will go?

They are discussing whether or not to call the police, the police might cause problems if they don’t see the ‘scene’ – they might cause problems for us – say that something else happened, but devon and I are determined that we have to tell the truth, there is no other option – the alternatives scare me a little.

So dev calls the police in Cobue, and two people go off to send a message to his family, an hour or so walk south of nkwichi. – people sit together for a while, then break apart, we walk back to the office and it starts to rain – emmanuel sits down and starts crying, I am stunned, but calm.

I go to the farm to find hilda and joyce – to tell them, I walk the 15 minutes there feeling surreal and unsure, it’s grey and raining a little, thunder is cracking, and lightning threatens..the bush is bright green and yellow..  I don’t find anyone there, so come back.. I sit down to eat something, rice… and stare into space, at people moving about slowly, and murmuring, sitting, staring also. Later I go back to the farm with a letter from emmanuel to joyce and hilda.

‘I’m going to wait here, we’re going to wait for the people to come back from mbueca with the family’s choice about what to do with the body, then we will take the body by boat to his family’. They’re in shock, not speaking, murming, hilda asks me if his body is bloated… ‘I don’t know..’ ‘he had 5 children,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry’. We go to the lake to remove the pump from the rocks, and hilda puts it on her head, ‘you’re strong’, mpavu I say.

I walk back and later, just before sunset about 20 of us cram into the boat, with david’s body wrapped in a sheet and blanket at our feet. Everyone puts on life-jackets, for the lake is angry, rough, the sky is dark clouds and raining on and off – why must we put them on now? Its ironic, I have never seen anyone wearing one before. The journey to mbueca is quiet, but people chatter and babies cry. The swell is big and we move slowly over the water, up and down.

Once we arrive, the chief is sent for, and we sit on an old dugout, murmuring about mosquitos, Rebbeca, big mama, who is like a mother to me, says we should be careful, because the family might say that we killed their son.

The chief and some people come down, we speak a bit, about what to do, then a bed frame is brought and we place david’s body onto it, then we carry it along the beach as the moon is appearing from behind the clouds and we can see everything, this silent precession along the lakeshore, we go into the village, up through the ghostly cassava plains, past mounds of rocks keeping the soil in place, past homes made of earth, of grass, and women begin to wail, scream, weep, yell and scream, I can see shapes, people, figures, clearly, not clearly.

We arrive at his home, and lay the body down, the family is there and are weeping, some women fall to ground at his side and cry and yell and wail. We step back and wait to be asked to be welcomed by the father.

He is humble and grateful, for us bringing his body ‘I know it was an accident, I know how hard it is to find the body out there, sometimes it gets so deep and people never find the body, thank you for bringing him to us, I hope you treat all your staff like this.’ – devon says a few words, and so does emmanuel. Tomorrow will be the funeral, the carpenters will make a coffin and bring it by boat.
We leave, back through the cassava under the moonlight, our trail, barefoot over rocks and sand, back into the boat, surreal laughter, silence, chatter, movement, the women stay in the village. We return. I wash, and notice the crocodile tracks are back, leading from the lake to the swamp across the glimmering white sand.

That night I sleep, I’m scared a little, in shock, I worry about dreams, of that image. But I sleep.

I spend the morning at the farm, watering mostly, there is no pump because emmanuel is at the lodge, and there is no one else now.

So I make several trips to the lake with a watering can, I want to water the fruit trees, it’s hot, but overcast, I don’t want them to die, the trees…

Around lunchtime, a man from mbueca comes and asks if we can hurry up with the coffin because the body is starting to puff up and bleed, they want to bury him.

The coffin is beautiful, and wrapped in green and black ma

terial. We take it to mbueca by boat – I have my camera, I want to photograph the ceremony, once on the land I ask if it would be possible .. they ask the family for me, and then I am directed where to go. I follow the men under a big tree, the largest I have seen in this area, there is maybe 100-200 people sitting under it, all men, the women have split off and gone somewhere else – I am feeling awkward, sticking out as the only white woman amongst a crowd of Mozambican men. They’re looking at me and I hide on the edge.
- some words are said, and I am pointed at as the mzungu from the lodge, and after a little while I am taken up to the family home, past the place where david’s grave has been dug – a wave with respect to those who dug it. Up to the house, there are maybe 50 people, 100 people gathered under the grass thatched roof, singing, all singing and looking out, down to the lake below. Inside are the priests, the family, david, others. I sit outside with the singers, as one song follows the other, they’re beautiful – the songs, I wish I could sing them. I record them instead.

I am taken inside and into the room where david’s body now lies in the coffin – I didn’t ask to photograph this, but it appears they want me to. The father and some other men nod at me, and signal to photograph – so I do, click, click, it’s dark, you can’t see his face, but maybe that’s ok.

Out again, and I am signaled to photograph the wife, and family who are on the floor, staring at the wall and crying – I wonder why, but do so anyway, I feel like such an intruder, photographing people grieving and singing – I can’t hide now, I am standing in front of everyone.

Out again and down the path to the tree. Then the ceremony starts- the singing comes closer and closer, led by the cross and the priests – in single file through the cassava fields, under the tree they lay his coffin, they sing, everyone sings, these beautiful songs, I have heard some of them, from where? The church singers.

They say some prayers and the ceremony moves to the graveyard. There is singing, non-stop, as he is lowered into the ground, and people begin to shovel dirt over the coffin, taking turns, the men, taking turns with all the shovels, smiling, some, this ceremony, I’ve never seen anything like it – it seems so regular, almost, but with so much respect and love, it is a beautiful ceremony; he was loved, he was known, everyone, it seems, from the entire village, is here. the clouds are booming, blossoming almost, above behind the mountains behind us, and over the lake on the other side.

Eventually it is over, and the food arrives, but we are leaving, and we run down to the boat, dodging plants and rocks; there is an incredible burst of light breaking and splitting onto the lake far away. It seems too fitting, too planned, it’s there, it’s present.

On the boat back people are laughing. And smiling, some vomiting; but this life has been cherished, even if people experience death at a much higher rate than I do, than some do. It is respected and cherished, but life for others continues…

–
that night, in my hut, in my home, my temporary home, my bamboo and grass thatched hut, where I have been able to lay my belongings for longer than I have since leaving Australia, I wake up, its about 2am, I need to go to the toilet, but contemplate not going, convincing myself I don’t need to. The moon is still bright outside and I can see it through my mosquito netting.

Suddenly I hear a mans yell, a screaming becoming louder up the path towards me, as if he’s running away from something, a leopard? I have had too many dreams about leopards for me to now see one. My heart starts beating at a million beats per second – I get up and listen, it sounds as if the man has run up my path and stopped at my door, I am silent, but I can’t hear anything, I am frightened, shit-scared, I have never felt this fear before – I keep listening. Nothing. I get out from my mosquito net and grab the machete I have been keeping beside my door since I am the only one in my village now, the others left two nights ago. Where is Esau? Where is the nightwatchman! I want to yell for him, but am dead silent. I try and peer on to my veranda, but only the glimmering-flickering of the lantern is there. I stand behind the mesh for about 10 minutes, and still I hear nothing. I really need to pee now, but am way too scared to go outside. So I pee into my large camping mug, and it resonates throughout the hut, I am still holding the machete.

Eventually I get back into bed with the machete beside me and take a while to get back to sleep. In the morning I ask Esau in broken chinyanja and portugese if he heard anything last night, nothing, nada… I was scared, I say, telipo, he says, I’m here.
I know! but maybe you were asleep… I wonder if I was dreaming, I can’t have been dreaming, it was more real than dreams of mine. But maybe I was dreaming…

David couldn’t swim, he was a fisherman before being a farmer, and he couldn’t swim, he lived on the lake all his life and couldn’t swim.
I hope he is now resting in peace.

The San Elijo Academy in partnership with San Elijo Nomads will be holding Winter Soccer Sessions at Hilltop Field on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s throughout December and January for specific age groups. Cost is $10 per session, or $60 for December (7 sessions) and $70 for January (8 sessions). 5:00-6:00 2nd/3rd grade boys, and 6:00-7:00 4th/5th grade girls. If you are interested please contact: chris@theacademyatsanelijo.com

Tiger Airways Melbourne (Tullamarine) – Brisbane service set to start in early 2010.

Airfares are now on sale from $88 for the new service, which will operate up to three times a day from 28 March 2010.

Tiger will be flying into the five largest cities with 18 routes spanning every State and Territory in the country.

Tiger has also announced that it would be operating double daily services on the Sydney-Gold Coast route, as well as additional flights from Melbourne to Hobart, Adelaide, the Gold Coast and the Sunshine Coast.

Cheers
John
See Australia Slowly!
http://roamersclub.com
http://grey-nomads.org
http://roamersclub.wordpress.com

Hello Roamers,

V Australia has been given permission to launch direct daily flights between Australia and Fiji.

The International Air Services Commission formally granted V Australia’s requested capacity.

The new, three-class V Australia flights will commence on 18 December,
and will operate new 361-seat Boeing 777-300ER aircraft on the route, replacing existing Pacific Blue flights that currently service the route for the Virgin Blue Airlines Group.

To celebrate the announcement, V Australia is offering special launch fares, including: International Economy from just $199* one way online (inclusive of taxes); International Premium Economy from $469* one way online (inclusive of taxes) and International Business from $649* one way on the internet (inclusive of taxes).

* The sale is on from now until midnight 30 November 2009 for specific travel periods.

All fares are for flights booked on the internet or $50 more when booked by phone. Fares are inclusive of all taxes, fees and charges and subject to availability and may not be available on all flights or peak times. Flights are subject to regulatory approval. www.vaustralia.com.au

Cheers
John
Go-Roam Australia! ….and the world
http://roamersclub.com
http://grey-nomads.org
http://aussiejack.wordpress.com

• Infinity – Nomads – Lizard TAG
• Alkemy – Jadetriade – Schatten der Kobragarde 1+2

“Do you like thinking by yourself? Do you like travelling? Then you have a Nomad soul.”

Freigeister, Hacker, Söldner, wahnsinnige Irre und religiöse Fanatiker. Hereinspaziert, hereinspaziert, bei uns gibt es alles. Und das beste daran: Haben Sie sich mal überlegt, was das für wunderbare Synergieeffekte ergibt? Sie sind Hacker, wollen aber nicht nach dort draußen, wo die Kugeln fliegen aber ihr Leutnant verlangt von Ihnen den gegnerischen TAG zu hacken? Kein Problem: nehmen Sie den nächstbesten Selbstmörder, drücken Sie ihm einen Repeater in die Hand und schicken Sie ihn los. Und danach noch einen weiteren… naja… besser noch zwei, nur zur Sicherheit. Man weiß ja nie genau, wovon die sich ablenken lassen…

  Tunguska (The Money)

Ach, Sie wollen ihr Geld jemand anderem anvertrauen als ALEPH? Sie haben schlichtweg “keinen Bock” auf diese abgedrehte KI eines totalitären Systems? Dann kommen Sie doch mal mit… da hinten hin, in diese dunkle Ecke… da können wir ungestört reden.  

Corregidor (The Hand)

Ach nun kommen Sie schon. So kompliziert ist das nun auch wieder nicht. Was sagen Sie? Vertrag ist Vertrag? Ach, das trifft sich ja gut. Wissen Sie, das ist auch unser Motto. Und ganz ehrlich: daran hätten Sie denken sollen, bevor Sie uns hintergangen haben. Immerhin schulden Sie uns Geld… Wie es jetzt weiter geht wollen Sie wissen? Hmmm… also nachdem wir ihren Laden hier unter unsere Kontrolle gebracht haben… wieviel ist Ihnen das alles hier denn wert? Machen Sie mal ein Angebot…

Bakunin (The Soul)

Illegale Experimente? Ach kommen Sie. Der hat sich doch freiwillig gemeldet. Und außerdem hätte es doch fast funktioniert… Wenn Ihnen das zu sehr gegen den Strich geht, dann gehen Sie doch in ein anderes Modul auf diesem Schiff und lassen mich in Ruhe arbeiten.

Und dann war da noch…

Es ist jetzt nicht so, dass diese unzugeordneten Einheiten keiner haben will. Es ist vielmehr so, dass jeder Ärzte und Drohnen braucht… Echt jetzt.

Hello Roamers,
You can now book top shows throughout Australia from the website by clicking on the Lifestyle button
Cheers
John
Go-Roam Australia…… & the world
www.grey-nomads.org
www.roamersclub.com

Showbiz is Australia’s leading premium ticketing and packages provider. Working closely with show promoters and producers, Showbiz provides outstanding live entertainment experiences.

Showbiz takes clients behind the red curtain and into the world of musicals, concerts, theatre, opera, ballet and more.

Rain, rain and more rain!
It has been wonderful-except for those in the Bellinger-Coffs Harbour area.
In Forster it has been steady soaking rain which was needed.
Today is overcast again but no rain so far.
More information has been added to the website.
www.grey-nomads.org
Go-Roam Australia!

“The word nomad derives from the Greek nomos — a pasture. A nomad proper is a mobile pastoralist, the owner and breeder of domesticated animals. To call a wandering hunter ‘nomadic’ is to misunderstand the meaning of the word. Nomadism is born of wild expanses, ground too barren for the farmer to cultivate economically — savannah, steppe, desert and tundra, all of which support an animal population providing that it moves. For the nomad movement is morality. Without movement, his animals would die. Nomads never roam aimlessly from place to place. A nomad’s territory is the path linking his seasonal pastures. Iranian nomads call the path Il-Rah, The Way. Herdsmen claim to own their ‘ways’ as their inalienable property; but in practice all they ask is the right of passage through a given stretch of territory at a fixed time of the year. The land holds no interest for them once they have moved on. Thus for a nomad, political frontiers are a form of insanity, based as they are on the aggregation of farmlands”.

- Bruce Chatwin, Nomadic Invasions

Welcome to CUT + DRIFT, a repository for the seemingly random (but profoundly interrelated) bits of information, quotes, and musings from my thesis research. This brief overview is meant to put these postings into context.

Thesis critics: Deborah Gans + Jeremy Carvalho.

Initial research of a particular biome was followed by studies of related materials, assembly systems and/or material practice, which led to a search for architectural, biological, social, or urban analogs.  Through a process of testing ideas against existing, historical, or proposed conditions we are identifying a “field of operations” (qualities of a site) and “programmatic frame” (narrative that suggests program), which will lead ultimately to specific site and program selection.

My initial studies of the African savannah biome – with all its organisms, cycles, and social structures – yielded a series of provocative spatial, organizational, material, and growth concepts. What follows is a brief overview of the key concepts that have emerged from my research so far:  Cutting as a generative process, the rhizome as a field of multiplicity and flow, the fluctuating landscape, nomadism, time as a component of architecture, and the idea of the “path” rather than “place” as a guiding spatial metaphor.

What appears on this blog are bits and pieces which are being linked (rhizomatically, of course) in my proposal for my degree project,  to be completed in the spring of 2010. If you stay tuned, you’ll be hearing more from our friends Gilles Deleuze, Manuel DeLanda, Dr. Seuss, Guy Debord, Michel deCerteau, Bernard Tschumi, Hakim Bey, Stan Allen, Alex Wall,  and the Nuer and Dinka peoples of African savannah. I’ll explore nodal and network cities such as Venice, Amsterdam, and Los Angeles, and conditions of “extra-territoriality” and “neutral zones.” I’ll tap into the urban strategies of the Situationists, mat buildings, and landscape urbanism and foray into topological geometry, rhizome and network theories, individualist anarchism, psychogeography and subjective mapping.

But first, I’ll start with grass…

CUTTING

1. GRASS Though simple in appearance, grasses are a very advanced and recent plant type. Grass is the single most successful visible terrestrial life form due to its propensity to persist and capacity to increase. Many species evolved to grow, reproduce, and die in one rainy season, and most tend to produce large amounts of seeds. All grasses share a remarkable ability to flourish when cut – lawnmowers and hungry herbivores actually increase grass production. Here’s the secret: grass stalks are divided into culms by nodes, and growth occurs at each node along the stalk, not just from the top. Meristem cells are always more active on the underside of a stalk or leaf , so if it is trampled or blown down it stands up quickly and begins to grow again. Grazing and trampling of herbivores in the grasslands is essential to maintaining this vulnerable biome, which would otherwise quickly return to forest. Conversely, over-grazing (due to increasing population or, more commonly, fragmentation of grazing lands) leads to desertification.

2. TOPIARY The word derives from the Latin word for an ornamental landscape gardener, topiarius, meaning a creator of topia (places). Stimulating the growth mechanisms of plants by cutting is a practice essential to topiary art, including bonsai which is the aesthetic miniaturization of trees. But the real art of bonsai is not in merely stunting trees, like some kind of arboreal foot-binding: cutting is also the key to stimulating growth in a critical and selective way. Training the plant’s new growth into the desired form requires an understanding of the plant’s subtle mechanisms, hormones, and cycles. Careful pruning will increase branch ramification or encourage growth in non-pruned branches, but it must be done with care. Improper pruning can weaken or kill trees. Bonsai is a precise art. It requires a steady hand, thoughtful planning, infinite patience, and lots of cutting. Bonsai is not for the impulsive.

3. TERRITORY In exploring the material practices of the pastoral nomads of the savannah (Nuer, Dinka, Fulani, Maasai, Turkana), I came across a few striking examples of cutting as both an act of embedding and as a generative operation. The societies of the savannah-dwelling pastoral nomads are remarkable: for the most part, they are without governments and fixed borders, they are fiercely independent and they have resisted outside domination. Their traditional political organization, presented to the outside world through the ethnographic work of E.E. Evans-Pritchard, has become a classis example of indigenous heterarchical political structure without a single leader or leader group.

Pastoral peoples pattern the material world in a way that is closely linked to the mobility of their settlements and their annual cyclical movements throughout their vast grazing lands.These societies are rich in song and poetry, the subject usually being their adored cattle. Their houses and barns are designed to be temporary (but not necessarily portable). Much greater emphasis is placed on the adornment and alteration of the body, which in itself becomes an ever-changing landscape of pattern and embedded experience.

It is significant that the material manifestation of their creative and religious practices is written upon the body. As a culture, they are tied to specific ranges of territory but their exact locations ebb and flow in relationship to resource availability. The body is the ultimate portable object, a familiar and significant territory marked with meaning and coded by an elaborate social structure.

Their most striking and poetic material practices are performed by cutting. The Nuer of the Upper Nile region practice ritual scarification; their facial markings (called gaar) are part of their initiation into adulthood. The pattern of Nuer cutting varies within specific subgroups, but the most common initiation pattern among males consists of six parallel horizontal lines which are cut across the forehead. Each line signifies one of six traditional rules and customs.

The law of the people is inscribed on the body, an internalized within each member of the society. In this way, the body becomes a manifestation of territory, and it is inscribed with the “borders” that signify membership in the group. For the Nuer, territory is about relationships. The self-governed body, the self-governed people, in an ever-shifting landscape.

4. HORN Livestock are the wealth of pastoral people around the world; the pastoral nomads of the African savannah keep cattle. Among the Dinka and Nuer, cattle have historically been of the highest symbolic, religious and economic value. They refer to their cattle according to the coloring and spotting patterns of their coats and there are twelve separate words for the unique pattern groupings commonly referred to. The coloring and markings of the cattle have an important place in how they perceive and describe patterns in the world around them.

After Dinka or Nuer boy is initiated, he is given an oxen, his “song oxen.” At this time he will take the name of his oxen, a name which refers to the color and pattern of its coat. He composes songs of affection and praise to that bull, which he will sing to it. The animal becomes an extension of the man’s identity, and its body therefore is an extension of his body, to be adorned and groomed as his own. The oxen is his most precious possession and he will lavish care on it, even to the extent of delicately training its horns into unusual, often asymmetrical, shapes and enhancing their length and girth.

This practice of “horn training” is remarkably similar to bonsai, and the very same principles are at work.

To train a horn, the Nuer and Dinka will gently cut with a sharp spear on the side toward which he wants the horn to grow. When he is grooming his animals, he will stroke the horns gently, slowly training them into the desired form. Cutting the horn has a trophic effect, stimulating their growth in a particular direction.

“Withdraw allegiance from the old categories of the negative (law, limit, castration, lack, lacuna), which the Western thought has so long held sacred as a form of power and an access to reality. Prefer what is positive and multiple, difference over uniformity, flows over unities, mobile arrangements over systems. Believe that what is productive is not sedentary but nomadic.”

– Michel Foucault

Nice

Check it out, I put a picture of my favorite car up to show how I see energy in money. This CTS is priced at a certain amount of money. I see both the money and the car as a vibration of energy. See the money is an illusion of a barrier that may seem to keep me from experiencing this car. There are many ways I can experience this car. The imaginary ownership of it is one of them (I can’t take it with me when I die, and why would I want to gas is expensive lol). However I no longer see it that way. That’s a belief that is common among the mass mind perception of reality.

But I also know this, money is easier to get than it’s perceived to be by the mass mind. There is always somebody earning money,always someone making money, always someone without money, and always some one struggling to get money. It seems to me that it’s not the money’s fault. These are all states of mind, whether directed or not. I’m talking about vibrations and patterns of thought that bounce around space. The space I refer to is vast but also so close it’s not really existing anywhere but in the mind. The mind is easily impressionable and gets stuck in its’ way unless directed by you to do otherwise.

The energy in the money is the same energy inside of me, except I have a tremendous amount more than money does. So what should I do about it? If I say that money is not important to me, and I believe strongly that I’m always provided for, then all of a sudden a new reality is created. This reality does exist! If I’m not in need of money, it must mean my vibration is above the need for money or, I must have so much that it has no value to me anymore. It’s like having a an infinite supply so it wouldn’t bother you to spend it. The same thing applies with energy.

I see the energy of money as a tool for the mind that doesn’t realize it’s potential. Think about it… If you have no idea how to comprehend something like God, then you might make a statue to symbolize that which you have no power over. That’s just a state of mind however. When you become more aware you will realize that a statue could not have possibly created you because you created it. These are examples.

Take your mind back to the times (or states of mind) when people were nomadic. There is a common agreement that people followed their food around. It’s referred to as hunter gathering. But then out of nowhere with a stroke of genius someone thought to start domesticating their food sources. Thus society as you know it was able to form. All of these realities of energy exist right now. The energy that is in the money symbolizing the purchase of the car is already in me. I’m now shifting from hunter gatherer to responsible agriculture within the power of my mind.