November 11, 2011

Another auspicious date. This time it isn’t binary for the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything, but something much more important: the temperature of the perfect coffee. There will be the usual weddings and nerd parties. Some will have labour induced or even hail Caesar to improve their child’s numerological (if not natal) fortune. The Great Pyramid will close to avoid esoteric rituals.

Many will take a minute or two for remembrance of the Great War armistice, and wartime casualties in general, or possibly of sacrifices for our ungratefully enjoyed freedom and liberty, depending on the reactionary quotient of one’s memetic cenotaphery. Yet it takes a certain insulation from the aftershocks of trauma to snoot so comfortably at nationalistic hijacking. A while back, the eldest had been playing Call of Duty on his XBOX and asked his grandfather how realistic it was. Watching some of Damien Parer’s documentaries online, they were stunned to discover, left of screen at 3:12 of The Assault on Salamaua:

—their father/great-grandfather at 21 in his upturned slouch hat, of the 2/3 Commandos, engaged in the jungles of New Guinea. A piercing simulacrum.


One Response to “11/11/11”

  1. […] do I keep marking these days? To prove I can find meaning in inanity? Or at least alliteration and pattern? Our tripled twelve […]

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