Truth is lived, not taught.

From a couple of weeks back, here is a view from Salamanca Place upon the mountain with a light dusting of snow. There is no snow at the moment, just clouds!

Here is a poem!

Night

why make a noise (a noise
no less than a very loud noise
now) so late on Friday
(although it is Saturday now)
shouting swearing
"FUCK!"
"NO!" "DARREN!"
"DARREN!"
cars tyres Darren so late
Friday is Saturday
one might think that (one

does think that now) "don't
you think?" - probably not -
"don't you think a neighbour
(a neighbour so close)
would know would think would
try?"
Perhaps we might share a
delicate grunt. a nod a wink.
me. me of all
people, I know such noise
such noise I have not heard
in a very long time.

Comments

smudgeon said…

I used to have similar nocturnal entertainments courtesy of our ex-neighbours. Ours would usually go:

1: "You are, ya farken cunt!"
2: "Ya wanna go?!"
1: "Farken get orf me!"
2: "Bitch! Bitch!"
1: "Farken get 'im orf me or I'll go 'im!"
2: squealing of tires...
1: "get me another bundy!"

Maybe not as poetic, but I thought I'd share...

15 May 2009 at 10:59

KL said…

Ah! a dreamy winter morning, perfect for sitting cosily in the warm kitchen with a cup of tea and something to read or write. Too bad that you have to go to work :-D.

15 May 2009 at 21:25

Sarah Lulu said…

I have stood right there ...lovely.

16 May 2009 at 17:13

Kris McCracken said…

Me, fiddle with the layout, and you have an excellent poem there.

We had two teenage girls living in a flat immediately beneath us for about two weeks some years ago, and one Saturday they had a fight than went for about six hours straight. Screeching, windows being smashed, stuff inside being thrown about, swearing that would make a warfie blush. We eventually called the coppers as night fell because it just wasn't going to stop. They took one girl away with them and we thought "finally, some quiet..."

We then were treated to eleven hours of The Red Hot Chilli Peppers finest power ballads, interspersed with the odd shriek of "SLUT!" "CUNT!" or "SCRAG!" as the one left behind was cleaning up.

Good times.

19 May 2009 at 12:06

Kris McCracken said…

KL, bloody work.

19 May 2009 at 12:06

Kris McCracken said…

Sarah, it is a nice spot.

19 May 2009 at 12:06

Mad as hell

So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

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. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

This will hurt me...

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