Dreams can come true...

I find talk of career paths infinitely dull.

Comments

On the other hand, hearing about the work history of some people (without the 1980s career-speak) can be very interesting. Looking back at work and location is how I mark the epochs of my personal history. But I won't bore you with that here... 6^)

1 December 2008 at 12:20

Kris McCracken said…

USelaine, that I agree with. It's interesting to see the twists and turns that people often take. As a keen student of history, I would say that of course.

I will add that the most interesting of these conversations never match what the dullards who bore me with talk of their own career projections envisage, either!

1 December 2008 at 12:38

Debbie Courson Smith said…

Um..."career path" - I'm not even sure anyone who runs in my circles knows what that might mean...me included! I can bore people in so many other ways!

1 December 2008 at 12:59

-K- said…

For me, talking about careers is like talking about sports. I don't have many of the natural gifts for either of them but I also have to admit to sometimes being envious of others who do have them.

2 December 2008 at 03:35

Kris McCracken said…

Diva, it is indeed boring talk. I like when you bump into someone you knew once long ago, and you happen to be holding a baby. This other person somehow manages to share what they've done, what they're doing and what they intend to do and then you part ways, realising that at no point did they a) ask you about yourself; b) express any interest in what you are doing; or c) didn't even bother to ask the baby's name!

That happened to Jen just the other week.

K, if you've got one, I don't mind. It's just the self-absorption that seems to accompany them that kills any interest for me.

8 December 2008 at 08:50

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...

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. ...

This will hurt me...

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