Saturday, March 14, 2009
Here you can see the water taxi making a quick getaway from Sullivan's Cove one afternoon. I've not done so, but I could catch this one home, as it stops just over the road from us in Geilston Bay. If you can believe it, it actually works out cheaper than a road taxi. A bit pricier than the bus, however.
Sometimes I get very tired. When I am, very tired, I know that my patience shortens and that I am prone to saying nasty things.
Accordingly, because I know what can happen when I get very tired, I often choose to not say anything at all in order to avoid saying anything nasty that would really be about tiredness rather than nastiness.
Yet on occasion, people assume that to not say anything means that you must be angry even though you're not angry you're just tired and at that point the silence isn't about anger because you're not angry, you're tired.
Of course, the fact that people keep asking why you're angry even though you're not angry (you're tired) starts to make you angry. I mean, you're tired, and someone is accusing you of being angry when you're just tired and because you're tired you get angry and more likely to say nasty things because you're angry and tired because you're tired and you know that you're prone to getting short and potentially will say something nasty.
So in fact, you're quiet not because you're angry. You're quiet because you're tired and you know that you're prone to anger when you're tired.
You're quiet because you're tired and you want to keep the peace.
But people keep asking why you're angry.
The misunderstanding makes you angry.
The anger makes you tired.
When I'm tired, I can get short with people...
Friday, March 13, 2009
Most people are walking in their sleep; turn them around, start them in the opposite direction, and they wouldn’t even know the difference.
This is one of those "sleeping baby" things that you've probably heard about. Take a good look, it doesn't last very long right at the moment...
And yes, Jen knitted that cardigan. If I'm not mistaken, it is a mix of cotton and (would you believe it) bamboo.
Here you can see a sad old bugger waiting for the five fifteen to Claremont.
There was once a time when men were men, women were women and people were people. Dogs were dogs, cats were cats and rats were vermin and rules were rules.
Citizens respected authority, children were seen and not heard, little boys were little boys, little girls were little girls and they hated each other for it. People did what they were told and everybody was happy, (or at least pretended to be for the sake of their neighbours).
There was no sex, no drugs and music was kept at a sensible level. Women dressed smartly, respected themselves and had pride in their appearence. Men kept their hair short, their nails trimmed and never cursed in the street.
Ladies were ladies and were thus treated like ladies and genlemen were well-mannered and the rest knew their place and didn’t cause any trouble.
By Christ it was horrible.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A combination of shiny shoes and synthetic pants will always ensure that feisty woman that you have your eye on will soon have her will ground down until she obliges your every whim.
Complete and utter subservience. It's what makes marriage great!
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 elevate anything as crude, vulgar and imperfect as a human as anything more than a chimpanzee with ideas above its station has obviously never been to Schoolies Week on the Gold Coast!
I postulated previously (1996 previously) that Descartes needed a kicking. My main beef with the preening philosophical pioneer has nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with hubris. He falls into the trap of thinking that we [humans] are better than animals, rather than - slightly (and that's just some of us) - more complex creatures.
For Descartes, animals are purely physical entities. For him, they have no mental nor spiritual substance. Thus, with the kind of arrogance you can only find in the absurd human, he concluded that animals can’t reason, think, feel pain or suffer. My beef with Descartes then is that this bloke reckons that animals are just machines with no consciousness.
You want to kill 'em for fun?
Good luck with it! [By the way, that screaming is just a reflex response, it doesn't really feel pain.]
So in this sense, Descartes needs a kicking.
Milan Kundera put it best in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. In it, he mediates on Nietzsche and his final break with sanity. Picture it:
"Nietzsche leaving his hotel in Turin. Seeing a horse and a coachman beating it with a whip, Nietzsche went up to the horse and, before the coachman’s very eyes, put his arms around the horse’s neck and burst into tears.
That took place in 1889, when Nietzsche, too, had removed himself from the world of people. In other words, it was at the time when his mental illness had just erupted. But for that very reason I feel his gesture has broad implications:
Nietzsche was trying to apologize to the horse for Descartes. His lunacy (that is, his final break with mankind) began at the very moment he burst into tears over the horse.
And that is the Nietzsche I love, just as I love Tereza with the mortally ill dog resting his head in her lap. I see them one next to the other: both stepping down from the road along which mankind, “the master and proprietor of nature,” marches onward.”
So what I want to know is, who's the animal again?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Isn't it always the way? You come home, you've lost your voice, you have to get the dinner on and feed the tired an cranky masses, and there's a bloody robot in the kitchen!
Not only that, but the robot seems to have developed a thing for the rubbish bin. It's very creepy.
"Money, money, money.
In the rich man's world.
Wise words from ABBA there. They say that money makes the world go around. I try not to think about money myself, but an eagle-eyed reader pointed out something they noticed while travelling the other day.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw the following banknotes...
This must be that million dollar smile that people talk about.
I knew that Henry had a following in Russia, but this was news to me.
If you visit Festisite, you might find something equally amazing.
Here you can see the Tasman Bridge as seen from the CSIRO building down in Battery Point.
Now here is an experimental poem!
i n s i
d e o n
e e m work।
a d e o
s thing rder to
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
There was an international triatholon around these parts some weeks ago, and there were these metal railings scattered everywhere around town. I quite liked the formation of these and took a snap. I don't know who won, but I suspect that they were tired.
I will admit that I find it depressing when I see the cool teens about town dressed very much in the style of 1986. To my mind, 1986 was a rather bleak period for fashion. Bad hair, too many colour clashes and ridiculous sun glasses. Why any young man would want to walk around looking like Brian Mannix is beyond my comprehension. I certainly would not like to deny the lad his right to do so, but I can't deny my inclination to shake my head at the Joseph and his techicolour vomit t-shirt.
But it isn't poor taste that depresses me. Poor taste is pervasive in any era. What depresses me is that for Master Mannix-II, 1986 would equate to 1969 in McCracken lifespan-adjusted years. Am I really that old? Do people my age bore people his age banging on about the eighties like people used to bore me banging on about the sixities in the eighties?
God that is depressing.
Monday, March 09, 2009
So, at last, we look north to the city centre. I've keep the image quite large so that you can see a bit of detail if you click on it.
You can see Sandy Bay in the immediate foreground, Battery Point behind it, and then the CBD behind that. To the West is South Hobart, which is just north of West Hobart (confused yet?). Over the back you can see the Glebe, North Hobart, New Town and the other northern suburbs.
Below, I've given you a glimpse of the Tasman Bridge. To the right is Hobart's eastern shore (where all the cool and sexy people live). In the foreground is Bellerive, then Montague Bay, with Lindisfarne tucked in behind that and the glamour suburb of Geilston Bay sitting just behind that.
That's where Henry lives.
So here I am looking over Storm Bay. Next stop, Antarctica!
Storm Bay is the entrance to the Derwent River estuary, and is bordered by Bruny Island to the west and the Tasman Peninsula to the east. This view is to the south east, where the vilest, most wretched and smelliest convicts to be vomited from Britain's shores ended up!
A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.
Yesterday I showed Jen and Ez standing in the Signals House on Mount Nelson. Here is the singnals house itself.
Early on in the history of Van Diemen's Land, they didn't have mobile phones, Internets or [gasp] even fax machines. So they made do with flags. Here upon this great big hill, they had a ruddy great pole with flags of all colours to send messages all the way down to Port Arthur, where the horrible and smelly convicts were kept.
I'm not sure as to its veracity, but Henry tells me that this signal here is, "Darling, we're out of bread. Oh, and a carton of milk too while you're at it..."
More views of the city and the river to come shortly.
Here you can see the shed on another gloomy morning. Very apt for this wretched building.
I was going through an old book the other day and found a sentence scribbled in my handwriting in the margin. I hadn't thought about the topic in some time, but I think I still agree with the younger me (although in general I am a little more sanguine these days).
"This Descartes needs a good fucking kicking."
What do you reckon? Does Descartes deserve a damn good thrashing?
Sunday, March 08, 2009
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Here you can see Jen and Ez sending me signals up at Mount Nelson Signal Station.
I'll share some of the view with you tomorrow. Sleep beckons.
When I first moved to Hobart in the heady days of the mid-1990s, I used to have to walk up this lane carrying all of my groceries for the week. The lack of shorter alternative routes should explain the voice. Somewhat unwisely though, I also chose to jog up it every second day for "relaxation". It was an odd kind of folly, and demonstrates the extremes that vanity will drive us!
Go on, here's another one minute poem, this time penned at the bus stop.
cornered into thinking
and she can tell you
every fucking detail.