Command Liners

A little less than a year ago, after receiving confirmation of a second parent when I'm travelling, I decided to reintroduce rats as "animales de companie" into my life after a hiatus of several years. Fortunately, The Happy Rattery (FB) had tracked their birthdays and, I am pleased to announce, brothers Mayday and Mayhem have celebrated their first birthday, which makes them about 30 in human years. As an example of nominative determinism, their assigned names proved to be prescient. Mayhem, the larger of the two and with an appropriate bandit mask, is gregarious and boisterous, whereas the smaller Mayday is a lot more circumspect and a little even nervous about the world. Typical of their behaviour, these little brothers have provided a great deal of joy to my life with their antics, especially their remarkable rat-engineering projects; I was very surprised when they tried to add a bag of pegs to their home construction.

Currently 3.7K kilometres away, I am very thankful to Kate R., for looking after the rats in my absence. Delightfully, she provided them a little bit of cupcake for their birthday, complete with a candle. Meanwhile, at the top-end, Lara D. has purchased some Banksy-rat decals for our apartment, MrBlueSky, which we installed this evening in honour of Mayday and Mayhem. Further, because it must be mentioned, a few days ago the Australian water rat, the Rakali (Hydromys chrysogaster) won the ABC award for Australia's under-rated animal as part of National Science Week (I give honourable mention to the marsupial mole). Common in Melbourne's waterway, I derive a great deal of delight watching rakali, especially as they swim at speed, their white-tipped tail hoisted like a flag.

My advocacy for rats can now be measured in decades, and I like to think this has had some effect on their reputation and welfare. There is an excellent essay from Aeon ("Rats are Us") which highly the juxtaposition between the rat and animal welfare laws (essentially non-existent in the United States, it can be harrowing reading) and the scientific evidence that I have raised many times over the decades; they are social animals with communication, they are capable of past memories and future prediction, they are dreamers, they have a highly developed sense of empathy (even for strangers), they love to play, they like to learn (even driving rat-sized cars). With their sentience ("sentus", to feel) certain, and their sapience ("to know") evident, what of their consciousness ("shared knowledge")? The rat is us.

I've boarded the silver bird and landed in Darwin, where I'll be staying in Mr Blue Sky in Darwin City, which I still have to remind myself that I am a co-owner. Co-owner Lara and tenant Adam have been wonderful hosts to me, with Cocoa rabbit, the 11-year-old spritely dwarf, providing great entertainment as always. The weather here is of magnificent quality; consistently in the high twenties, clear skies, and gentle cool breezes off Darwin harbour with delightful views across to the National Park. From this vantage point, it's all rather idyllic.

There are nominal household matters to sort out, but it is a convenient time for the Darwin Festival. I have a lifelong interest in aesthetics, which I have to grudgingly accord myself a modest analytical ability. From metaphor, referentiality, creativity, technique, persistence, and connections, I must also confess some apparent predictive skill when evaluating the future success of self-proclaimed artists. Darwin's contribution to the fine arts is not exactly famous, being small and distant, but there are plenty of opportunities in the programme which will receive a fair review in the week to come.

In the meantime, I was blessed yesterday with a second opportunity to visit to the Menzies School of Health Research (Charles Darwin University) (not to be confused with the Menzies Institute for Medical Research (University of Tasmania), let alone the Menzies Research Centre of the Liberal Party. The Darwin Menzies centre particularly interests me as they have a small high performance computing system, which has a few file system and management issues, but nevertheless great to see that it's there! I was hosted by Anto Trimarsanto, a medical researcher in malaria (specifically Plasmodium vivax), who also dutifully informed me that Menzies has an outpost in Timor-Leste. My brain is now working on how to combine these multiple interests.

What Fassbinder film is it? The one-armed man comes into the flower shop and says: "What flower expresses days go by, and they just keep going by endlessly, endlessly pulling you into the future. Days go by endlessly, endlessly pulling you into the future?" And the florist says: "White Lily."

The film is Berlin Alexanderplatz, and the flowers are white carnations. But I think Laurie Anderson cast a better metaphor than Fassbinder in this case. For there is a language of flowers (the best English-language book wit this title is "The Language of Flowers; with Illustrative Poetry") which provides encoded messages between sender and recipient. "By all the token-flowers that tell. What words can never speak so well... Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ!" (Lord Byron, "The Maid of Athens"). It is a well-known convention that white lilies are for funerals, and many may know that it has a symbolic value of remembrance, and fewer still that it is for restoration. But "The Language of Flowers" (p148) says something different. It speaks of, in the continental tradition (fleur-de-lis), of the lily representing nothing less than majesty.

Another tradition which I have become familiar with during my time in Timor-Leste was "hatais metan" ("wear black"). From the information I have received, it is used for those in mourning, in remembrance of those no longer with us, an often expressed in wearing a small square of fabric attached to one's clothes. After a year, the item is removed, "kore metan" ("untying the black") and typically a reflective party is held for those who shared the loss, not unlike the Celtic ceremonial wake. The tradition made a lot of sense to me; it is deeply respectful to mourn a person for a year, but even a departed spirit would want someone to continue to live their life. Besides, as the Sufi comic Nasreddin Hodja pointed out, a lot can happen in a year. Maybe the horse will even learn to sing!

Indeed, a lot has happened in my life since last August. I have travelled to China three times (including visiting Qomolangma-Everest and The Great Wall) and New Zealand once, and presented at three international conferences. I have run 17 workshops on high performance computing and parallel programming, along with additional guest lectures at the University of Melbourne. I've started a climatology doctorate, which I am powering my way through, purchased (half) a property in Darwin and paid off my apartment in Southbank. I conducted a fundraising campaign for the Isla Bell Charitable Fund through the RPG Review Cooperative and also published three issues of the namesake journal. My health has improved "somewhat" with a very strong exercise and diet regimen. And, at the point of being a little ridiculous in my sensitivities, I have two new pet rats in my life.

It all adds to the metaphor; the idea of the days pulling us to the future, a trajectory from remembrance, through restoration, toward majesty. At least it is the wish of the sender of white lilies to their departed recipient. As for the memory? I have also untied my own version of the black cloth. I once received a little cartoon self-portrait that was delightful and beautiful, drawn on a reminder note (just to add to the narrative) with a declaration of affection that I took with the seriousness I accord to such stuff ("dreams are made of"). It has adorned my wall for a year, and every day I looked upon it in remembrance, gratitude, and respect. But now the portraiture has been taken down. The black band has been untied, and today I bought white lillies.