Keep cool: it will be all one a hundred years hence.

I am not sure that I knew what I'd find looking up this tree. We don't have squirrels or chipmunks here in Australia. There aren't any koalas in Tasmania. A possum would be in bed by now (and probably pee in you face anyway), and there aren't a lot of leaves about at the moment. Maybe I knew that I'd see the sky.

How long do you think that it takes for someone who proposes to talk about thinking about talking about thinking about something to generate a sufficient vacuum of inanity to literally - and of course I mean that in a figurative sense - suck their own head into their own backside?

The other day I saw a fellow do this, and it took approximately seven seconds.

Comments

Priyanka Khot said…

I like the quote and the photo. Got lost somewhere in "to talk about thinking about talking about thinking about something to generate a sufficient vacuum of inanity to literally"... a colleague of mine was saying something and I was pretending to listen to her.

11 August 2009 at 15:42

Unknown said…

Fantastic perspective!

12 August 2009 at 00:25

Roddy said…

I agree, with some people it happens spontaneously. These people are so full of themselves that they are literally inside out. Just a personal observation.

12 August 2009 at 10:29

Kris McCracken said…

Priyanka, that's Ralph Waldo Emerson, always a great source for a quote!

13 August 2009 at 09:52

Kris McCracken said…

JM, I liked this one myself too!

13 August 2009 at 09:52

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, bloody idiots, people...

13 August 2009 at 09:52

Roddy said…

Only when they are smart enough!

13 August 2009 at 11:16

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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