There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

This photograph was taken down in Sullivans Cove last Thursday. It was a nice day last Thursday. This morning, I sit in front of the computer screen drenched to the bone, as the rain has returned with some vengeance.

As usual, I blame the Welsh.

I had an interesting experience on my way to work on the bus this morning. There I was, reading a book by a Ukrainian who writes in Russian (I'm reading an English translation), when on the radio played the 70s hit Radar Love by Dutch rockers Golden Earring singing in what can only be described as the most authentic American growl this side of the East Prussian belter of the Canadian beat combo, Steppenwolf.

Globalisation is a wonderful thing.

Comments

Megan said…

I didn't know we could blame the Welsh. I'm starting, as from now.

3 November 2009 at 11:23

Roddy said…

Seems you may have sent some of those sodden clouds North. We have had a bit of rain. Eighteen mils. last night.
You can't blame the Welsh for much. Except maybe for the Leeks (leaks).

3 November 2009 at 14:57

Tash said…

Look at those clouds & the color of water! If that's a prelude to rain, it's worth it.

3 November 2009 at 17:33

Tash said…

PS - how about The Namesake for your next book...expand the globalization.

3 November 2009 at 17:36

Babzy.B said…

Wow, stunning sky !

3 November 2009 at 20:39

Hallam said…

to the bone?

3 November 2009 at 21:48

Kris McCracken said…

Thanks all.

9 November 2009 at 12:10

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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