Skip to main content

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness...


Car parks, as a general rule, incredibly ugly. If you're after symmetrical lines though, they can be a source of many photographs.

I was going through an old notebook the other day and spotted a quote that I'd scribbled down no doubt three sheets to the wind that I wanted to reflect upon. The source was a - in a sad, pathetic, Hobart sense - a hipster doofus. He was arguing about being lumped in with a cohort that I assumed he identified with:
"Yeah, I know those guys, and yeah, we like... we do drink with them pretty much every night of the week, but it's not like I'm part of some uni bar scene."

See, for mine, nightly gatherings in the same place with the same people pretty makes you part of a scene.

That said, I'm pretty confident that the closest to a "scene" that I frequent these days is a Playgroup scene. So I'm interested, are you part of any scene? Would you care to confess to the world your involvement in any "scenes" in the past?

Comments

Neva said…
I agree ....car parks ....or parking garages as we call them....singularly ugly.....
I am part of poetry scene in my area. I'm actually not a poet that reads my poems at events but I'm a poet that observes and listens.

I love your opening quote, Ginsberg is always a good idea.
Miles McClagan said…
Come on, the carpark at Coles in Burnie was great! Hookers, a surly Peter Brock, trolleys everywhere, a real classless society!

I'm in no scene at all, other than the people who've been at the front of the phone book scene...
Kris McCracken said…
Neva, and they smell.
Kris McCracken said…
ELW, the poetry scene can be a pretty heavy scene.
Kris McCracken said…
Miles, wasn't the Coles car park the K-Mart car park?

I used to know a bloke who was once on the front of the phone book, but I don't think that he was from Scotland.
Colette Amelia said…
I have no scene, life exists within the Fortress of Solitude...oh maybe I am into a blogging scene and I don't know whether that is something to be brodcasting...at least not to my family.
Miles McClagan said…
I call it the Coles carpark cos it was where I got the trolleys

There was the top bit and the underground bit, the underground bit was where we saw Brocky be surly, upper was the hookers
KL said…
Now I don't know if this will be considered a scene or not, but let me try: coming to the USA, most of the Asian girls (chinese, Indian, Japanese, Pakistanis, etc, etc,...)would sit together for lunch or dinner in the cafeteria. It happened so because we didn't date and were not even interested in having boyfriends or dating. While most Americans would be sitting either with their partners, or dating-people or potential dating-people, partners, etc.

Now please mind that this was in Kentucky, a place which is not much cosmopolitan like NY/NJ or LA or Boston, etc. So, they hardly know about other cultures. So, seeing us sitting all the time together and not showing any interest in dating or BF's, all our American friends and colleagues and other people on campus were all the time enquiring why all Asian women are LESBIANS :-D?
Kris McCracken said…
Colette, fear not, scenes are overrated.
Kris McCracken said…
Miles, I was with a fellow once who threw a rock at Peter Brock. Something to do with cars.

The lower deck of the K-Mart car park always featured the odour of stale urine. That said, the old CES offices in Burnie carried a stronger stench of piss.
Kris McCracken said…
KL, I enjoyed that story very much. Having taught at the Uni for long enough, I am familiar with the tales of South East Asian/Subcontinental girls who very much struggled settling in to dormitory accommodation where all the Australians were a) drinking; b) taking drugs; and c) shagging like rabbits.

It must be quite the cultural shift!

Popular posts from this blog

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.