Lev Lafayette's journal

Most years, my "annual review" consists of a single post. This year has required three and a half; a health update, a vocational update, an academic update, and this one. Even by my standards, 2024 was quite extraordinary. In February, I walked into my first committee meeting of the Australia-China Friendship Society state branch, walked out as president, and since then have been involved in several events related to that role. I've also continued as president of the libertarian-socialist Isocracy Network, whose website attracts critical articles from various sources. I travelled to Darwin twice, once for the ACFS National Conference (where I became a director), and on the second visit, I bought an apartment with Lara D. I travelled to Bali and Tibet, the latter including a visit to Qomolangma (aka Mount Everest). In virtual realities, I've continued as president of the RPG Review Cooperative, writing numerous articles and editing for our namesake journal. A related interest playtesting a new and insightful boardgame, "The Happiest Rat" and, for the first time in several years, adopting two new rats (Mayday and Mayhem) as companion animals who bring such joy with their antics.

Credit must go to my dearest and closest friends, who have kept me inspired and at least somewhat sane. Over the past year, this must include my stylish and honourable Lara D., the ever-loyal and steadfast Erica H., comrades and advisors Anthony L., and Robin M., the ever-effervescent Mel S., my old friends from Perth days Liana F., and Julie A., a colourful and enchanting newcomer Ruby M., my co-worker Dan T., the unexpected reappearance of an old friend, Kayo T, and my favourite Adelaide anarchist, Paula D. Yes, there is a notable and unintentional gender-bias among my nearest and dearest, but there have been many times that I have experienced the kindness and support from women in recent years. This said, two great men in my life, unfortunately, died this year: my mentor and close friend of almost forty years, Bruce Tapper, and shortly after that, fellow intellectual, SF aficionado and gamer Peter Lyons. Both those events were heartbreaking, and the fact that so many reached out to offer support and condolences has touched me deeply.

"A world without love would be no world", wrote Goethe in the "Roman Elegies". My most significant romantic experience this year was several months with a young woman of aesthetic inclinations. She came on pretty strong and early with some substantive propositions, and whilst I do believe in "à coup la foudre", my concerns were unfortunately prescient when she broke off our affair. I look back on this far-too-brief period with enormous gratitude and much wistfulness; mixed emotions are allowed, and this is not just a lament for a gem. She brought just the right level of wildness and whimsical humour to my life that elevated my persistent melancholy, and I believe I gave consistency and encouragement that she was a clever and creative person with a good heart. Such a statement is, of course, utterly sincere, but also comes from a place of critical and extensive lived experience. Nevertheless, in a year of so many successes, I cannot shake the feeling that this was my one tragic failure for the year. As The Bard quipped, the course never did run smooth.

In the past few days I've finished the readings for the cognitive science course The Behaving Brain at Auckland University; one short exam to go for this penultimate course. One of the final topics on the subject was memory and how it is less than perfect. Some discussion ensued on the forums on the matter leading to the matter of memory and people with Borderline Personality Disorder, which apparently I know a little bit about, and then an invitation to take up the matter of memory, identity diffusion, and BPD as a topic for postgraduate research. I had to decline that one, I'm already too damaged by it. Still, nice to receive the invitation, I suppose. Apropos, I have also just finished the latest edition of the well-titled (and well-researched) popular science book on the topic, "I Hate You - Don't Leave Me". One day I should make a list and short reviews of the perhaps too many books I have read on this subject; perhaps as an appendix to my existing, more formal, summary.

Another matter of the final topic of the cognitive science course was (finally) a bit of a mention of "positive psychology". The basic precepts of positive psychology I find quite correct - such as the argument that traditional psychology is "half-baked", dealing primarily with the clinical and pathologies rather than providing at least more input to encouraging even better outcomes for people who are, more or less, emotionally healthy. As a result, I have enrolled in the Yale University short course, "The Science of Well Being" which comes with very good reviews. I am, of course, very cynical of individualistic "toxic positivity" as it has been called ("turn that frown upside down!"), and find myself far more interested in "tragic optimism" as an alternative. At least, from initial viewing, there is greater evidence in support of such an approach. Because despite my cheery exterior, by both temperament and character, I am a pretty miserable person inside and it is really only in recent years than I have found myself able to speak of it. "But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave" (Milton).

Friday's dinner was a wonderful meeting of some rather impressive minds. Gathered at the Rookery I was enjoined by three political allies, namely Maggie S (former Melbourne editor of "Vogue" no less, thank you), Wesa C (CEO of Cultural Intelligence, recent Labor candidate for Prahran), and Sarah H (recently elected National President of the Fabian Society). It was quite an exuberant evening, rather like the classic play and movie "Don's Party" as one attendee quipped, that covered a range of contemporary matters on politics, worker's rights, and the aesthetic dimension. The previously enjoyed triple-smoked ham from Aldi did lead to attendees saying it was the best they'd ever had, so I guess that was a plus as well.

On the topic of the aesthetic dimension, today Erica H. and I ventured to the National Gallery of Victoria for the Alexander McQueen exhibition. I am by no means a fashionista, although I do have a few items that carry a certain style (mostly inherited). McQueen however is quite exceptional; drawing upon sources as diverse as antiquity, early modernism, Bauhaus, gothic-punk, Scottish dress, and much more, he certainly left a great impression for a career that was comparatively recent and sadly shortened by his own early death.

Regular friends and readers would probably know I've been in an on-again, off-again relationship over the past few years. In that time said partner has broken up with me four times or so. Each time I've accepted them back into my life and treated their apologies as genuine; I'm a person of emotional moderation, stability, and commitment, and they're prone to extremes, instability, and temporary affections. Well, today they broke up with me again in the usual fashion. Except for this time, I feel nothing but great relief and happiness. It is, in the parlance, "the Final Discard". For far too long I played the role of caretaker and rescuer, rendering assistance and receiving punishment. No emotionally healthy person would want to be treated like I've been treated, and I let my sympathetic nature get the better of me. But those days are in my past; what it came down to was that only one of us was making an effort. Tonight I break open the champagne and celebrate!

Weekend social activities were pretty good, visiting a good friend in their new home as their first official guest (of course I brought champagne and chocolate-coated strawberries, what sort of person do you think I am?), and receiving the ever-loyal Erica H., for some episodes of "Archer". But a personal highlight was going to The Astor Theatre on Sunday evening to watch Godard's À bout de souffle (aka "Breathless"). Unable to rustle up fellow film-lovers, I went by myself to see this in true critic style and dressed up for the occasion as one should when attending The Astor. I love "Breathless", it's one of my favourite films of all time; jump-cuts, semi-improvised, a tragic narrative, comedic, heavily referencing other films, and of course, Jean Seberg still leaves me weak at the knees. But most importantly, it is shortly after Jean-Luc Godard's euthanasia, and this will be his lasting contribution to film art.

It's a curious phrase "À bout de souffle" ("to the end of breath", literally translated which is very appropriate how the film ends) and as life imitates art, I have a fair bit of breathlessness myself at the moment. This week I've been running three supercomputing workshops, Introduction to Linux and HPC, Advanced Linux and Shell Scripting for HPC, and High Performance and Parallel Python, and the latter really isn't an oxymoron but does require work. Unfortunately, I have also come down with quite a cold with a bit of a headache, low energy, and a phlegmy chest and cough. Running three days of workshops in such a state is quite a test of my own dedication and endurance, fortunately, both of which I have in spades. Also, with due diligence, I have taken a RAT and it tells me I'm corona-19 free. I will certainly be spending Thursday on sick leave, however.

Also leaving me utterly breathless in another manner was the recent discovery that a distant friend is not receiving the appropriate medical treatment for a chronic condition. The condition is the sort that will, on average, shave some 25 years off their lifespan. The treatment, known to be pretty successful, isn't horrendously expensive, but they just don't have two red cents to rub together. I just cannot help but think why their well-paid beau apparently hasn't come to the party. Maybe it's just me but I would have thought their life would be worth saving. Anyway, I am thinking out loud, and from a perspective of some ignorance. Maybe there are other circumstances at play, and I'm not going to inquire (or elaborate) any further.

I'll be playing catch-up on journal entries over the next few days, as the short trip to Perth was certainly a rather extraordinary series of events and developments. The first couple of days was settling into my temporary accommodation at Bailey's Motel which has large rooms, a great location (just outside the CDB proper), and is inexpensive. It also just so happened to be in the same block as the restaurant for Sunday dinner. In any case, the initial days of the visit were spent with some relaxation. I was collected at the airport by Bruce T., and we proceeded to the Maylands Dome for a late lunch which remains a rather lovely historic local building. That evening I caught up with Angela D., whom I haven't seen in person for over twenty-five years although we've had plenty of discussions in the last two! After a strange and disastrous visit to Winston C's, we ventured two doors down to Bar Lafayette, which is one of my favourite places in Perth and not just on account of the name - the décor is very much to my taste.

The following day was mostly free, so I spent it walking around my old stomping grounds of East Perth. This is where I spent my final year of Year 12, aged 17, almost living of "no fixed address" and with virtually no income to speak of for much of the period. East Perth was a very different suburb back then, much inhabited by the lotsam, jetsam, lagan, and derelict of society, of which I was certainly one. Due to an extensive urban renewal program starting in the 1990s almost all of the very dilapidated apartment blocks where I would find a temporary address among young people with substance abuse issues and extensive criminal records, are almost all gone, replaced by modern apartment blocks. The exceptions are the rooming house, now refurbished into individual apartments, and a rather giant brutalist block where I was fortunate enough to move in with a Chinese family with gambling issues; five of us lived in a one-bedroom apartment and that was a step up in my life for that year!

Somehow I did finish year 12 and went to University. In my first year, it was fair to say that my income was raised from "desperate" to "very poor" and likewise the standard of accommodation was raised accordingly. Those old clinker-brick apartments on Adelaide Terrace and opposite Langely Park are all gone now as well, replaced in the latter case by towers overlooking the Swan River. Gone is the rambling friendly household of Dutch communists and their wonderful and wild-spirited daughter, gone is the 24-7 party house where everyone was handed a blunt upon entrance. Yet I remember a visit by the gas authority to my old bedsit who turned it off on account of how badly the pipes were leaking. "Why are you still alive?", was the gas fitter's first words after conducting the check. All these places are history now, but it is from history that we must forget where we are now. Never forget where you came from.

As the countdown to the end of 2021 approaches, I am welcoming the end of what has been an unpleasant year in many respects, whether I consider my unfortunate prescient comments at the start of the year on COVID-19 cases and deaths, or some rather challenging times in interpersonal affairs. All of these have had quite a toll on initial plans ("Events, my dear boy, events", as attributed to Harold MacMillan). When I think in terms of other years it probably counts as the second-worst year of my life; my last year of high school was a little harder in hindsight but I was perhaps too young to realise how bad it was. Nevertheless, despite the difficulties, I really have been fortunate to have sufficient personal resources and caring friends whose support over the year which really have helped me through and I actually feel slightly confident about 2022. As is my wont, I will do a more complete review in a few day's time as I account for the activities and challenges over the year, although I will note that the phrase "annus horribilis" was apparently first used in 1870 as an Anglican response when the Roman Catholic Church established papal infallibility. Mind you, as a pantheist I experience divine revelations all the time.

I have been on leave this week because that's how the University does things, but unlike a typical end-of-year, I haven't gone into a mad panic trying to get things done by the artificial deadline. Nevertheless, four fairly significant events have occurred in these last days. The first was a visit from my dear friend Mel S., with whom we spent a good day in banter over politics, music, the pandemic, etc. The second was putting together an article on "The Political Economy of Workers' Cooperatives", which I must acknowledge that various discussions with AnCaps actually helped a great deal. It must be said that thoughts on the matter are leading me to consider such a body for my Wild Flying Geese project, but that will be something for 2022. The third event was being featured in a case study on supercomputing by Dell, which includes an advertisement for Dell kit on Youtubue. The final was confirmation that I book that I was the lead contributor for a chapter has reached the stage of pre-print, Cybersecurity and High-Performance Computing Environments. Every so often, prior work that one has done generates results.

A few weeks ago the Premier of New South Wales resigned when it was discovered that they were under investigation by the Independent Commission Against Corruption. The conservative media and the Prime Minister took the opportunity to attack the ICAC, describing it as "a real problem". Of course, the Prime Minister has been resisting for years the establishment of a Federal ICAC. Now that the inquiry has begun the avalanche of attacks on the ICAC have come to a sudden end, and for good reason. Take the opportunity to listen to the 'phone taps that the ICAC conducted whilst investigating the premier. Decide for yourself whether the words reflect the sort of comments that you would expect good stewards and public-minded representatives to engage in. Whilst we may cynically claim that "all politicians are the same", it is demonstrably not the case. But there will certainly be more corruption and nepotism if you don't have an ICAC and public disclosure.

As per my last two entries, I have spent a good portion of my past workweek delving deeper into cryo-electron microscopy. Part of it has been working through the 29-step simplified tutorial for RELION with a view of converting it to a series for dependent jobs for the Slurm Workload Manager, along with the more obvious task of updating a version of the tutorial due to local difference in version and configuration options. In addition to these, I gave a presentation to Cryo-EM researchers and HPC sysadmins at the University of New South Wales which included discussions on what we do here, and what their situation is. Whilst I'm still putting the quasi-transcript notes together (it was quite long, which the slides do not illustrate as there was plenty of examples), the common matters of extremely large datasets (as in the multiple petabytes per week range), hefty processing requires, and very fast and close network connectivity for interactive tasks was discussed. On a related note, work also hosted a presentation by Associate Professor Douglas Boyle on the GRHANITE Health Informatics Unit, which does some great GP-aggregated, but de-identified, individual epidemiology.

As a gregarious person, I have had very little human contact in the past week. For most of the week, the only in-person communication I engaged in was a few brief comments to the checkout assistant at the local Aldi. Yet, despite this, I have been happy enough and productive enough in my own company; well my company and that of Sabre cat, who is a rather good conversationalist in her own right, especially when it comes to a second breakfast or second dinner. And there has been some online gaming as well over video conferencing (Mage The Awakening, Band of Blades). Anyway, the weekend beckoned and I've spent some time in the company of lei_loo, which whilst it was excellent enough in its own right, also included the added bonus of watching the New Zealand movie "Boy" a drama which was both funny and sad at the same time. Anyway, I'll be starting up my rolling lunch-dinner-drinks housewarming(s) now that such things are allowed, but cautious we go. Double-vaxxed people through my door, thank you very much.

Starting with the good news, it turns out that I do not have cancer on the chronic wound. Indeed, the wound itself is dissipating with the application of antibiotics, ointments, and now steroids. Apparently, my immune system is hyper-responsive to any infections in my lower legs and adopts a 'scorched earth policy which can make matters worse. At least I know that it works, I suppose. In the next several days I should get my blood tests back for liver enzymes, low-density lipoproteins, blood-sugar levels, and the like. I am predicting that these will fall into the normal-good range given my change in diet and exercise over the last eighteen months. With further good news, I have had my second shot of AstraZeneca, with no side effects. Obviously, I think that the Pfizer vaccine is superior, but this is "good enough" in the face of the pandemic, and I would not hesitate for a moment to recommend that people get whatever vaccine is available. Not just for your own sake, but especially for the sake of others. If you're near Melbourne city, I also recommend taking the opportunity to take the shot at the Royal Exhibition Building, which has UNESCO World Heritage status for good reasons.

Of course, physical health is not the only consideration. I was particularly taken by recent news that during the height of Victoria's coronavirus restrictions, almost one-in-ten seriously considered suicide and with a third reporting symptoms of anxiety or depression. I will quite openly admit that was among those one-in-ten, and with far more seriousness than my usual existential malaise. Individual issues appear in aggregate as collective trauma, whether it is triggered by a loss of income, employment, relationship issues, household tensions, and the general weariness of the pandemic's march, etc. It also has been pointed out that 2021 might be worse; "A lot of people paced themselves for 2020, and maybe not for 2021" as we downsize our desires to flourish to mere survival mode, which fits my own concerns at the beginning of the year that this one was going to be worse. How much worse, generally and more in my personal life, I seriously under-estimated. It's not as if I don't have ambit plans for the future on paper, some quite grand, and I'm doing my best to carry them out, but when I try to visualise myself in five years' time, I'm simply no longer getting any pictures. It is like my sense of hope has been ripped out of me.

As gentle readers will know much of this has to do with misfortunes of the heart. My emotional commitments were deep and true, made for an exciting and promising future, and I believed, so sincerely, that they were reciprocated. There were grounded reasons that the experiences were often expressed to a wider audience in metaphor and subtlety. But that must change for the sake of autobiographical honesty. It is important for one to be true to their history in order to learn from it. Thus, over the next several weeks, I plan to make a number of small changes to my entries whether in text (LJ/DW) or image (FB) to elucidate this reality. I approach this task with the view of a restorer of the past, rather than an editor for contemporary standards. I do not wish to change, alter, or delete any of the facts based on current feelings. Such actions is rather Stalinist, and I could not tolerate my soul to be stained with such deception to itself.

Late last year I received a message late in the night by a worried individual, one Wajeeha K. Somebody was pretending to be me on a particular dating application that has a less than salubrious reputation. It is, of course, part of the disadvantage of being a somewhat public person that the would-be stalker in question was able to use my name, find a couple of papers I had written, and claim that they were me. It was also an advantage of being a somewhat public person that the veracity of some of their claims was easily checked and I could be easily contacted. The fake-Lev was saying some particularly strange things that were quite out of character (e.g., "I like brown women", well, I do like some, but not because they're brown), and Wajeeha, being a scholar in the social sciences herself, asked what social theory I was using for my doctoral thesis. The fake-Lev's response, "normal distribution", is hilarious to anyone who knows an inkling of social theory or statistics for that matter. Naturally enough, Wajeeha contacted the police about the would-be stalker who were as helpful as can be expected: "Be careful", they said. Really? One wonders what the results could have been if the pretender had contacted someone with a little less knowledge or investigative skill. Frankly, it's terrifying.

But because a good life enjoys a dash of a positive ironic narrative, Wajeeha and I have become friends. Earlier this week she had the opportunity to meet the real-Lev in person over coffee at the Victoria Markets, followed by a meander through the Flagstaff Gardens. One cannot help but be impressed by how far she has travelled, literally and as a person over the years. From being raised in patriarchal Pakistan, subject to an arranged marriage, coming to Australia, separating from her partner who has "anger management issues" (we know what that means), bringing up two children under sole custody, working, and completing a PhD on the use of performance indicators in local governments (which has just been submitted, congratulations). One can only begin to imagine the difficulties involved in time management, stress, and even a degree of social ostracism from her own community for being a scholar, for being independent, and for standing up for her domestic rights. There are people in this world who have remarkable inner strength and engage in remarkable personal development, and I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to meet them.

After spending most of the week without human contact (and going slowly mad as a result) due to lockdown conditions in wintery Melbourne, the weekend has featured multiple such contacts. On Friday cycled up to Bulleen Park to take an absolutely lovely walk along the Yarra River with Li F. We have a rather lovely friendship that spans over thirty years, although there was a gap of more than a decade. In our youth, we were partners on a couple of occasions for a while, and apropos previous entries I do make an effort to ensure lasting friendships among those who have shared that slice of life to me. As I undergo further packing for the move, I also chanced upon a photo of us shortly after we met; we met as teenagers at a gay bar dancing to Bananarama's cover of "Venus", 'cause that's what pop kids would do, right? The following day I dropped off groceries to caseopaya and chatted through the doorway at a minimum safe distance, and then caught up at Flagstaff Gardens with Jac and Damien. These multiple experiences of meeting with flesh-and-blood human beings has provided a necessary boost to oxytocin levels and has improved my mood somewhat in these rather dark days.

As regular readers would know, I recently have experimented with the online dating world, and bless the algorithm it has found a lecturer of philosophy who shares an interest in transcendental pragmatics, which one must admit is a pretty rare match. In a somewhat less salubrious experience, Linda (46) simply left me the message of "Go live in China you moron", clearly taking umbrage at my profile that says I would like to meet "Xi Jinping, as the single person who could probably do the most good in the world if they make the right decisions", which seems to be just a statement of fact, really. I might be single at the moment because of my own decisions some eighteen months ago (albeit with much hand-wringing), and more recently because my former partner had a rather dramatic change of expressed opinion at a critical juncture (sad as it can be, we allow people to make poor life choices). But never, I can thankfully say, have I trolled members of any website to leave insulting and racist remarks. I think we know why you're single, Linda (46), and I am sure you will find the man you richly deserve.

But there is a sense in which racist Linda is correct. I will go live in China, or at least try to! The Flying Geese project continues to gain some wings, and I give a special thank you to some of my new Facebook friends who are pointing me in the right direction for this construction project that dominates my future life. With my strategy of extensive language learning first and then intensive study afterward, I have also appropriately finally completed the Duolingo tree for standard Chinese (read: Mandarin). Of course, with this caveat I have but only a basic understanding of the language, but at least I have been exposed to some moderately more complex phrases. I still don't expect any degree of real competence for at least another three to five years, as there's an estimated 2,000 hours of active learning required for us English native speakers. Like most things in life, genuine success is not an exciting, rapid, impulsive, all-or-nothing affair, but rather something that is gained incrementally and carefully over time.