The past and future are veiled; but the past wears the widow's veil; the future, the virgin's.

It's Monday, and I have taken the day off. That can only mean one thing: the Messiah is coming! I even have a sign on top of a van to prove it.

That said, not even the Messiah can prevent the tardy motorist getting a parking ticket down here in Salamanca. Word on the street has it that Joseph and Mary's donkey - Nigel, I do believe was his name - was ticketed as they browsed through the ~~ridiculous tat~~ innovative arts and craft that you can find in the tourist district.

Comments

yamini said…

Hi Kris/Jen/Henry/Ez,

Sorry for not visiting in a long time, was busy with my brother's marriage, which took place on November 29, 2009.

However, with the first post itself, I stand assured that you haven't lost your touch. The post was amusing and yes, wishing all of you a very, very, very joyous festive season ahead (Rest of the greetings will follow soon...).

Take care

14 December 2009 at 16:34

Roddy said…

You my son work in the tourist district. Aren't you fortunate that you don't drive a motor vehicle and or donkey.
If the messiah arrives at your place of work tell him I have a thing or two to ask. Don't however give him my mobile number.
Nigel, eh? How do you say that in Hebrew?

14 December 2009 at 19:52

Dina said…

It first I though the van would be of Chabad.

14 December 2009 at 20:07

Kris McCracken said…

It's an odd place, Salamanca.

18 December 2009 at 09:48

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. ...

But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave.

Can you believe that it is time for Theme Thursday already? Today we are not talking chocolate , toddlers , mess or ignominy . No, today we're dealing with ANIMAL . Now I could have posted a picture of a possum, numbat, wombat, wallaby or any other furry killing machine that roams our fair isle, but I figure that I'd use a far more deadly creature as an example of an animal . Some people - I know them as fools - have chosen to embrace that highfalutin idea that human beans are for some ungodly reason superior to animals. Of course, what these imbeciles seem to forget is that were are simple animals ourselves ! Anyone with a baby, toddler, teenage boy or Queenslander in their household could tell you this. Look at Henry [above]. One chocolate frog in the back of the car on a sunny day and all of a sudden it's Elagabalus meets Bacchus for a quick shandy in the Serengeti and we're down on all fours carrying on like a cat in heat. Fair dinkum, anyone who chooses to ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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