Our national weather Health check :s!

The best synopsis is simple, clear and powerful. We have warmed by a degree already, the 2010-12 La Nina smashed records as a result. Birds have fallen fried from the sky during heatwaves and we are only getting started. Put simply for every extra degree forecast we can simply double the forecast La Nina financial damage. It’s just that simple.

Putting your head in the sand at the petrol station is getting less normal; get used to it.

View episode: Catalyst: National weather health check

 

*Sea water kinda doesn’t work.

And the debate continues…

Tony your best present is not 500.00 in the pocket of each household it’s an inevitable king tide thru the front door.

Honesty from the Australian Parliament:

Big Uncle Tones, if you wanna save your manufacturing buddies like Alcoa a fortune on brown coal electricity, might I suggest a mist, mirror and oil type solar plant in Mildura to give manufacturing free electricity, that’s how you keep them competitive, not selling the majority of voters too tired to care bullshit about market manipulation. Man up!

I recall your pre election statement that Australia’s contribution to climate change is negligible. I’d like to call you on that. 16 ton SORRY SORRY 25 ton per person excludes coal exports. So unless we specify that all carbon be recaptured when burnt for energy and electricity, each Australian is responsible for 1billion and 16 ton of CO2 per person per year. And yep we have a great life too. (Darling Downs contribution) So far our great life Greg Hunt means we are listed #2 in the OECD. Dirty countries list.

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2014/jan/10/carbon-emissions-australias-growth-puts-it-near-top-of-oecd-rankings

We have over 110,000km2 of Australia below sea level with the only co2 drainage being wind (not gravity). Moderately you’re an idiot if you think a desert below sea level has no effect on global warming you are and even bigger idiot if you believe the Australian public are stupid enough to buy environmental censorship when their senses speak in conflict to your electoral campaigns.

We owe the rainfall to our victorian and sthn NSW farmers, we owe the hydrological mapping to our geologists and we owe some respect to our scientists. I wonder how our politicians rate on the Callus Unemotional.

20131209-123406.jpg

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it’s a little Irish; but a hell of a cure

If you follow the jet stream around the northern hemisphere, it tends to dump massive amounts of water at two locations; 1. Ireland and 2. Canada’s British Columbia.

* and apparently rural UK, nederlands, Germany and the flip side might be the record breaking 356km p/hour winds near Denmark.

An interesting fact about BC is its further north than some US states on the same longitude with snow cover for three months of the year. BC has a nice temperate climate above freezing for its positioning. My first impression was “Its Greener than England! wow.” And like much of my life, shit just happens.

I guess Ireland is still the brand I grew up with, fields of four-leaf clovers, leprechaun and not a tree in sight. I reckon it might be time to replace your potatoes with conifers. I Last heard the republic of Ireland wasn’t doing so great financially, so I guess sitting under the jet streams moisture deposit; the most logical progression should be eco tourism and being the carbon trading centre of the future world.

The best part about registered carbon trading is petrol companies under the right compliance model have to pay for each kg of carbon your trees use each year. I think the Australian average is still 7.5kgs but I guess it would be double in Ireland with their climate. So you replace your potatoes with American sequoia or evergreens from BC. You can make your 10 grand an acre a year and always have your eye on the prize – expensive timber exports.

Cause this way there will be more pub time!

As for omens and affirmations; you wouldn’t read about it! I flicked over to a documentary talking about re discovering Victorian gardens in England. One of the gardens creation was dated by a Sequoiadendron giganteum seen below. I reckon that might have a little atmospheric carbon stored in the trunk. Do you think? I guess they would grow fine in Ireland.

Picture: wikipedia

Thank you for voting in Obama for his last term.

Contrary to popular bullshit according to this science thing; called cellulose approx 50% of a trees trunk IS atmospheric carbon. Them be big bloody trees!

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24 March Iceland be Parched (Published 25 October 2011)

24 March Iceland be parched

with Malta older and colder

Europe meltal low, no snow she blows

annoyed, restless yet weap

~

There’s a fry pan there, at work I dare

the cleaner, streamer that’s right

24 March and the brass tamborine

annoying releave preassure their dared.

~

You know

so slow

hello.

~

24 March 2012

http://www.icenews.is/2011/03/24/icelandic-parliament-passes-constitutional-change-bill/

I guess Iceland knows what it’s like to be adopted. Perhaps my paradigms are all over the place. But I doubt this was a happy decision.

An artists impression of a forced Catholic Religious Adoption vailed in psychology.

20120324-123035.jpg

http://pkpolitics.com/2012/03/24/lekin-24-march-2012/

I get it now; I’m just a guy on a lonely planet, riding his bike through peak hour traffic in a distant galaxy. I don’t owe anyone anything and knor do they me.

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18 January 2012 Cyclone (Published 30 September 2011)

What would you say about a cyclone warning for today

Hmm… Location, the Nation, the Radio Station

Crack Crack Crack

~

Nostradamus you must be Bananas

Let me grab my camera

~

The washing line a machine

you know what I spleen

over and over and clover

~

The antique pine, rounded with sublime

The aracnoid legs twisted west

The wood the could, not quite should

arie sly my my

>;>;>;

watch this space

Forgive me for my February update. For those of you that don’t recall a monster cyclone formed of Darwins coast. But it did not make land fall. A common theme through this lone psychics blog. I never quite interpret visions I see correctly. It must be a stolen generation thing.

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Prediction for the 16 to 18 October 2011

New Zealand Oil Spill and Bancock River floods

Nostradamus you must be bananas

Your crystal towns yet frown

The highest point, contrived and boiyant

wait. . .

~

It’s missed the spot

A whole stinking lot

The Macedon hill, the American Bill

The sinking of Mr. Shipley

~

An ode to the humping of Camels

And horse rides to yonder Trammels

Lots of white stone, whiter than bone

An ode, to the smarts and

The ole jocks dead flannels

~

October ben dover as lightning connects round

Twice, splice and around thrice, the tropical low so slow.

100 to find, the trees sublime

~

Nostradamus, you must be bananas

frightless, smirking with sound.

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8.08pm A Guided Meditation!

I know you like a steamy hot bath; light a few candles, steamy and bright. The water is warm, you can sense the toxic chlorine, but you have done it 1,000 times before and it’s your safe and your sterile thinking place.

~
Lifting your big toe out of the water you look at your nail. It’s perfectly manicured to the outside world, but you’ll make another appointment anyway. Your toe drifts back under the water mildly and without ripple.

~
You acknowledge me whisper “the journey begins”, I hold out my hand, you grasp my fingers, and you naturally hesitate. You smile as you look back at yourself lying in the bath and we drift off into the clear warm fog.

~
I show you sights distained, pleasured and wrecked, we drift past my ancestral burial grounds, and the ceremonial stream’s delta and fish traps. I explain how after the sacred rains the pools would fill with fresh water flathead, black fish, clear fish, eel, turtle, pippin and baby platypus. I showed you were the great tribes would meet prior to the hunt , where the Kangaroos and Emus would have roamed in cautious disregard.

~
You seem relaxed we both know it is time to move forward, we catch the shear of an eagle and drift along towering limestone cliffs. The eagle aware of our pressence and is staying just in sight. Equally we are aware of the faint wake we are creating on the water below us. I sense that your inner self is ready and we flip onto our backs and awake in the oldest hollowed river gum in this nation. There is a small fire which breeds light from comforting smiles. We wait long enough for your trust and senses to grasp their latitude and we fall peacefully into the ionic.

~
We rise through the differing magnetic layers of the orderly sediments, you are completely aware and at peace, each layer holds its own magnetic field and you are being pulled in every direction, yet completely in balance. You feel yourself leave your body as your soul drifts upward through the brittle basalt rock. You look to me standing on a boulder outcrop at the merger of two most beautiful valleys.

~
“Hello Brudda” I say, you immediately think it odd that a male would refer to a female as his brother, and in retrospect relax at realization of your true life work, the equality of the male and female. “What would you like to see?” I say and rightfully you reply with “everything, where are we?”
“We are at a great spiritual place. Ova der we have the scared burial grounds of our ancestors, this stream delta is our flood hunting ground for freshwater Flat head, eel, platypus, water snake, clear fish and turtle. Many people come from many lands to feed from this place after its sacred rains.”

~
You stand in disbelief and I ask you in a removed peaceful tone “It’s your meditation what would you like to see?” You smile and take a deep breath and ask to play with the dear. “What’s dat Brudda?” I ask. You try to explain but I have no comprehension of the animal with beautiful horns until; “Got it Brudda; come on then” I say.

~
We take flight over the great mountains and the eastern seas, past the sea stone walls and arrive in a Godly place. You’re glowing with shear excitement and you spot your Dear. A 3 foot bird. A ground bird with an extended downward beak. “Near enough” I hear you think.
You lay on your back and kick your feet in the air; almost as if you were five again. I lie on my back next to you and copy, but don’t quite understand what is happening and resign myself to the child like fun we are having. I call over the sacred land bird.

~
I roll over and rest while you engage in conversation, he is telling you things you already know, but haven’t realized in the right fashion. You are safe and I drift off to sleep.
I am awoken by a tribal elder, you have a surprised look on your face and he demands an explanation. We explain that we are from another island and come for answers for a great sickness that has been bestowed on us. We are granted rite of passage home.

~

Travel safe wise woman

A lesson from the future in manifestation

Recorded Footscray Mall 18 08 2011

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The war is over

You look up and faint a smell on the breeze. You cannot see the smell waft past the trees, but you almost see its reflection. It’s alive and you shimmer with intent. It’s like nothing you have ever smelled and everything you have; the sweetness of jasmine and the order of a rose. You try to draw more and you realise it’s one of those smells. The ones that taunt you. You close your eyes and interlock your fingers over your stomach. You imagine the great oak above you, knowing full well where this is going.

Your lips relax down the side of your face as if pulled by the weight of your cheeks and now relaxed you invite the jasmine in.

Your first thought lands on a motorway in the south of England and then to a country road. The holly reaching for the car makes you smile, but only because its a rental. You look down at your wallet, it’s filled with cash and you enjoy the faint vibrations of a brand new car.

Your awareness alines to make room for another consciousness. It’s a distant memory and comfortably you know to keep your eyes alert on the road. It’s vivid, it’s painful and protected. It fascinates you and it breeds another familiar fascination. You know there is something here for you and just like the faintest of jasmine you know it cannot be forced.

Maybe it was just a warning as it slips away, you look at the rolling green hills beyond the hedge, you think about giant hedge cutters and how alien they must look when at work. The foot goes down and suddenly gravity is so in the other direction. The crest comes and becomes a tingle in your crouch. Priceless you think.

Your feeling comes back. Strong. Power. Thank god for these Zygots you say. The feeling strong is thrust into your view, the memories perhaps someone else’s in the formation of the one and only Stone Henge.

Your Zygot is telling you to pull over. You find a gap in the brambles and make your way to the river. It’s like always and never. You know each rock, each warren even the lichen patterns seem like home. It fascinates you completely but you already knew that.

Reluctantly you leave the lichen and manage the braken down to the stream. It makes you laugh that it’s a river. You look at an Eddy, it’s complex reflections and you see a Wooden structure with singular giant bolts holding the complex L joins together. They stand out so vivid. So placid. You note the structure would not exist without the timber, it would not exist without the bolts moreso. A bumble bee moves through your vision drunk and you remove your shoes and dip your toe in the water, you lift the tip and nail back out. The surface water laps between your first knuckle and the roof of your foot. Quietly.

A frog or a toad rather snaps his mouth shut, there is no more bumble and you wonder the sensation of icy water in cold wind…

You watch the pink light fragment off the water. It’s destination is already decided and each time you shift your focus you lose your previous sight. Very faintly you notice something is with you you relax and let it tell you it’s story. It reminds you of an eel or the ghost of one. You know you are good it this focus without focus thing. It’s head is strange tho. It’s like it has fan blades spinning around is neck. You think it’s odd that a fish would have a propeller. You follow the pink shimmer up the river bank and you lose the creature only to taunt you with it’s return. This time the blades spin slower and it seems to have an open book attached to its neck rather than the propeller. Maybe the fish spinning gave the illusion.

These daydreams are your favourite pastime. It leaves you and whatever this was; you know now you’re just a dude on a river bank.

(I guess this isn’t for everyone)

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