Question for readers...

So has the world ended yet?

I'm not sure, and no-one has called to tell me if it has.

But if the world did end, I guess no-one would be there to call and tell me.

So if the world does end, how will I know?

And do I still have to come in to work?

Man, I'm confused.

Comments

Sue said…

I am so sick of hearing about this. Today at school...there were heaps of kids who were freaked out believing it was going to happen! I just said to them that some fairly clever people were conducting these test and I am sure that they were smart enough to know that they were not going to cause the end of the world by doing them. When that did not satisfy them...I just told them the tests had been done and NOTHING had happened and then they were happy! Some people will believe anything!

10 September 2008 at 17:10

USelaine said…

Something the matter? Guess not.

10 September 2008 at 18:40

Julie said…

Golly that team leader, Lyn Evans, is all spunk: "There it is!", he said. Reminds me of when Dame Joan returned to sing in the new Opera House and the announcer (quaint term, yes? The ABC only had announcers in those days), John West, said "She enters. She sings." I was so excited by that I forgot to listen to her warble ...

10 September 2008 at 21:45

Anonymous said…

What, Kris, you haven't been sucked into the black hole yet?! Didn't you hear a thing that went bang in the night?

Did you ever read Bernard Malamud's _God's Grace_?

Don't tell anyone, but... Here in my secluded quiet village in the hills sometimes I wake up in the morning and if I miss the hourly newscast, I think, gee, the world could have ended overnight and I'd never know it. :)

10 September 2008 at 22:19

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave.

Can you believe that it is time for Theme Thursday already? Today we are not talking chocolate , toddlers , mess or ignominy . No, today we're dealing with ANIMAL . Now I could have posted a picture of a possum, numbat, wombat, wallaby or any other furry killing machine that roams our fair isle, but I figure that I'd use a far more deadly creature as an example of an animal . Some people - I know them as fools - have chosen to embrace that highfalutin idea that human beans are for some ungodly reason superior to animals. Of course, what these imbeciles seem to forget is that were are simple animals ourselves ! Anyone with a baby, toddler, teenage boy or Queenslander in their household could tell you this. Look at Henry [above]. One chocolate frog in the back of the car on a sunny day and all of a sudden it's Elagabalus meets Bacchus for a quick shandy in the Serengeti and we're down on all fours carrying on like a cat in heat. Fair dinkum, anyone who chooses to ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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