Advice to writers: Sometimes you just have to stop writing. Even before you begin.

The past two weeks has seen a combination of drilling, jackhammering, blasting, digging, more jackhammering, more blasting, more digging right outside my office window. At first I thought that it was an innovative art display, but when the blokes stopped for a smoke and to display a genrous amount of arse crack to passing tourists, I was convinced that they were genuine, dinky di, ridgy didge, legit Aussie workers.

Comments

Roddy said…

Generous of them to share their experience with you.
For a moment I thought this was the old Myer site.

20 November 2009 at 12:25

Kris McCracken said…

I enjoy the blasting particularly. As did the Vietnam vet in the office!

20 November 2009 at 18:34

Sue said…

This is a great photo, Kris. I sympathise with you totally. Our school is being demolished at the minute and the noise can be excruciating at times. I was trying to write reports this afternoon and needless to say....I have brought them home to do this weekend.
Your poor Viet Vet would have thought he was back at Long Tan!!??

20 November 2009 at 20:28

Kris McCracken said…

He still has the shakes, days later...

24 November 2009 at 14:14

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.

This will hurt me...

Search This Blog