Word of the Day – possibilities

Do you believe in the Big Bang Theory? I’m not talking about the infantile and incredibly irritating television show, to be clear.

I’m no scientist but it seems to me that if everything originated from that singularity ( I mean everything) then everything can be traced back to it.

I just had a glass of water. Why? I was thirsty. Why was I thirsty? Because it’s been a hot day. Why has it been a hot day? Well … this time of year the planet’s relative position to the sun ….. blah, blah, blah, blah, why? why? why? why?

Answer: The Big Bang. You can save a lot of time with those endless kids questions by skipping straight to this at the first mention of the word ‘why’.

Let’s look at it from the other direction. Let’s start at the Big Bang.

Kapow! Light and matter come into existence. One bit of matter hits another bit of matter and then there’s little collisions everywhere. Cause and effect. Cause and effect. Cause and effect. So everyone of these little incidents through the eons leads to a hot day after which I poured myself a glass of water. Along the way planets were formed, species were developed, Kings married Queens, and so on. I delude myself that it is my decision whether or not to drink the glass of water. Rubbish. The events leading up to the inevitability of me drinking the water were set in motion at the Big Bang.

So …… there are no possibilities. There aren’t even any probabilities. Everything is a certainty. If I could feed the whole thing into some sort of super computer I could tell you in advance what colour socks you are going to wear tomorrow (blue, by the way). But, then again, if I was in a position to predict everyone’s sock colour then I should have been in a position to predict that I could predict everyone’s sock colour. I admit that it can all get a bit confusing. But so it was always meant to be. And it is possible that, in an act of civil disobedience, you choose to defy me and pick another sock colour. Have I changed the course of history by making predictions about it? No. That was always going to happen.

I think I might have spoken about this all before. I’m sorry that I am so fucking boring. And predictable.

And if you find all of this a bit depressing then let me assure you that it can get worse. Do a google search for ‘Big Bang Theory’. The first five pages will mention nothing about the nature of reality. All they will want to talk about is that fucking stupid television show.

But maybe that, in itself, is an observation upon the nature of reality.

I have been living with my alter ego for some time now. For as long as I can remember, in fact. Whether or not his memory is the same, in that regard, I am not in a position to say.

As is the case with most couples our relationship has not always reflected an image of calm waters or smooth sailing. It has not been all beer and skittles, in other words …. to put it into an appropriately colloquial parlance. We have had our differences. He has always been a bit stitched up, from my perspective. And from his I suppose I have always appeared to be a little bit irresponsible. That is not an accusation that I deny. I don’t shy away from it. I take a certain degree of pride in it, in fact.

But we have, like most couples, through compromise, managed to sort all that out.

Until now.

Have you noticed? He has not only become humourless, negative and mind numbingly boring of late but, at the same time, increasingly domineering. Somehow he pushes his views into my agendas and, before I know it, I find myself expressing his carefully thought out opinions rather than my own, rather more instinctive ones.

And he is obsessed with work. “Why???” I ask him, on an almost daily basis, “are we doing this? Wouldn’t you just like to find a place in the sun and have a beer?” But he won’t listen. And, because we are joined at the hip, I find myself dragged all over the planet on some sort of weird quest that, as far as I can tell, produces nothing other than a permanent case of jet-lag.

He has begun to age at an alarming rate. His movements are slow and deliberate. He’s tired all the time yet he never seems to sleep. And, he is getting fat. He was never a good looking man, but at least he kept himself in some sort of shape. But look at him now. His self indulgence can no longer be concealed by his belt and he has the sort of breasts that, long ago, infiltrated his wet dreams as a teenager. In size, anyway.

He uses phrases like “back in my day”. His favourite colour never changes. He won’t drink the milk after it’s use-by date.

He falls asleep in front of the football. He snores (OK – I do that too. But, somehow, it is different) and he wakes up cranky and, with every day, increasingly suspicious of what lies ahead.

God. How I have grown to despise him.

*************************************

I am reporting this to you, friends, because you may have taken note of my lack of communication of late. Or you may not have (his words, not mine).

So the broadcast has been temporarily suspended due to philosophical differences between key editorial staff. Transmission will continue as soon as mutually agreeable terms are established to resolve said differences.

Or until the fucker gets out of my head.

Chrissie on Rockwiz R.I.P.

William over at a1000mistakes challenged me to come up with my ‘Top 10’ duets from this Oz quiz show in response to his own Here I have struggled a bit due to the fact that 1. He took a lot of the best ones (Summer Wine, for example) 2. Some of them seem to be no longer available (What happened to Blue Christmas with Tex Perkins and Paris wells?) and 3. I’m a lousy researcher.

Nevertheless I add a ‘Top 8’ ….. more as an adjunct to his rather than a ‘mine are better than yours’ type of thing.

My own personal biases, no doubt, shine through.

To those of you (most of you) unfamiliar with the show I should mention that they are not supposed to be highly polished performances. They are done with a minimum amount of rehearsal and are, therefore, a bit raw in places. They are all performed by highly skilled and experienced artists who have a wealth of their own work to boast about, but they are all (obviously) cover versions.

I list my own 8 in no particular order.

Isabella Manfredi and Steve Cummins

Deb Conway and Tex Perkins

Dan Kelly and Martha Wainwright

Chris Cheney and Christie Amphlett

Kat Spazzy and Chris Bailey

Neesa Morgan and Ross Wilson

Jess Cornelius and Mike Rudd

Not really a duet but

Dog Trumpet and the Wolfgramm Sisters

And so, to wander further down this path of negativity that I find myself so frequently treading I repost a few lines that I penned last night for my mate, Stoner who was, at the time, feeling a bit black and expressing the same sentiments.

I was born
against my will
And yet I find
I’m living still
No feeling. Stealing
oxygen
Depressed expression
from my pen
I pretend. I dance. I sing.
But fuck I hate you
everything.