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Click my current affairs and stay informed (plus more poetry).
HOW TO DECIDE
Do I have to? Now there’s a question we regularly ask, and often of ourselves. In other words, it is all about making decisions. But what is actually involved in making decisions? And can a decision actually be wise?
We decide things based on reality.
But whose reality are we talking about. What we think of reality is actually our perception of it. But the mind has a constant battle between what is ‘out there’ and what we think is out there. And it is usually different to anyone else.
So, we cannot rely on a true perception of reality, so we are left with our own thought processes. These can come in several forms. First we have our emotional self. Decisions, here, usually involve our desires, and can often get us into trouble.
So how about deciding logically?
Well, whenever a philosopher has tried to prove logic, they always have to fall back on the axiom, which means a self-evident truth. This is little different to a belief, so whilst logic may be logical from this point, it begins with – you’ve guessed it – an emotional stance.
So how about making a rational decision? This is the mindscape of the philosopher, weighing up all the pros and cons. Yet through philosophy we’ve ended up living in a world of duality, populated by polar opposites. And nothing causes more emotion than this.
So it seems that we cannot escape emotion when it comes to decision making. So asking ‘do I have to’ is always a precarious question. So how do we survive emotion and make the right decision?
To totally go with our emotions usually ends up with extremes. So I think the answer lies in moderation. Try to moderate the path you take from the question. In that way, any damage caused by emotion can be limited. So are you going to do this?
‘Do I have to?’
What!!!
© Anthony North, August 2008
BIG
It’s often said big is best,
but this is something I detest,
the very idea I abhor,
and not ‘cos I’m only five foot four;
big is mightier than the norm,
leaving others so forlorn;
it often backfires on the big,
people always having a dig;
In business the problem is far worse,
with contempt for the entire universe,
scorn for people and planet to rape,
not realising that there’s no escape,
for there’s something always bigger than big,
like nature which won’t give a fig,
when industry upsets the balance of things,
and nature’s answer really stings;
So big should go back to the small,
breaking multi-nats one and all,
and then we’ll be rid of this present fad,
and know, without doubt, that big is bad!!!
(c) Anthony North, August 2008
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THE NEED TO KNOW – Fiction
‘Sometimes an airplane will crash. It’s as simple as that.’
‘But it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.’ Brad had been a freelance journalist for a while now, and knew he had THE story of the year – if only he could convince the man before him.
‘You say so, but how do we know it isn’t a joke?’
After all, Jenkins had been in the newspaper business long enough to know his stuff. Never an editor, and never really a reporter, he was more an assessor and had many masters. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘you have no proof other than the calls. And who is this guy, anyway’
‘He was a friend.’
‘What was his job?’
‘Difficult to say.’
‘Meaning?’
Brad knew what he had been. An agent. He knew this because he’d often passed little snippets of information to him – he came across quite a lot in his job.’
They listened, again, to the first message:
‘Brad. I can’t speak much. The plane I’m on has been hi-jacked. If I don’t get out of this alive, I just want someone to know …’
It was a cargo plane, and it never became clear what he was doing on board, but at this point the connection is cut. Then, the second call:
(whispered) ‘Brad, I’m in the toilets. There’s three terrorists. They don’t know I’m on board. I gave them the slip. But listen, it’s a ruse to distract the security services from the real target. Don’t know what it is yet. If I find out, I’ll let you know.’
Jenkins sighed. He’d heard the tapes several times now. ‘I accept the timing’s right, but no one knows who this man was. He certainly wasn’t an agent.’
‘But they would say that, wouldn’t they?’ said Brad.
‘I suppose so, yes. But the claim in the third call?’
‘Brad. Listen. I know the real target. (Brad interjects: why are you telling me? Why not your bosses?). A curt laugh. ‘I’m going to retake the plane. Then I’m going to crash it into the real terrorists. Stop them …’
Brad said: ‘And as we know, a couple of minutes later the plane crashed, killing everyone on board and a dozen people on the ground.’
Jenkins sighed once more. ‘But Brad, even if it’s true, do we really need to panic the public – let them know how close it sometimes gets? What purpose is served in that?
‘The purpose of truth,’ said Brad. ‘It has always got to be right, surely?’
And Jenkins had to admit, he used to think like that himself. Until he had learnt to serve many masters.
He gathered the tapes as he left the body. Just one more accident among many.
© Anthony North, August 2008
A SMELLY ONE
Pungent smells, they’re always here,
sparking memories of something dear,
or maybe they are not so nice,
memory of a mistake or vice;
Often they can be predictive, too,
warning you not to enter that loo,
or a perfume smelling oh so nice,
she’s coming for yet another tryst;
But a sense of smell is often defective,
with people sniffing, as if detectives;
What’s that? Where’s if from? Oh, phew!!
Oh dear. Is it you?
(c) Anthony North, August 2008