The deluged heart of the idle cosmopolite is a hut for no one

By golly, you know there must be a degree of emotional termult when you delve in Johann Gottfried Herder for your title! I have previously expressed an interest in the whole Sturm und Drang movement. But enough inner turmoil, I have a photograph to explain!

And isn't it action packed?

But why was I outside of a wine bar when I was supposed to be at work? Well, you would be forgiven for thinking that.

After work yesterday, I had to nip back into the maternity ward of the hospital to get a stamp on a form. This stamp would once and for all establish Ezra's existence in the eyes of the omnipotent bureaucratic apparatus that sits over all of us here in Australia. I am relived to now know that the little bloke is now real because I was starting to think that the shrieking little thing keeping me up all night was some sort of malevolent apparition.

But he has been just a dear little baby boy all along!

If that wasn't overwhelming enough, my journey to the hospital was made even more eventful for the appearance of not more apparitions, rather big trucks, screeching sirens and flashing coloured lights.

[In the fog of my tired head I hear Stanley Kowalski bellowing “STELLA! STELLA!!!” at the thought of those coloured lights.]

Where was I?

Oh, the photo. Christ I am tired.

Yeah, there must have been some alarm somewhere, and all of a sudden there were two fire engines and a whole mess of firemen (AND firewomen, I might add) back from rescuing cats up trees ready to respond to the threat of inferno.

So I took this photo.

And now I have posted it.

Comments

Debbie Courson Smith said…

You should have stopped in for a glass of wine Kris!

7 August 2008 at 23:27

Kris McCracken said…

I think that one glass of wine would have finished me off for the day, and I still had four hours until Henry goes to bed!

9 August 2008 at 08:34

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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