Shouts From Down Under

Corroboration of a corroboree

Corroboree

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/corroboree


noun Australian.
1. an assembly of Aborigines typified by singing and dancing, sometimes associated with traditional sacred rites.
2. a social gathering, especially of a boisterous nature.

I haven't forgotten an idea previously discussed a little with Elle - on hiatus about having some sort of WDC database.

The database could contain a lot of information that is member uploaded. It could be categorised into folders representing whatever country of origin, state, city, town, village, even paddock if that's where the info relates to...
Yes, even a homeless guy / gal under a bridge could enter that trivia, that information known only to the local person.

The "you had to be there" type info.

I'm not talking about stuff that wikipedia or google is chocka block with, but more minute detail, stuff that you could use, or I could use, that is perhaps even trivial and useless to anyone else except a crazy novelist.

I've blogged on this before, example: a knot hole in the floor. A pole behind the seats in a cafe, that is dragged out at closing time to pull the roller thingy down.

Maybe the idea is unworkable. After thinking about it again today, I realised that it could blow up in our faces. The info entered could be false, incorrect, defamatory, wrongly rated, stupid or just plain boring.

Oh.

Isn't that just what we want though?

Anyway, here's a sample of the sort of information that I'm talking about. (I feel like Kris Angel every time I say "that's what I'm talking about.")

This detail would go in a folder labelled Australia, Outback, Stations / Farms / People living on the Land. Australian living, the real story, photos rich with a tapestry of rural life, warts and all.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/CattleStationPhotos (Just highlight all of this, copy and paste to go to the page)

And Database idea aside, check out that facebook page. If you wanted to know what it's like in Australia, out of the cities, away from the big smoke, out where people know what it's really like to be thirsty, out where people work their #### off to make a crust that the government most probably takes back off them, out where the aboriginals worked happily as the best horsemen and station hands a man could have the privelege to ride with, (before the well meaning but hugely damaging antidiscrimination do gooders changes the law; before alcohol was legalised).

Anyway, I get carried away, and carry a soap box around with me, and have to slap myself down so that my personal opinions don't invade the blog entry that you, dear reader, just want to enjoy, not have to sit here listening to me preach at you about some stuff I may be totally wrong about.

(But have a look at how things are now, and weep. Weep for a lost nobleness of days gone by. Weep for however many youth have disappeared into oblivion of the cities where drugs and all the rest of the tired wee stained human flotsam ends up.)

Sorry. I feel a bit depressed myself, after that blog.

But, to cheer yourself up, just head back again and check out those Australian Station Photos again. Oh what beauty.

The sunburnt country of which I'm proud to be born in, and proud to be married to a woman, who has some traces of that aboriginal heritage in her veins, in our children's veins.

I can almost hear the digeridoo and clapping sticks outside somewhere in the darkness. The clink clink, the deep throated throbbing and the chants of men's secret business.

You are not allowed to attend a real one, they are only to initiate the youth into the tribes.

Do you know that these people from the Dreamtime could communicate long distances by thought alone?
That they could extract or place crystals within people's bodies? That they could perform surgery? That they knew of a supreme power? That they beleived in one? That they knew of a big flood in times gone by? That they had a serpent in their legends?
That they were some of the best, if not the best soldiers in all the wars Australia fought?

Did you also know, that the big rock called Uluru is spelt very similar to the old name for Mt Ararat? Ururhru. (something like that anyway)

Some of that surgery stuff was witnessed by those who came here with the First Fleet. It's recorded in books that some would rather people not read.

Yes, library clean outs by governments are quite convenient when they want to pedal their own doctrine disguised as "education".

Sparky