Extremism #EpicFail

December 17, 2009

I recently started a podcast site called LibertyCircus.

Due to lack of resources, I occasionally podcast there on political issues from home and abroad.

Anyway, the idea is loosely based on Gardiner Goldsmith’s LibertyConspriacy.com which is an “awesome” American news, opinion and general discussion site aimed at Liberty oriented listeners.

I assumed I wouldn’t have much trouble managing my site. But it turns out an extremist added themselves to my site under the name texas_warrior.

I didn’t realize until recently that the person using the handle texas_warrior, was connected to a site called stormfront!

I recently started receiving messages on my admin board from the  individual claiming to be associated to “national socialism” and other stormfront oriented subject areas, exhorting me to join.

Shocked by this I catalogued this persons messages and investigated the stormfront site.

Turns out it is an American race-hate site, oriented towards, white supremacist and other extreme groups connected to “nationalist socialism” and other nasties.

Being fully aware of the historical background pertaining to the natural conclusion of aforesaid “national socialism” particularly in Europe, I was keen to make sure this person didn’t fly under my radar any further.

After several unsuccessful attempts at trying to recruit me to his cause, I started receiving spam messages, and made the final decision to block/delete his account this morning.

Looking back through my catalogue, I did make some commentary in previous podcasts about the recent emergence of the BNP in the EC/EU elections. Purely from an analytical perspective!

Perhaps this piqued his interest and drew his like to me. I’m certain now that I was heard out of context.

I have a long family history of men and women who served in the armed forces of Australia specifically defending against such extremism and providing the bedrock upon which our current freedoms are founded.

Granted these freedoms are under attack again but it is from a more stealthy philosophical basis rather than the nation-state approach of the early half of the 20th century. But I digress.

One great-grandfather fought in the fields of France during World War I, another great-grandfather was a skilled tradesman who built weaponry that was used in Europe during World War II to aid in the successful repulsion of the National Socialist Nazi advance.

It’s true to say that when it boils down to it, I’m on the winning side of history.

I readily admit that I’m not perfect and am constantly working on trying to be a better person and more socially conscious from the perspective of free-markets and individualism.  

However, this incident to me, reinforces the paramount importance of vigilance in the fight for freedom.

We should not be distracted by minor matters, but concentrate our efforts on upholding the greatness and virtue of those ANZACs and other allies who put their lives on the line to defend a free and pluralistic form of society such as ours.

That’s the reason I started LibertyCircus,To make some serious points about whats happening with our liberty at home and in the wider world. 

The natural conclusion – Extremism #EpicFail


Unforgiven: Liberal Party Style

December 7, 2009

Shoot out at the ok-corale. The scene was set. The pugilistic Malcolm Turnbull, had his climate change gun at the ready.

Sitting in the bar Malcolm and his factional buddies, sat content planning their next big rape and pillage of the fair land of Australia. With nothing but their left-wing bias, stupidity and communist leanings on almost every policy.

The real destruction was the fact that Turnbull was even made, liberal leader in the first place. He was a cowardly traitor to Australia, both constitutionally and almost acting as a proxy to Kevin Rudd, the owner of the saloon called Australia.

But then through the sullen night, cracked only by the sound of thunder and blast of lightning, there appeared Tony Abbott. With his trusty six-shooter in pocket and a gargantuan two barrel rifle.

He ambled into Kevin Rudd’s saloon, appropriately named Australia and implored the weaker members of the communist party and some of his own number to clear out the back.

Tony’s (Clint Eastwood) beef was with Turnbull and for his betrayal of the party and Australia.

The scene was set, Turnbull tried unsuccessfully to scare Tony off, but the final fight was on.

Winning by one shot in the barrel was enough.

Turnbull, remains traitorous as ever even in political death.

With one final shot sending his enemies to hell, he disappears into the night, to fight another day.

He was victorious, even against the Unforgiven:


A response to Australia’s Benedict Arnold

November 27, 2009

My response to Malcolm Turncoat’s Punch article

Tim Humphries says:

06:52pm | 27/11/09

You are a traitor both to the Liberal Party and Australia.

I’m enjoying watching your final hours and await with interest who the conservatives put up to bring the party back to its core belief sets.

You were never worth anything to any of the Liberal Party’s core base because they knew you were a phoney. Even if u survive a spill you will still lose the election, because the public know you betrayed us not just with your Republicanism, general left-wing views and management style, but because you only care about becoming Prime Minister and don’t care what you have to do to get it.

Justice is coming, whether in the form of the wrath of the party or of the Australian people. It’s your choice as to which you’re gonna have to take.

Good bye and don’t come back!


Fist Full of Dollars Turnbull: The Demise Edition

November 25, 2009

I’ve seen some pretty appalling things in the time that I’ve had to obsess about politics, this rampant interest, that defines the past, present and future of Australia.

But, nothing is more despicable then the way that Opposition Leader Malcolm Turnbull treated the Liberal Party room last night. Running in bellowing “I am spartcus!” and then retreating to the Opposition Leader’s suite is something I’d thought I’d never see from a party leader that is supposed to value Freedom.

It is more obvious than ever that the ETS-CPRS debate is a proxy metaphor for the messy leadership style that Turnbull has shown on this and other issues.

He should have opposed this monstrosity and rallied a majority to bolster his leadership ambitions or indeed argued that an ETS-CPRS rather than being subsidized by Government should be placed out on the free-market allowing it to be ultimately tested in that sphere with its success or failure being determined there rather than being placed at the door of Mr and Mrs John Q Taxpayer. Again this would have bolstered his support within and outside the party.

Untenable is the only word for it.

The only way out from here is to either allow Turnbull to continue destroying the Liberal Party’s credibility at the Federal level or kick him out before the next election and replace him with someone that can stem the inevitable electoral tide and re-group for the next electoral cycle.

As vexnews.com said this afternoon:

Few can dispute that Malcolm Turnbull’s leadership is now deader than a lump of brown coal.

As for next year, I’m sure the rumblings of a Federal merger between the Liberal and National Parties will finally start to grind into motion. In the misguided belief that it will be the panacea to all our problems!

Let me state from the outset, without fear or favour, that I catagorically, absolutely and utterly oppose ANY repeat ANY move towards merging the Liberal and National Parties at the Federal level.

I will resist with every last ounce of my strength, soul and intellect, any attempt by Malcolm Turnbull, Barnaby Joyce or anyone else to argue that the time has come to re-group and re-brand the Federal party for the sake of future success under a Nationals domianted LNP arrangement.

Future success will never come by re-branding something, future success will only come if the consistent belief set, both politically, idelogically and in leadership terms is dealt with and espoused properly. So far this has not been achieved and is hence not a reason for further strategic stupidity!

If it does go through in the lead up to the next election, I will start a letter writing campaign unlike anything the Liberal Party has ever seen!

I will call radio stations, embarass staffers, and make sure that the overall message is utterly clear. Freedom must prevail! 

The Liberal Party of Australia is not REPEAT NOT the right place to placate the interests of the National Party whose irrelevence in the current political landscape is ludicriously obvious.

I tried to support the Liberal National Party Qld as a member, but knew in my heart that it wasn’t really the Liberal Party and that its core beliefs and driving force were centred around the National Party whose agarian socialism runs counter to my Free-market Libertarian Conservatism.

Even if a Federal Merger goes through next year, it will not repeat NOT bolster Turnbull’s position in QLD or nationally assuming he is even still leader by then.

The Liberal party is a sacred trust, a sacred historical institution in the life of Australia. Yes there are conservative and progressive elements within its walls.

In the end its success is primarily founded upon the idea of moderate right wing ideology and policy that asserts itself in the context of individualism, freedom, free-markets and personal responsibility. A combination by the way that has a demonstrable record of success! Moving away from this has been demonstrated as disasterous and will continue to be thus until a clean slate is laid.

Mr. Turnbull has failed to espouse and articulate a clear consistent conservative message on the economy, jobs the ets-cprs debate and looks increasingly like a John Hewson style leader, lurching from one birthday cake disaster to the next.

Its time for a Conservative to step up to the plate and bring the Party and the country home to a brighter greater future under the banner of the Liberal Party of Australia. Fail to do this and we will continue to repeat the same mistakes.

In the end this whole saga sounds allot like the Good the Bad and the Ugly. The noose is yet to tighten, but it’s coming for the Traitors:


Ets: Past the Point of No Return: Or is it?

November 9, 2009

past

The stage is set. The players find their places. The curtain is about to rise on the final parliamentary fortnight of the year.

In thinking about these final moments of the 2009 parliamentary year, I’m continually compelled to think of Phantom of the Opera.

Kevin Rudd is playing the Phantom of the Political Opera with Malcolm playing the opposing female protagonist.

It seems all to appropriate that the CPRS-ETS debate should be couched in these terms as we lurch closer to the final vote on a measure that will define the economic makeup of Australia for the next 50-100 years. Crippling or re-defining a generation in its wake.

As de-facto Nationals leader Barnaby Joyce lurches all over the country side proclaiming his flat-earth denialism to the dwindling band of constituents that will listen, you have to wonder whether this issue is finally going to be put to bed in this last week of the parliamentary year or whether it will be decided at an early 2010 Federal poll.

Then you have Prime Minister Rudd bashing on about how the Coalition denialist approach is dangerous and risks the future of the planet.

When will this ludicrous debate finally be over! Some have indicated that Rudd’s approach will continue well into 2010/12.

But the truth is this issue even if the debate ends in 2010/11 isn’t going away to be replaced with more mundane matters, like restoration of the Finances after horrendous attacks from Kevin and Swannie “The economically conservative Leaders”.

The problem is this “Climate-Change, Global Warming, Co2 pollution, polar ice caps and polar bears with sunshade’s and dhakery’s on a beach image isn’t going away at all!

In the final analysis of history. Will the historians judge both Australia and the world’s response to Co2 pollution as nothing more than a politically motivated fudge-fest aimed at increasing the size of Government to the detriment of both the environment and the economy?

Time will tell I suppose, but I remain convinced that  “Talking isn’t acting” Politicians seem especially good at the talking bit but not good at acting.

The scariest part of all of this is the fact that the current situation of bank-bailouts and the return to protectionism is feeding into and setting up a situation where a large-scale ETS-CPRS could easily be superimposed upon Governments, to the detriment of Free-market development and approaches to the issue that would be more moral and rational.

Rupert Murdoch though not specifically speaking to the Climate issue in the video below was and remains right. Keeping open markets functioning and removing the lascivious effect of protectionism will not only be key to scaling our way out of the current crisis but also assist and instruct our response to the Climate issue in the marketplace.

Though, there’s no love in the phantom’s song to Malcolm and the Coalition. Its almost definitely safe to say that the ETS: has reached the point of no return.

Whether it passes or not, the future of solutions will remain heavily dependent on the freemarket and capitalism to find and distribute the technical and economic answers.

Till then, feast upon the music of the night, and pray that this Climate debate doesn’t end in a protectionist stalemate!


Pithy Post of the Week

November 7, 2009

The MOLEEE!!!!! LOL.


Cultural Amnesia

October 29, 2009

No this is not a book review about Clive James’ latest literary work.

It’s come to my attention that the current generation of X, Y and Generation Millenium or Noughties as they have been described have lurched into the 21st Century in a state of Cultural Amnesia.

The heady birth of modern youth culture found its screaming beginning on 15 August 1969 in a sleepy hamlet known as White Lake in the town of Bethel, New York, USA. Or to the initiated Woodstock!

Woodstock, that historical and musical landmark event. The rudimentary forunner of MTV.

This mixture of youthful exuberence, Social unrest over civil rights and Vietnam, free love and free drugs seemed to be the beginning of a new world of experience. However all of this actually came at a heavier price than first thought.

Despite the fact that the proliferation of drugs created and perpetuated a youth culture image that previously had no clear articulation this was it! This was the pinnacle, or so the previous generation tells us. The obsession with Woodstock, the Beatles and the Beach Boys creates a situation where you are inclined to think yes it is good music, but it is turning into a historical archive that points to the trajectory of the music of the current time tracing the twists and turns of the current generation. The beauty of hindsight perhaps.

Woodstock embodied every social, sexual, economic and rebellious element of a younger generation rising up against the perceieved oppression and societal norms of the previous generation of 49ers and beyond.

Just as the younger generation derided the hypocrisy and ludicriosity of conservative norms of 1969 and attempted to supplant their own vision of a new utopian society of peace, love and brotherhood, so to was the current cultural amnesia being supplanted by that very rebellion.

The immediate problem that confronts economic and social conservatives is the instinct that this was just an excuse to get drunk, get high and propagate nothing more than carnal desires.

I would argue that there was more to this than that. Despite the fact that this generation has dominated the cultural landscape ever since, the truth is its influence over the current generation is waning but still leaving what I would describe as Kirk Cobain styled Cultural Amnesia in its place.

The reason for this cultural amnesia is clear. The baby-boomer generation of the Beatles, The Beach Boys and Woodstock, have sucked so much oxygen out of the cultural landscape that their collective memories whether directly connected or not to the woodstock generational change is directly linked to the idea that their’s was the greatest and most original generation since as the current crop of “schoolies” would say “Like, eva!”.

The truth is, as the aging Baby-boomers of both the “hippy and non-hippy” mind set begin retiring from their lives as corporate climbers and begin facing the reality and inevitibility of death, the ultimate result is the surge in sales of 4WD’s and Caravans.

For you see the previous generation is taking one last existential look at the wider world from the caravan window, before old age, bad health and senility take its inevitable hold.

The Beach Boy’s generation is almost dead or at the very least beginning to look so outdated that a new generation is needed to shake up the cultural landscape in music, art and culture so as to create the next generation’s sense of cultural amnesia.

The question then becomes how will the current generation of muscicians, artists and writers re-create the watershed moment embodied by a woodstock type event without being howled down by decrepid and aged hipsters whose only aim in life is to re-iterate “Nothing compares to our music MAN!”  It is this re-iteration that makes me believe cultural amnesia exists to some extent in the current generation!

The idea of a millienial Woodstock event, totally different from the myth and legend created by the 1969 version would be the way to go.

Perhaps an appropriate title would be i-stock 2.0. The ultimate online event that would create a historical landmark for i-pod downloads and provide a new platform for established acts and new talent to supplant a cultural memory that will supercede  the woodstock generation.

Perhaps our generation’s Beatles, Beach Boy’s and Woodstock are embodied by

Goldfrapp

Wolfmother and

The Black-eyed peas

At the end of the day if the current generation is going to succeed in selfishly sucking all of the cultural juice out of future generations and create a cultural monolith that makes the next generation feel inadaquate, I’ve got a feeling that there’s allot of work to be done. Especially if this effort is aimed at  over-whelming the smug and aging hippies who seem content to re-invest themselves in the rudimentary myths that started us down this path in the first place.

Perhaps, I’m wrong, but on the other hand, I’m sick of hearing how great the Beatles, Beach Boys and Woodstock were in the landscape of the past.

This tiresomeness often translates itself to my own feeling of unconcluded Amnesia. Hopefully it is a feeling that will pass along with the memory of the Hippies of Woodstock and the corporatism that it gave birth to.

Tim Humphries is a Brisbane based cultural hobbit and is interested in history both from the social, political and cultural perspective.


The Road Ahead: After the 2010 Defeat

October 10, 2009

Though preempting the result of next years election, I believe I can say without much fear of contradiction, that when ever the election is called, the Liberal Party are going to be royally slashed and burnt. 

Or to put it more succinctly “slayed” by the Rudd Government and its domination of the news cycle, the polls and the general sentiment of the press gallery.

Unless there is a seismic shift in public sentiment, the Liberal Party are not on its current Leadership going to dent the Rudd Government with the same Debt and Deficit messaging that was used in 1996 to such great effect.

1996, was a different time and place. I remember it well, it was a time when Paul J Keating the great Beelzebub of Australian politics, was running around with his political correctness, Republican and Flag talk, and the stench of a long and failed slog through the peaks and trough’s of political and economic fortune.

A generation of Australian’s had suffered long and hard through the scaring war that was the last recession.

The Labor debt had reached 96 Billion and there was obviously an air of change in the wind with the refreshed, safe, respectable and conservative visage of John Howard on the political horizon.

Putting aside argument on the failures and successes of his policy and economics, Howard was a man reborn.

The reason I diverge into this corridor of distant memory, is the fact that I was very disappointed that at the age of 16, I didn’t get a chance to vote for Howard for the first time.

This in itself was a solid argument for lowering the voting age to encourage civic participation in the younger Generation. That as well as allowing me an opportunity to baseball bat Keating over the head with my ballot paper. But I digress.

It was truly a great time to be a conservative! The torch of freedom had been relit by Howard and his men and the convergence of freedom forces had finally been given a chance to make their mark on the history and polity of Australia. [To which retiring MP Peter Costello is owed much of the credit]

Again though time and place  moved on. I remember well in 1998 after casting my first ballot for the fresh faced Mal Brough Liberal MP in the Federal seat of Longman, the atmosphere seemed to have changed dramatically.

The Hanson saga with its broad psychological and political implications, raised its ugly head and was buried just as quickly. To say that Hansonism was primarily a reflection of racism and/or Howard’s political ambivalence to aforesaid intolerance widely misses the point.

I acknowledge that there was an unsavoury racist element to it that had to be fought and was indeed fought successfully. 

However it was also a time when the psychology of the people could best be described as “still traumatized” by the incessant political correctness of the Keating years and the Internationalism and Globalization talk that was being used as an excuse to cover for the corporatisation, downsizing and casualization of  the traditional working and middle class employment market.

This hence left a sour taste in the mouth of those on the receiving end. 

Keating represented and trumpeted this message and though at some level correct from a Free-market, Free Trade perspective, the psychological impact on this core constituency resulted in Howard’s enduring “Battler” cohort success.

It was this same old constituency and the new Generation constituency that moved to Kevin Rudd in 2007.

The people had grown tired of the strong Leadership and stewardship of Australia that reflects the ebbs and flows of cyclical change in Australian politics and felt comfortable enough with Rudd to give him a go.

Options for the Future

  • Brendan Nelson – deposed leader

 Brendan Nelson’s failed leadership, highlights the fact that Opposition really is a tough business and that someone has to carry the can for the party after a long successful stint in Government.

Brendan carried himself with dignity and grace throughout his time in the leadership and I was pleased to have had the opportunity to meet him in person at an ALSF function in 2008, just before the current leader took over.

 Brendan Nelson reflects the sort of mixture of professionalism and ordinariness that does appeal to the real Australia that exists outside of the confined insiderness of the halls of power in Canberra.

Had he stayed on, if political fortune had not been so one-sided towards Rudd, I believe Brendan Nelson would have again had an opportunity to serve as a senior Minister in the next conservative Government.

  • Malcolm Turnbull

The current leader Malcolm Turnbull is a mixture of brilliance and political ineptitude. His similarity to Victorian John Elliott in regard to his business success is striking and leads one to imagine what Mr. Elliott might have achieved if he had been granted an opportunity to step onto the floor of the Federal Parliament in the same way that Mr. Turnbull did.

The primary problems for Turnbull are the following:

  • His status as one of Australia’s richest politicians i.e. Hand’s Labor a free kick re: class warfare/silvertail.
  • His involvement in the Republican Referendum Debate in 1999 – remains as sticking point with the majority of the conservative movement.
  • His connections to the Australian Labor Party and the possibility that he may have stood for the ALP in the past b4 joining the Liberal Party.
  • His left leaning attitudes on a lot of core conservative issues, that put him at odds with the primary conservative base of the party.
  • The sense that he transmits a phoniness in how he communicates his political message.
  • A general sense of volatility and uncertainty on where he stands on some issues.

Malcolm’s primary problem is what a friend of mine described as the Private School bully boy mentality. His success in business and life though wide-ranging, required a certain level of bully boy tactics for that success to be achieved.

 This is reflected in his recent commentary on the issue of climate change and his ambivalence to “anonymous smartasses” in the party who were expressing concerns regarding his handling of the climate change issue.

It’s this public volatility that turns off voters and leads to the conclusion that the incumbents will prevail at the 2010 election.

The other irony of the Turnbull leadership is the fact that he is in lock-step with the Rudd Government on climate change, but has not been able to harness the necessary support to take amendments from the party room to the Government to reach a consensus position.

It’s for this reason, that I do feel sorry for Mr. Turnbull. If the party does not come together and back his strategy on climate change at the forthcoming party meeting next sunday, the headlines regarding his Leadership in terminal decline will continue to its logical conclusion.

With a majority of the party room in the sceptical camp on climate change and the National Party absolutely ruling out their vote and suggestions on amendments, the next few months will remain an interesting time, for this Leader in what appears to be his declining days.

If he doesn’t survive politically, the You tube epithet shall read “Malcolm Turnbull – In the Ghetto”.

 

I’m strongly of the view that he should have remained in either the Shadow Treasurer or Shadow Finance portfolio. However that is the nature of politics and the power of personalities at play.

From a political perspective it was the obvious move that played to his key strengths. But again with the power of his personality, the Leadership quest would never be far off from re-surfacing. So perhaps his impending demise will be a positive thing that allows the party to move forward with a real conservative leader.  

  • Tony Abbott

Without Costello in the mix, Tony Abbott remains the one authentic conservative voice that could potentially be the leader either before or after the next election.

His strong religious background, means that core conservative issues are a no-brainer. You know unequivocally where he stands and his reputation as a head kicker is renowned in itself.

I was initially cautious about discussing Abbott as a future Leader of the Liberal Party, because his Catholicism is obviously something that plays a major role in his politics and I was concerned that religious dogmatism may dominate his leadership style.

The big plus on the intellectual side is his staunch qualifications on IR, Support for the Constitution under the current arrangements and a sense that despite his idiosyncratic nature, he would be a safer conservative pair of hands both on the social and fiscal issues.

I personally think, he will be one to watch in the coming months after the climate change issue is put to bed.

  • Joe Hockey

Joe again is another kettle of fish altogether. He spars Rudd well, has name recognition re: Sunrise, communicates well but has had difficulties in cutting through on some of the big ticket policy items that fit within his and the broader policy portfolio.

He is strong on the fundraising front and would be interesting to watch as a moderate Liberal that does not fit into the traditional conservative mould.

Conclusion

Overall there are still options for the Liberal Party, however with next years election shaping up as a Climate Change election rather than election on the Economy, The party does need to get its act together if it is to begin cutting through, out here in voter land.

Here’s hoping that we do and don’t have to play the political-strategic long game for the next decade.


Liberty Poetry – A Mega Post

October 5, 2009
‘An Experience’
By T.W. Humphries
Dashing fence posts whip past my eyes,
A magnificent river quietly stirs,
With the ebb of a flowing breeze.
Such an experience it is just to gaze,
The stirring river and changing seasons, all an experience.
Human beauty is an experience, one I continually recall.
Lost in the landscape of this runaway train,
Sunlight darts in a shimmer past me.
Transfixed by the panorama below, the sensation consumes me.
Gaunt and rugged mountains in contrast to motionless grassy plains,
Are dwarfed by a rock laden bridge and thunder struck tracks.
I turn, reality bites, and I realise an experience is an experience.
The gliding scenery changes and the sensation switches key.
Rust clad trucks rumble to their destinations,
No one knows were they’re heading, but what an experience.
The droning engines pulse as the red gates fall,
And the towering locomotive hammers past.
The throbbing heart of a handsome suitor swoons in the field,
He has an experience to tell.
His crushed heart, against the hands of a woman, of experience.
He has witnessed the wonderment of her eyes,
And the flash of her sweet breath against his heart.
What must he do to win her over,
Then the truth sets itself, he kicks himself and watches the fading train.
An old man, sits bewildered, his eyes a darting confusion,
His large rimmed spectacles cannot fathom society.
He remembers simpler times, when experience was earned with experience,
Not by books or culture, but by long days spent in the endless sun.
Yet the man realises that the university of life has escaped him,
He is obsolete in many peoples eyes,
But within himself he is content to be what he is, A worker.
Then a school girl, who clutching her books, wonders aimlessly,
To her, life is but an endless game, a pool of hapless chatter.
Her experience is clasping to the dream of maturity,
Passionately she dreams of living happily ever after,
Then she looks down at her undeveloped body and wishes to be older, with experience.
Three men stand quiet in an unassuming group,
Each man wears the cap of his own experience.
One is short, fat and another is tall and lanky.
They are escapee’s of a mental institution and gesticulate profusely.
These men have volumes of experiences, within their minds,
They brilliant at maths and physics,
No one judges their capacity, for they are capable men.
The eloquent pages of a book dance before a student,
He is swept into a fantasy with welcoming eyes and an open spirit.
Knowledge and wisdom are to him a fact of life,
Experience follows with analysing these delusional segments of life.
A questioning mind awakens and still he thinks of experience.
Pondering the subtle messages of that hallowed binding,
The student notes enlightenment and casts the page, for the next and so on….
A dark glassed woman, sits with suspicious autonomy,
Her demeanour is rigid and she tolerates nothing,
Shiny tightly laced boots are reinforced by a depressed and languid attitude,
Neat colours of black portray a defiance that no one can or dares to trace.
A ornate necklace hangs limp against this woman’s chest,
Memories of the past surface and the necklace reveals all.
Yet her long hair deceives me, it is a man!
A young boy scribbles on a blank page,
His life is marked by the verse of repetition.
And the age old cliche ‘I must remember not to be late’,
This is an experience reflecting marvellous days of mischief.
Climbing trees and gazing out at endless afternoons.
The fading landscape reminds me of an experience,
I had it when wondering what to do with myself.
Depression, insomnia and internal thoughts of dread,
Pressed hard against my tired, unexperienced head.
Yet all of this was an experience, catching a glimpse of people’s lives,
The speeding train falters and is consumed by a stormy guise.
The unknown, the future, a sensation is this an overpowering experience?
The luxury of time tells me more interesting things are on their way.

‘Experience’

By T.W. Humphries

Dashing fence posts whip past my eyes,

A magnificent river quietly stirs,

With the ebb of a flowing breeze.

Such an experience it is just to gaze,

The stirring river and changing seasons, all an experience.

Human beauty is an experience, one I continually recall.

Lost in the landscape of this runaway train,

Sunlight darts in a shimmer past me.

Transfixed by the panorama below, the sensation consumes me.

Gaunt and rugged mountains in contrast to motionless grassy plains,

Are dwarfed by a rock laden bridge and thunder struck tracks.

I turn, reality bites, and I realise an experience is an experience.

The gliding scenery changes and the sensation switches key.

Rust clad trucks rumble to their destinations,

No one knows were they’re heading, but what an experience.

The droning engines pulse as the red gates fall,

And the towering locomotive hammers past.

The throbbing heart of a handsome suitor swoons in the field,

He has an experience to tell.

His crushed heart, against the hands of a woman, of experience.

He has witnessed the wonderment of her eyes,

And the flash of her sweet breath against his heart.

What must he do to win her over,

Then the truth sets itself, he kicks himself and watches the fading train.

An old man, sits bewildered, his eyes a darting confusion,

His large rimmed spectacles cannot fathom society.

He remembers simpler times, when experience was earned with experience,

Not by books or culture, but by long days spent in the endless sun.

Yet the man realises that the university of life has escaped him,

He is obsolete in many peoples eyes,

But within himself he is content to be what he is, A worker.

Then a school girl, who clutching her books, wonders aimlessly,

To her, life is but an endless game, a pool of hapless chatter.

Her experience is clasping to the dream of maturity,

Passionately she dreams of living happily ever after,

Then she looks down at her undeveloped body and wishes to be older, with experience.

Three men stand quiet in an unassuming group,

Each man wears the cap of his own experience.

One is short, fat and another is tall and lanky.

They are escapee’s of a mental institution and gesticulate profusely.

These men have volumes of experiences, within their minds,

They brilliant at maths and physics,

No one judges their capacity, for they are capable men.

The eloquent pages of a book dance before a student,

He is swept into a fantasy with welcoming eyes and an open spirit.

Knowledge and wisdom are to him a fact of life,

Experience follows with analysing these delusional segments of life.

A questioning mind awakens and still he thinks of experience.

Pondering the subtle messages of that hallowed binding,

The student notes enlightenment and casts the page, for the next and so on….

A dark glassed woman, sits with suspicious autonomy,

Her demeanour is rigid and she tolerates nothing,

Shiny tightly laced boots are reinforced by a depressed and languid attitude,

Neat colours of black portray a defiance that no one can or dares to trace.

A ornate necklace hangs limp against this woman’s chest,

Memories of the past surface and the necklace reveals all.

Yet her long hair deceives me, it is a man!

A young boy scribbles on a blank page,

His life is marked by the verse of repetition.

And the age old cliche ‘I must remember not to be late’,

This is an experience reflecting marvellous days of mischief.

Climbing trees and gazing out at endless afternoons.

The fading landscape reminds me of an experience,

I had it when wondering what to do with myself.

Depression, insomnia and internal thoughts of dread,

Pressed hard against my tired, unexperienced head.

Yet all of this was an experience, catching a glimpse of people’s lives,

The speeding train falters and is consumed by a stormy guise.

The unknown, the future, a sensation is this an overpowering experience?

The luxury of time tells me more interesting things are on their way.

‘Morn’

By T.W. Humphries

The dismal sound of thrashing, collides on a window,

Laughter of darkness, plagues the moaning light.

Rain and thunder roll at the narrow roof tops too,

The joy of early morning, set against the sparkling dew.

The smell of spring rings so clear and the sun begins to rise,

Tender puffs of white lashed cloud, shifting in the sky.

Yet as the glorious break of day shines, mountains rise so stark,

The growling rustle of winter wind, distanced by the lark.

Wonder of all great wonders, the blue sky meets the horizon,

Sea of oceans and endless awe, lashes beats and evens.

Humming drones flow out to work on canvas neatly wrought,

Craftsman ponder natures glory, of bees sweet life in the garden court.

Flowers burst with loving life, gardeners are brought to their knees,

Thrumming fingers in tender soil, a constant sound of glee.

The wispy day unfolds and heat murmurs against the hedge,

Lashings of sunshine, transposed to heat, beat and grasp and sledge.

The morning wains the shadows fade and storm clouds gather again,

Dusk falls silently as the prowler, waiting for its prey.

A twinkling star pokes, the crimson, tired sky,

The night spins a yarn of deep regret and rumbling shudders by.

Thrashing droves of endless rain, pierce the fickled window pane,

When will this endless nightmare, recede?

No one knows, yet the nightmare spindles on.

A scream is heard, a stirring bird all within my mind,

The sun suddenly reveals its face,

Undying and Unrefined.

Caressed by the break of day again, the cycle plods unhindered,

Spring recedes to summer and long days press the seed.

A man stands by an old oak tree wondering at the breeze,

Of early summer mornings, comfort filled, serene.

Breaking a blossom so tenderly the man stares off content,

The storm clouds wither instantly, leaving, gone and went.

The smiling man sighs a sigh and bathes with natures scorn,

Some things in life will never compare to the simple sight of morn.

‘Ode To The Night’

By T.W. Humphries

A broken portrait shifts within the dusky sky,

The furrow and the rustle whistles then asks ‘Why?’.

Beads of light flicker, in and out and in,

The falling, fading, mixing night kindly settles in.

The dry old moon shimmers with a carefree smile,

Stars twinkle in its wake with such tender style.

The leaves of beaten jasmines float upon the night,

Shaken madly by demons of sin, plucking them in the half light.

The howling wind batters in bruising all who pause,

Smashing those without the strength to abide with common laws.

Yet beyond the many slums there are men of stately thought,

Pausing at their windows comfort filled and taught.

The smiling moon’s playful address shudders, then switches key,

Lingering faces in wind smashed streets, prompt all within to flee.

Then to the clashing harbour from which the seaman stir.

The vengeful wrath of ‘Howling’, forcing in the blur.

But alas the clock strikes “12″ and the distant gong chimes forth,

The rustling howl of wind struck lanes and murmuring seasons of thought.

The night drags on unhindered and jabbing braches prove,

That ghosts really do walk the night, and moan and blatt and move.

A distant scream, the lovers gleam, all within the dark.

A silent garden wonders, as a sparrow begins to spark.

The groaning of a night, so dark, grotesque, and jaded.

Reminds the stately class of old, of vulgarity shattered, yet shaded.

The ghastly dark of night, stabs at those lingering hollow faces.

Beaten by darkness and cursed by light, the reality of their lives.

The garden again stirs quietly, a speck begins to rise.

The swelling form of daylight, quells this dismal guise.

Ode to the Night of pity whose winds die and moan alike,

Those men of old both rich and poor now ponder at the sky.

‘Portrait’

By T.W. Humphries

Note: This poem is my omage to Oscar Wilde’s work “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. It must be noted that at the time this work was written, I was naive as to the full contextual meaning of Wilde’s story.

I stand at the doorway of time and gaze upon a portrait,

Sweet with the scent of summer and its joy.

I behold the reflection which is my life,

Who knows of my inner self but me.

And perhaps the few shallow friends which share my days.

They know me not, yet the portrait reveals me,

The sun streams in, lighting a sparkle in my eyes.

The beauty of youth radiates throughout,

Yet as the willow blossoms in the summer,

So too must it wither at the call of autumn.

Watching I see the portrait smirk back at me,

The winds of the hourglass have battered me.

Yet within the grand canvas lays a life untouched by time,

Unpierced by the chorus of the centuries and the experiences therein.

Stealing a glance at the noon day sun I wonder,

The city sways and the breeze softens my face.

This portrait remains youthful, yet change corrupts me,

The noon day recedes and the shadows of afternoon set in.

Soon the youth of this face will be mocked by the frivolous dark of night.

The shallow moon rises to survey its subject people,

For in doing so a strange light touches the portrait and for a moment, it is alive.

I wait, my heart pounding upon my chest, the past returns to my vision.

A stab of candlelight sways my attention and it is now fixed on the canvas,

Shocked at first the portrait again stares ominously and I wonder upon its refinement.

Looking back over a canon of time, I realise that life is cruel,

And yet I behold an image untouched, unblemished by the cruel ravage of time.

Shuddering I realise my naivety at a time when I thought I was invincible,

Another moment passes and my heart settles to a thump and then another.

OH, what great service did this portrait do anyway?, Was it art or was it self indulgence?

Or was it merely a moment of life, where purity was everything my face portrayed.

Shivering, I ponder the sweeping curtains as they quiver in the chill of night,

Closing my studio doors, I stare out into the open blanket of space, pondering my true fate.

Watching a streaking star plummet to mother earth I realise,

There is more to Life, then obsessing over an obscure, portrait.

‘This Is Your Life’
By T.W Humphries
Shards of light dart in and out,
Shimmering coils of energy flow and suck.
A heaving sensation fills the air,
As sunlight plays aimlessly there.
At the point of no return,
The event horizon from bow to stern.
The emerging light is gaining strength,
Thwack, pop, WAA WAA WAA WAA!,
This is you, a new life.
You entered this world naked and cold,
And so you will return at your journey’s end,
To a sleep beyond this mortal world,
This is Your Life.
At the point of your birth,
You begin that decay.
A slow and painful process known as death.
You might be healthy, but your biological clock is ticking.
And so you grow and learn,
Of summer days and winter nights.
Of playgrounds, bullies, teachers and University exams,
All of which seem so sudden.
At the blink of an eye you reach working age,
You vote for your inclinations sake,
And pay for what the politicians take.
But who really cares,
This is Your life.
You marry and have beautiful children.
Expensive as it may seem,
The cycle has repeated itself,
For this is your life.
Your children grow up and move away,
Your left alone for another day,
To contemplate life and if its yours.
Surely you had a life?
You collect your dues and retire in peace,
And enjoy your grandchildren and their mischief,
Then you remember being their age.
Life’s vicious cycle plods precariously on,
You wonder with your short time left,
What things you have left undone or unsaid,
What things would have made a difference.
Experiences, memories, recollections,
Sensations if you will of another time and another place.
But what you have is your life.
You grip onto life with everything left,
And wonder who will go next.
For your friends are disappearing one by one.
Surely your time is almost come.
To lay down peacefully and call it a day,
And allow life to go on its way.
Your fading memory slips,
Your eyes fail and hearing recedes,
Your faculties desist to exist.
A faltering breath and you are gone,
This was your life.
Many attend your funeral,
Mourners from all walks of life,
Whom you know and whom were influenced by your personality.
You are remembered for who you were,
Laughs are exchanged and a reflection is noted,
You were special, someone complete.
But as time passes idle by,
No one passes to pay respects.
Except a grounds keeper who occasionally lays a rose,
At your families request.
You have faded into obscurity,
And everyone forgets,
That you held meaning and much respect.
The cemetery is paused in contemplation.
For all life is fragile, like the rose.
It can bloom to beauty and wither just as fast.
Hold on to everything you have,
Because, one day you won’t have it any more.
‘Crossroads’
By T.W Humphries
Here I stand at a crossroads,
My childhood far behind me,
Maturity & reality set in.
I am a young open mind,
Thirsting for experience rich and true.
I long for peace yet still my soul rages.
Unsure of whats behind and whats ahead.
The roadsigns of life seem to jump out and catch me unaware,
I am vunerable, idealistic, a dreamer and a thinker.
My thoughts and instincts guide me.
I wander aimlessly, drinking in all of lifes wonders.
Yet still what will I do?
My frustration bubbles wildly,
I am untamed, raw and ambitious.
Yet my dreams are crushed by the world,
The world is a harm-filled, cruel place,
Where am I going in this brutal world?
Must I travel this journey alone?
Do I have a destiny?
Where will I find a bountiful source of wisdom?
If I am successful, who will I share my life with?
So many questions, so few answers,
Yet I realise at this crossroad,
That the answers I seek will come, as I go.
Thus the journey will never end.
‘Silence’
By TW Humphries
An imposing theatre stands tall,
Crowds gather at the door in a throng.
The fading shadows recede and a newly formed family waits.
The mother is a composer and the father a conductor.
Music is their life, they eat and breath it.
Their joy for their baby son is overflowing,
For it is their first chance to introduce him to music.
The passion of the symphony,
An experience he could have on any instrument.
Whether loud or silent,
Soprano or Bass.
The father dreams of educating his son,
And giving him the opportunity to go to the best university.
So that he would one day himself take up the baton.
In scanning the swelling crowd the boy’s mother also dreams.
She dreams of introducing him to the piano,
And the church choir,
All something that would instil in him their love.
The crowds filled into the magnificent auditorium, expectation rose.
Culture escaped the rambling’s of those in box seats,
In silence all eyes centred on the awaited moment.
With baited breath, the conductor strolled out,
He bowed at the applause and settled into his score.
The musicians readied themselves,
A moment of sheer stillness filled the room.
The conductor paused,
And launched into a passionate display.
Beethoven’s “Allegro ma non troppo” filled the air,
People whispered over the rising sound.
And the young couple relished every moment.
Every beat satisfied their desire.
This first moment of music for their son,
What magnificence he would enjoy.
Years passed and the boy grew,
His love of music took shape.
He learnt theory and embarked on the journey,
Sound to him was such a natural thing.
Passion revealed itself as the brilliant actor does,
And he ambitiously set himself goals.
As the years further transpired he learnt more.
Silently one day his mother dabbled at the volume control and Beethoven’s Symphony boomed,
Her son was going about his chores.
He did not seem to register the sound,
Curious her mother called to him.
He did not respond, Until he faced her.
He was deaf, He had managed to lip read,
Shock reverberated throughout her soul.
Relaying this news would crush her husband.
With tears streaking down her silent face, she rang her husband.
He picked up her apprehension and inquired lovingly.
She wailed out the facts she had discovered.
This moment crushed the husband’s heart,
Considering his progress, they agreed not to let it affect them, yet somehow it did.
However the son continued on in his passion, of the tender sounds of the piano.
Never to know the feeling of music,
A leaf fell outside his window and he continued on in silence.

‘Conversations’
By T.W Humphries
The grinding steel of a hulky train jolts forward,
The fence line whips past in a frenzy.
A fading sun meshes with the open horizon.
I am on a train,
It is peak hour.
The thrumming sound of the train drones in my ears,
Cluttering conversations rattle through the halls.
The distinguished gentlemen of the public service.
The intrigue of the supermarket magazine,
The turmoil of the world swirls,
Within a paper.
Everything in it spins before my eyes.
A young family sits content,
A mother, a father a beautiful baby.
A wonderful scene.
Yet, a stark contrast to what is outside.
Students scatter about the train,
Debating openly.
Politics, Religion, Sex, nothing is left unsaid.
A lady stands out from the rest,
Very much the conversationalist.
The beaming crimson of late afternoon strikes her face.
Beauty beyond anything I can or ever will imagine.
My heart races for a moment and the train jolts me out of my quiet thoughts.
She’s too classy for me,
With her brilliant career, computer and friends.
If the comparison were made, she is a goddess,
And I am a boy, wishing to be a man.
Then my eyes turn to another lady,
My age, sitting straight, reading a novel.
Deeply intrigued, her glasses slide and she slips them up again.
She is nothing incredible to look at,
Yet, surely she is a success,
Not boastful, but unassuming and ready to strike when everyone is unprepared.

‘That Brash Boy’
By T.W. Humphries
There he stood in the driving rain,
Dancing to victory and at the same time laughing at his adversaries.
He had risen to the summit,
He had realised his dream in that moment.
That Brash boy, soaked to the bone,
Drank in a freedom lovers victory that had been a long time coming.
This brash boy had been the weakling,
The one who was targeted.
But on that fate-filled sporting field he unleashed a power,
A power he never knew he had, a power unknown to everyone.
He stamped it hard on his enemy and crushed his exploding superiority.
Here stood a brash boy, content to admit he had risen to the occasion,
Victory was finally his!
Oblivion
by T.W Humphries
The words simply read,
An eternal void enshrouds me.
Such a woeful and depressing sense,
Sharp sensations jab my enthusiasm,
And drain my passion for life.
Blankness is life now,
Dark and unending,
Blankness a veil, shoves me,
And tells me what to do.
There must be light at the end of the tunnel,
What am I supposed to do?
Thoughts of political death blanket me again,
A comforting thought to me.
I want to rebel,
Yet responsibility presses hard.
The unknown is the blankness,
Jarring and depressingly hard.
I’d rather be politically dead now,
True blackness this would be.
An escape into oblivion, oh yes this is for me.
I ponder escape then wonder,
What really should I do?
Blankness and darkness are everywhere,
Inside and outside too.
I want to feel content and happy.
Please have mercy on me Oh God!
And allow me to pass quietly,
Into quiet, loving political blackness.
My name is precious Barnaby,
And I am a member of the National Party.

‘War’

By T.W. Humphries

Death at war is like a predator,

stalking its prey like a fine sniper.

Who would have thought political blood was as bad,

as an old drunken tramp raggedly clad.

These boys and girls coming home were far to young,

Sorry to late they’ve already been stung.

Wars heroine “Julie” walks up and down,

Like an old beaten jeep, shot up and round.

A cold heartless mist slowly lifts up,

And a general named Malcolm screams desperately, after getting shot.

When the war finally ends at Xmas everyone will go home,

To worry filled lives, all of their own.

War is like sausage making, something no one should see,

So don’t get excited, war isn’t glee.

‘Heart Of Greed’

By T.W. Humphries

A radiant mist surfaces against the shadowy landscape,

Sunlight slaps behind the veiled horizon,

And proclaims the fall of night.

The day has lost the battle and the heart of night has fallen heavy.

Strange, mystical sounds murmur with the crystal sky,

The heart of greed is unleashed.

The heart of greed is a frightening thing,

Brings a child to sobs and a man to his knees.

What dark force, stirs in this great abyss.

The crack of a howling wolf rings clear in the night,

The fullness of the moon reveals its glory and shines down in all it’s might.

Greed who are you?

Do you sit high and mighty or low and powerless?

Is your domain the darkness or the light?

Is your life petty and full of spite?,

Or is the truth your redeeming feature.

You possess a man’s soul and tantalise his spirit.

Acquisition is your lure and fame is your sinker.

The Heart Of Greed makes a man take to the armour and the sword in defence,

Of an estate in ill-gotten gains, putrid yet content.

Honour and glory are nothing in the sight of greed.

Hearts are shredded and families torn,

Yet still the joy of greed burns.

The stinging desire for more, perverts and smears the truth in pathetic lies.

Men yet fall heavy with the night,

And ponder what could have been won.

A streak of lightening flashes against the black sky,

A mansion towers into the night,

A man emerges, rubs his eyes and dreams of more.

Yet he coughs, the sound of a dying vulture,

And still he ponders for more.


Atlas Essay

October 5, 2009
Atlas Shrugged Essay
Presented By T.W. Humphries
In Atlas Shrugged, reference is made to a “Morality of Death.” What is the nature of this morality? What role does it play in the story? Why does it gain the label that it does in the novel? Explain.
Socrates is best known for two words: “Know thyself”. In life as in death this presents the ultimate philisophical challenge to both the professional and layman thinker. This essay will address the issue of the “Morality of Death”, the nature of this morality, the role it plays in the Atlas Shrugged and conclude in explanation with why the morality of death issue gains the label it does in the novel.
The personal philosophy of an individual can be divined by asking and answering whether he a destroyer or liberator in the Atlas Shrugged context. It is ironic that despite the validity of such a question its truth is not more widely expressed or debated in the mainstream public culture. Perhaps a symptom of this lies in the fact that Death and the Nihilistic philosophy it entails is the prevailing philosophy of the modern culture. The emblematic nature of Death as moral or immoral is at the heart of the truth, justice and libertarian values that define the United States of America as the great example of these values.
In the past 5 years I have moved from the beginnings of education to the final year of undergraduate college education. I have experienced much of collectivism and self-interest, read deeply on social, economic, technical, political issues and in this search, I still come to conclude that the individual will define the morality of one’s life as well as the ultimate definition of this morality in death.
Ayn Rand’s heroic overview of “morality” as enshrined in Atlas Shrugged is a philosophy where each of the major and minor characters lives his life within the context of values inherent in that individual. The interplay of individual characters through out the story, coupled with the characterizations of heroic and destructive values is key to fully understanding the morality or immorality of death.
The answer of who is John Galt defines the nature of the morality of life and the values inherent in death within the individual spirit and work of the man. His character reflects his own wish to be left to live and work for the true benefit of his own life and to bring the world to a stop if he so chooses through the application of that work. The positive morality of Death therefore would be the individual’s right to defend one’s life and work in a self interested manner, to if need be defend the moral, rational and conscious choice of living for the self, being a means to an end to benefit the interest of the self.
The morality of Death as in life is the ability to take any path of ones choosing to the point of death so long as it is consistent with that view of living as a means to an end for the self interest of the individual. The ultimate drive of life is the inherent passion one has to survive and be creative and productive in defining ones existence within the context of self interest and the role this plays in one’s life work.
Too often the premise on the Morality of Death that Atlas Shrugged speaks about is defiled, mocked and destroyed by a society bent upon the aim of subjugating the interest of the individual by destroying individualistic values and victimization of those who so choose to defend that individual and self interested end.
Why would a great steel industrialist work for his own destruction? Why would a composer give up his career on the night of his greatest triumph? Why must a beautiful woman running a transcontinental railroad fall in love with the man she has vehemently sworn to kill?
The aforementioned questions are the ultimate metaphysical and philosophical quandary to the uneducated. Those who blindly ask why the individual would of their own choosing do such a thing? The endemic value of a society based upon the negativist view of death would ask why the individual would defiantly rage against the expectations of a collective society for its own good, when clearly the parasitic expectations of that “public good” would clearly be best served by the subjugation of the individual to the philosophy and action of the collective good. Thus denouncing the individual and forcing that individual to become subsumed by the societal interest, sacrificing this to the expectations of the invisible hand of a society not defined by rational self-interest but by the destructive premise of altruism.
It is John Galt’s right to live his life as he saw fit within the context of his own rational set of values and creative work. It is Hank Rearden’s right to live his life as he sees fit, to define his moral standards by his own work and life. It is Dagny Taggart’s right to live, love and work to the achievement of her own rational self-interest. This is not to define the individuals right within the context of altruistic values or regulations. This is to define self-interest in the context of the individual as portrayed by Atlas Shrugged as the greatest expression of that individual’s ability in the natural and inspired sense.
No one individual can or must define for another what course they will or will not take. The ability to live, love and work must not be defined by societies collective invisible hand. To study and not fully understand the ideals acted out by Atlas Shrugged is to entirely miss the literary premise from which it was created.
The nature and role of the morality of death is clearly defined by the values enshrined in the story. A punitive society bent on the destruction of mankind for the sake of altruism and removal of the individuals of rational self-interest who themselves stand against altruistic values is the crux of the story and the philosophical definition of the morality of death. The individual therefore defines the morality of death by the values and traits reflected in that individuals core philosophy and through the actions of that individual within the broader world to either rational self-interest of destructive altruism.
The Morality of Death gains this label through the novel because of and as a consequence of the philosophical premises upon which each individual lives out their life. Whether this morality is defined by rational self-interest or by destructive forces of collective altruism is purely for the individual to decide. To consciously destroy in the name of altruism is the negative morality of death. To consciously destroy to defend the rational principle of individual self-interest is a clear example of the morality of death. What form this defence takes and how it is enacted will be for the individual to decide. For as Socrates said to “Know thyself” is to understand the philosophical premises upon which the individual will operate both in the morality of life and the morality of death.By T.W. Humphries

By T.W. Humphries

In Atlas Shrugged, reference is made to a “Morality of Death.” What is the nature of this morality? What role does it play in the story? Why does it gain the label that it does in the novel? Explain.

Socrates is best known for two words: “Know thyself”. In life as in death this presents the ultimate philisophical challenge to both the professional and layman thinker.

This essay will address the issue of the “Morality of Death”, the nature of this morality, the role it plays in the Atlas Shrugged and conclude in explanation with why the morality of death issue gains the label it does in the novel.

The personal philosophy of an individual can be divined by asking and answering whether he a destroyer or liberator in the Atlas Shrugged context.

It is ironic that despite the validity of such a question its truth is not more widely expressed or debated in the mainstream public culture.

Perhaps a symptom of this lies in the fact that Death and the Nihilistic philosophy it entails is the prevailing philosophy of the modern culture.

The emblematic nature of Death as moral or immoral is at the heart of the truth, justice and Libertarian values that define the United States of America as the great example of these values.

In the past 5 years I have moved from the beginnings of education to the final year of undergraduate college education.

I have experienced much of collectivism and self-interest, read deeply on social, economic, technical, political issues and in this search, I still come to conclude that the individual will define the morality of one’s life as well as the ultimate definition of this morality in death.

Ayn Rand’s heroic overview of “morality” as enshrined in Atlas Shrugged is a philosophy where each of the major and minor characters lives his life within the context of values inherent in that individual.

The interplay of individual characters through out the story, coupled with the characterizations of heroic and destructive values is key to fully understanding the morality or immorality of death.

The answer of who is John Galt defines the nature of the morality of life and the values inherent in death within the individual spirit and work of the man.

His character reflects his own wish to be left to live and work for the true benefit of his own life and to bring the world to a stop if he so chooses through the application or non-application of that work.

The positive morality of Death therefore would be the individual’s right to defend one’s life and work in a self interested manner, to if need be defend the moral, rational and conscious choice of living for the self, being a means to an end to benefit the interest of the self.

The morality of Death as in life is the ability to take any path of ones choosing to the point of death so long as it is consistent with that view of living as a means to an end for the self interest of the individual.

The ultimate drive of life is the inherent passion one has to survive and be creative and productive in defining ones existence within the context of self interest and the role this plays in one’s life.

Too often the premise on the Morality of Death that Atlas Shrugged speaks about is defiled, mocked and destroyed by a society bent upon the aim of subjugating the interest of the individual by destroying individualistic values and victimization of those who so choose to defend that individualist end.

Why would a great steel industrialist work for his own destruction? Why would a composer give up his career on the night of his greatest triumph? Why must a beautiful woman running a transcontinental railroad fall in love with the man she has vehemently sworn to kill?

The aforementioned questions are the ultimate metaphysical and philosophical quandary to the uneducated.

Those who blindly ask why the individual would of their own choosing do such a thing?

The endemic value of a society based upon the negativist view of death would ask why the individual would defiantly rage against the expectations of a collective society for its own good, when clearly the parasitic expectations of that “public good” would clearly be best served by the subjugation of the individual to the philosophy and action of the collective good.

Thus, denouncing the individual and forcing that individual to become subsumed by the societal interest, sacrificing this to the expectations of the invisible hand of a society not defined by rational self-interest but by the destructive premise of altruism.

It is John Galt’s right to live his life as he saw fit within the context of his own rational set of values and creative work.

It is Hank Rearden’s right to live his life as he sees fit, to define his moral standards by his own work and life.

It is Dagny Taggart’s right to live, love and work to the achievement of her own rational self-interest.

This is not to define the individuals right within the context of altruistic values or regulations.

This is to define self-interest in the context of the individual as portrayed by Atlas Shrugged as the greatest expression of that individual’s ability in the natural and inspired sense.

No one individual can or must define for another what course they will or will not take.

The ability to live, love and work must not be defined by societies collective invisible hand. To study and not fully understand the ideals acted out by Atlas Shrugged is to entirely miss the literary premise from which it was created.

The nature and role of the morality of death is clearly defined by the values enshrined in the story. A punitive society bent on the destruction of mankind for the sake of altruism and removal of the individuals of rational self-interest who themselves stand against altruistic values is the crux of the story and the philosophical definition of the morality of death. The individual therefore defines the morality of death by the values and traits reflected in that individuals core philosophy and through the actions of that individual within the broader world to either rational self-interest of destructive altruism.

The Morality of Death gains this label through the novel because of and as a consequence of the philosophical premises upon which each individual lives out their life. Whether this morality is defined by rational self-interest or by destructive forces of collective altruism is purely for the individual to decide. To consciously destroy in the name of altruism is the negative morality of death. To consciously destroy to defend the rational principle of individual self-interest is a clear example of the morality of death. What form this defence takes and how it is enacted will be for the individual to decide. For as Socrates said to “Know thyself” is to understand the philosophical premises upon which the individual will operate both in the morality of life and the morality of death.