the show must go on,

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Now I know how Dorothy felt when the tornado picked her up in Kansas and whoooossshed her to the fantastical land of Oz to be with a bunch of witches, the scarecrow, tin man and cowardly lion. Now I know how a cork from a bottle of rum feels when thrown overboard by a pirate (concentrating on the melody of what shall we do with a drunken sailor while scratching his itchyaaarse and dancing with a mermaid of his fantasy), tossed up, down and sideways on the black, tumultuous seas, longing to be safely back in the dry ship cabin. I must be hallucinating, I’m sea-ing a pink snail floating on fairy floss or is it slithering along a shimmering martini, too many incantantations to digest,
never mind that, I can see the washing machine waters beginning to settle, a little, and the sky tonight is red so another day will bring a sailor’s delight of calming seas, for sure
peppermint tea anyone …

he would have it no other way
the show must go on,

The Tale of Black Rosita

black-rose

There was a girl child
Black Rosita
who never once did seem to cry
she always smiled,
a flash of dare.
She broke her foot once, running free
in the forest darkness
that embraced the town
and still she did not make a sound or cry.
Her lack of tears drew idle words
From simple folk
who thought her wicked.
One day a troublesome witch
spun a spell
to make the girl child cry
and so the tears began to flow
like a river with the dam removed.
They flowed for one, then two years
and then some more.
A salty ocean began to rise
around the girl child,
Black Rosita.
She was drowning in a spell of tears
but knew not what to do.
~
The dark angel of time had been listening
growing tired of tears and cries.
He exhaled a mighty breath of air
and life boat to her path.
Black Rosita
swam with arms so weak
toward the boat,
then clinging with clawed hands,
as only a drowning fool can cling,
too tired to get in, but still with breath
Black Rosita
drifted back to shore,
a mollusc attached to an empty vessel
but anger in her being.
The crying had stopped,
the spell was broken
and the villagers awaited
Black Rosita

to be cont.

Stop trying to ‘cure’ autistic people

If you have an autistic child and someone tries to sell you MMS – run a mile!

 

There are many charlatans out there trying to sell cures for autism based on theories that are not supported by scientific evidence. If you read stuff about parasites, ‘leaky gut’, other digestive issues, gluten or casein free diet, in relation to autism (and for that matter, a range of other conditions) than these are red flags for people trying to sell quackery. Another red flag is when people say that one product is effective for a huge number of conditions, like cancer, MS, alzeimers – usually chronic conditions that are hard to cure.

‘Currently there’s nothing to stop people marketing the false idea that autism is something that can be or needs to be cured. I think it’s time we change that.

Autism is a neurological condition, it’s not something you can cure like an injury or illness. With the right professional therapies, people with autism can thrive, but there’s no product that can offer a magical “fix.”‘ (Emma Dalmayne)

There is a petition in the UK if people are interested.

cow paddies on election day

Today is election day throughout the land of Australia.

Molly is sniffing out the many cow paddies over yonder – and there are many😉

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Cow paddie

We have the misnamed Health Australia Party (the anti-vaccination, anti-fluoride, and chem-trail conspiracy belief tin-foil hat brigade) – have won the first column on the NSW senate ballot paper. This means a previously obscure group now have some hope of attracting votes – this might happen simply because of the order effect, also known as the sloth approach to voting. You can read what a real doctor says about them in the MJAInsight here.

Not a cow paddie

If you value the arts than have a looksee at the wonderful Brian Brown telling us why the Arts Party deserve to be considered for the Senate.

 

Happy voting 😀

 

 

Black

There was a girl all dressed in black
slow danced with alchemy,

black lace-up leather stomping boots
deflecting her enemy.

Her ankle-length black woollen coat
safeguarded her from cold

malicious creatures all around
she built the protective fold.

Hair and makeup, black as black as
the ace of spades, the facade,

she placed the death card for all to see
to heed the sign of the scarred.