Money is Diseased Barter

I used the title to this post in a tweet and was asked to explain myself. So here goes.

From the start I will say that I am not an economist and I am not a political scientist. I am, however am amateur social historian. So don’t expect to many sources. Just opinions gained from a study of mankind.

In the beginning, as all second-rate tales start, there were hunters and gatherers. The only way they could survive was to act as a group. Everything was shared. the only sin was doing something which would harm the group. Traditionally men hunted, often unsuccessfully for meat while women gathered, luckily with much more success, fruits, roots, garin and any little critters which could give a mouthful of protein to a hungry tribe.

Then women discovered that settling down and cultivating plant foods gave a much better return. So the first villages were developed. The first known was around 12,000 years ago at M’lefaat in Iraq

The range of skills needed to live in a village grew as did the available food.. There had to be house builders, and potters. Yet all produce was still shared. As the nomadic hunter gatherers of the region began to see how well these strange “villagers” lived, they decided to drop in and take a share. They became the first conquerors and took over the running of the settlement. And took a share of the produce in return for their role as “Protectors”. The first criminals and the first taxation. and the first cells of the money cancer grew on the barter system

Over the millenia, villages grew into cities and the idea of communal

Many ancient Egyptian writings were accounts of "gifts" to the Pharaoh

Many ancient Egyptian writings were accounts of “gifts” to the Pharaoh

sharing disappeared into a golden age of myth. Instead there were kings who took a share of the produce to redistribute it to the non-producing protectors. Somewhere along the line shamans became important and used their persuasive powers to convince the common people that they had to support their King who was a representative of the God who provided the water and the good crops the city depended on.

What has happened now is that a producer; grain, fruit, animal or manufacture, had to present a proportion of their production to the Rulers, both temporal and spiritual. It meant that differeing values were put on different items. One gazelle might be worth ten baskets of wheat. A basket may be two baskets of wheat. A basket of chick peas may be two baskets of wheat.

money3The beginning of the end, the end we are seeing now, was when traders began to move goods between cities. They would take a small part of the proceeds as payment. A form of currency had to be invented to allow the new system to work. Kings loved the idea. they no longer needed large buildings to house their tax gatherings. Traders loved it because they could skim off a little more than they needed to live and so build themselves a bigger house or keep a second wife.

Some smart nomads discovered they could make a very good living by ambushing trading parties and taking their currency. Bandits were an important step in the growth of the money cancer. The created a need for secure movement of money from one city to another. Since there were money movements each way and they more or less balanced out, a smart group of people started to keep accounts instead of moving physical money. They became the first bankers. By  now barter was forgotten and everything had a money value. The bankers were able to skim small percentages off each transaction and so created quite large holdings of ready money. So much they were able to lend to Kings who wanted to make expensive war.money2

Bankers became the defacto rulers and in the past couple of centuries have set about gathering more and more of the available money. They now own the  Governments and Churches. The cancer keeps on growing. Those bankers are almost a hereditary group of hidden families who are the true rulers of the Earth. Their reason for existence has become the gathering in of more and more of the wealth created by the “little people”. They now fund both sides of wars, take a high proportion of money meant for disaster relief and tell Governments how much they can spend.

The removal of the “Gold Standard” in the 1930’s took away the last connection money had with reality and the end became inescapable. Even the Bankers have forgotten that money is but a repressentaion of the value of a real thing.

With computerisation, it has become ever easier for the bankers to accumulate more. And there is no longer anything real about money. It is just electrons in a mainframe.  This leaves ever less for the vast mass of humanity. Some of those “little people” have been deluded into thinking that running a gold mine or an iron ore mine means that they are important and rich. They do money1not see that their few billions are small change to the bankers trillions.

The money cancer has almost completely taken over human society and the sickness can only result in the death of that society. Only a world-wide revolution and a massive thinning of humanities numbers will allow a healthy society to return.

It will be brutal and many will be lost but it is now inevitable.

Money is diseased barter and must be cut out if we, as a species, are to return to a healthy way of interacting. When we again become hunters and gatherers.


The Very First F-Bomb

How good is this?

An image is spotted on FaceBook and a little research finds so much more.

So, where did it all begin and where does that image come from?

The sources quoted are worth reading in full!

The first recorded use

The first instance of use of the word “fuck,” came from a satirical poem, written in Latin, in the year 1500. The line is referring to a group of friars, and runs like this: “Non sunt in coeli, quia gxddbov xxkxzt pg ifmk.” If it suddenly starts looking like Kryptonian instead of Latin after the word quia, it’s because it had to be written in code. Each letter of the word was swapped out for the letter following it in the alphabet. Remember that the alphabet was in a different order back then, and that Latin conjugates verbs differently, but gxddbov translates as “fuccant.” The overall line states, “They are not in Heaven, since they fuck the wives of Ely.” That is one racy poem!

Those early scibes were a clever lot. We learn to read and write but how many of our modern educated people could code like this, knowing that others would know how to decode. We stoop to “fxck” using the “x” because “v” and “w” are too close to the substituted letter.

The image below is of a page transcribed by a monk in 1528.

The transcription was of  “De Officiis” (On Duties or On Obligations), an essay written by Marcus Tullius Cicero during October and November 44 BC. This was Cicero’s last year alive, and he was 62 years of age. The work is divided into three books, in which Cicero expounds his conception of the best way to live, behave, and observe moral obligations. It was considered so important during the 1400’s and 1500’s that it was the second book to be printed on Gutenberg’s Press, after the Bible.




It is difficult to know whether the annotator intended “fucking” to mean “having sex,” as in “that guy is doing too much fucking for someone who is supposed to be celibate,” or whether he used it as an intensifier, to convey his extreme dismay; if the latter, it anticipates the first recorded use by more than three hundred years. Either is possible, really—John Burton, the abbot in question, was a man of questionable monastic morals.

John Burton was Abbott of Burton Abbey from 1305 too his death in 1316. There were several other “John”s as Abbot.

John de Stafford from 1260 to 1281
John of Ibestock from 1347 to 1366
John de Sudbury from 1400 to 1424

In 1528 the Abbott was William Beyne. He held office 1501-1531. He was followed by John Beaton who was Abbott from 1532-1533, just before the Reformation.

The Abbey appears to have had a lot of moral and financial problems over the centuries and certainly from the mid 1200’s onwards there were rumours of immorality amongst its leaders and the monks.

If the Scribe was referring to John de Burton, then he was doing so from legend and passed down tales within the Monastery. If he was referring to John Beaton, formerly prior of Burton, then perhaps he was anticipating a future promotion. Or perhaps there is a slight error in the timing of the above image.


I make no comment on the possibility that this scribe was clairvoyant; seeing the future of a Great South Land and the depths to which it could tumble.


War Is Not My Language

I posted these thoughts just over two years ago.

At a time much of the Western World was rejoicing at the death of a single, hated man.


I am drawn to repost them because I see a once great nation making the same mistake for the umpteeth time.

And its Citizens wonder why so many hate them.

Just because one man or nation kills other men in a particularly gruesome way, nothing is gained by revenge killing.


Consider the words of some of the wisest men to have lived on our planet.


“Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good.” Romans 12

“Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper
darkness to a night already devoid of stars.” Martin Luther King

“Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate.”
Martin Luther King

“I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.” Abraham Lincoln

“The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good
intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack
understanding.” Albert Camus

“Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.
Albert Einstein

“After victory, you have more enemies.” Cicero

“Violence, even well intentioned, always rebounds upon oneself.” Lao Tzu

“The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.” William Shakespeare

Finally, to put me into context, from the bizarre blog of the very sensible Raincoaster:-

War is not my language

الحـرب ليســـت لغتـي

מלחמה היא לא השפה שלי

Moved By A Morning Of Memories

The gathering had begun well before I arrived at 4:15am.

The first thousand were quietly walking towards the half-lit finger of granite which is our State War Memorial. The memorial where all who left this State and died for Australia are recorded. Just one of hundreds of memorials and lists of names scattered around Western Australia.

The Flame of Remembrance was bright in the darkness.


I counted five big screens around the area so more could see what was about to happen on the steps of the Memorial.


Quiet and still. The growing crowd created only a small, low break in the pre-dawn silence. Hushed greetings between friends, generations and races.

A voice began speaking, talking of the building of the Burma Railway. That horrific event during World War Two. Leaving the past, he told us of what was to come. The Ode, the wreath-layings, the Last Post, the minute of silence and the Rouse. He requested silence of the silent, standing crowd during the formalities.

The Ode was shown on the screen and many recited it in their hearts yet only one voice spoke.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Lest we forget.

The Wreath-laying began. We had been warned that it would take time and it did.
The silence continued. In a football stadium sized crowd which had swelled to over 40,000 the silence was intense, tangible. Not even the babies complained. Close on a hundred wreaths were laid.

The Last Post was finally sounded and the still silent crowd straightened their backs just a little. Old men and women with walking sticks and in wheel-chairs, younger men and women along with their children all stood that little taller.

There were tears. Quiet, restrained but real as people remembered those they had lost or those they had never known.

The Rouse, Australia’s version of Reveille, was bugled and as the last note hung in the air, a lone magpie warbled. For even the birds had been silent during the service. A RAAF aircraft flew overhead.

A final speech was given, speaking of the silence. The silence we all know before we attempt something dangerous or difficult. The silence before the dawn.

And the sky continued to brighten.

As we slowly moved away still-quiet conversations were interrupted by a flight of six bi-planes which flew over.


With so many people all trying to leave I knew the traffic would be gridlocked for some time. So I went looking for the tree-plaque which honours my Great Uncle Ted. I found it and discovered that the tree which accompanies the plaque had been replaced. This is the third tree on this spot which has grown in his memory.



Every year all the plaques are decorated by a flower and a flag. The fallen are remembered.

I eventually drove out of Kings Park about an hour and a half after the Service had ended. It was only then that I realised that it had been a totally secular gathering. No prayers, hymns or sermons.

Just remembering what we have all lost.

Brisbane Floods

With two major floods in three years, Brisbanites were making comparisons with legendary floods from the past.

I found these two images from the 1893 flood in the Illustrated Sydney News, Saturday 18 February 1893.

Not being a Queenslander, I cannot make any judgements about the severity but it sure looks like a big one!

(There are two more images on page 14. The story is spread across both pages)



Finding An Old Friend

Back in the Olden Days

A fleet of ferries on the Swan were operated by Jack Olsen and Claes Sutton who operated as “Swan River Ferries Ltd”. Their vessels’ names all began with “V”. The Valfreda, Valkyrie I and II, Valhalla and the Valdhana ran along the southern shore of the Swan, between jetties at Point Belches (now the Southern end of the Narrows Bridge), Mends Street and Coode Street. This was before there was a bus service along the stretch of land between the Swan and Canning Rivers. The Government ferries ran from Barrack St across the river to Mends St.


After the war finished the long awaited bus service began and the Valhalla was sold to the Government.



It was during that time that I remember travelling across the river to the Zoo in the Valhalla. Pre-war my father had been a 14 year old crew member on the old “Duchess” which was the other ferry I remember travelling on back then. Back then? Late 1940’s and early 1950’s.

When the Narrows Bridge was opened in 1959 the bus service to South Perth was opened up and the ferry service declined. Amongst other changes, the Valhalla went out of service and disappeared.

So much for history. 

Today I boarded my own vessel, the Orange Pearl,miserable and headed into strange and unknown waters.

Instead of travelling downstream, I headed upstream. Up past the Maylands Boat Yard. And I saw it.

I had to double check, blink several times to ensure it wasn’t a mirage But it was real.

Old and almost derelict but being restored.

The Valhalla!


I wonder when I shall see it back on the river.

Persistent Mythologies; Part 1

I have a number of interests, many of which I have shared on this blog. Yet I have one secret passion which has lasted for many years


The real dragon. The one which was able to travel from Wales to Japan, slaying knights, stealing maidens and sowing fear and evil from the Basque country to the Isles of Japan. Except that the Dragons of the Far East suddenly appeared to be quite benign. Something had happened during their journey. Just where had their travels begun?
After a decade away from tracing their paths I am again drawn back to the search. The initial questions were asked four decades ago. During my research I found a need to ask further questions. Dragons are still a passion yet the other questions seem to take up more of my time because they need to be answered before I can make definite statements about the Origins of the Dragons.


How Old Can A Myth Be?

By its very nature a myth has its origins in the times before writing. In the oral traditions of pre-literate peoples.

One such story is from what is now the Port Philip Bay area of Victoria.

As told on the blog “Wilddogroad” comes a tale of the last major sea rise some 10,000 years ago and handed down in an unbroken oral tradition.

Bunjil is an Aboriginal god of creation

“Many years ago this land that we now call Melbourne extended right out to the ocean. Port Phillip Bay was then a large flat plain where Boonerwrung hunted kangaroos and cultivated their yam daisy.

But one day there came a time of chaos and crises. The Boonerwrung and the other Kulin nations were in conflict. They argued and fought. They neglected their children. They neglected their land. The native yam was neglected. The animals were killed but not always eaten. The fish were caught during their spawning season. As this chaos grew the sea became angry and began to rise until it covered their plain and threatened to flood the whole of their country.

The people went to Bunjil, their creator and spiritual leader. They asked Bunjil to stop the sea from rising. Bunjil told his people that they would have to change their ways if they wanted to save their land. The people thought about what they had been doing and made a promise to follow Bunjil. Bunjil walked out to the sea, raised his spear and directed the sea to stop rising. Bunjil then made the Boonerwrung promise that they would respect the laws.

The Australian Bureau of Meteorology, on its website, tells of the climate of Australia in the time of human habitation.

During the time-span of Aboriginal settlement in Australia, there have been great changes in the climate of the continent.

The main weather event of this era consisted of an ice age which arrived about 20,000 years ago and lasted for some 5,000 years, during which time the average temperatures fell by some 10 degrees, rainfall decreased, and cold, dry winds blew across the land.

What was previously a place of plenty, with ample water supplies and bountiful game, became a stark and inhospitable countryside which threatened the very survival of the Aboriginal people. It has been suggested that up to 80% of the entire population may have perished during this extended period of cold and dry weather.

The Bureau’s website goes on to say;

The Bibbulum people of the southwest Western Australia talk of a far off time when it was not as warm and congenial as it is today. Stories of this time begin with “In the nyitting times…” which translated means “In the icy cold times of long, long ago….”.

The implications are interesting. Aboriginal society was completely non-literate until European settlement yet they were able to keep folk memories of the Ice Age and its ending alive for around 10,000 to 15,000 years. Australia’s indigenous people keep much of their mythology hidden within “Secret Men’s Business” and “Secret Women’s Business”.  Information which is reserved for initiated elders. With the loss of Indigenous culture, most, if not all, of these myths will disappear.

Elsewhere in the world, there have been similar situations where the myths and stories of cultures have been destroyed along with the culture. Where there was no form of literature then the loss is irretrievable.

There is one obvious culture which was able to leave its myths and legends behind in a written form. Mesopotamia. The early Middle-Eastern cultures. Ranging through the Euphrates/Tigris valleys a series of villages transformed into towns and cities with rulers, agriculture, secondary industry and record keeping. The record keeping gradually developed into a written language and for the first time the oral history of the people living in those towns and cities were written down.

Some of those stories have been saved, either through the original stone tablet or a translation into another written language. Some of those stories have been returned to the oral tradition and rewritten. The tales they tell seem to be confusing, sometimes contradictory and down-right impossible. Yet beneath the stories of Gods and world-changing or creating events I believe there is a core of reality.

Not only a core of reality but a core of history stretching back into the unknown reaches of pre-history. History is only possible with written permanency. Anything which happened before writing is, by definition, pre-history. Just how far back can this oral, mythological form of history extend? In the instance of the Australian Aboriginal we can see a time line back to the end of the last ice age. A time of at least 15,000 years.

In the case of the early Middle Eastern civilizations, where writing was invented around 3,000bce, if we take 15,000 years as a reasonable time for an event to be handed down in an oral tradition, then we can add 5,000 years to the Australian example.

What events could we reasonably expect to find in the written myths of Mesopotamia? Possibly the entire human history of the Eurasian landmass. From before the beginning of the Holocene at the end of the last Ice Age some 13,000 years ago. Perhaps it may be possible to find traces of life during the last Ice Age in Europe and Asia. The cave paintings of Lascaux date to between 15 and 17,000 years before the present while Chauvet is dated at 32,000 years old.

Could a study of myth and legend take us back to the people who painted those caves? Could those tales take us back even further, to the humans who lived at the end of the middle palaeolithic? Is this all simply a pipe dream?

I have researched some myths and will write more as I assemble it into an approachable form. Somewhere in that mass of information are my dragons.


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