Prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion.

An excited little bloke atop Richmond Bridge thinks that he's spotted a runaway convict.

Jennifer is not so sure.

Comments

Roddy said…

Me thinks you may be right. Have any felons been reported missing from the area?

5 February 2010 at 20:05

Lorenzo — Alchemist's Pillow said…

I saw him too -- he went dattaway!

Kris, I think this is the first time I post a comment here, but I see and enjoy all the posts. One day I would be curious to hear how aware your children are of the blog. As they grow older I am sure they will appreciate this very unique opportunity they have of being accompanied in their lives by such an attent and loving daily photo log.

5 February 2010 at 20:45

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris,
kris said,"An excited little bloke atop Richmond Bridge thinks that he's spotted a runaway convict.
Jennifer is not so sure.."

lol!!!!
Once again, a nice photograph of Jen and Ezra.
The quote, what more can I say...
...Thanks, for sharing!
DeeDee ;-D

5 February 2010 at 22:53

Chuck Pefley said…

I certainly wouldn't try to escape when eagle eyes like his were watching! LOL!!

6 February 2010 at 04:38

Unknown said…

So many terrible Aussie jokes, so little time.

6 February 2010 at 07:00

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, yes.

6 February 2010 at 16:05

Kris McCracken said…

Lorenzo, they know that it exists, and know that they have photos there. I assume that they just think that everybody does it.

They see photos of other kids on their parents Facebook pages, so maybe they assume that it is the same thing.

6 February 2010 at 16:06

Kris McCracken said…

DeeDee, William Blake is always good for a quote!

6 February 2010 at 16:08

Kris McCracken said…

Chuck, especially when biscuits are involved.

6 February 2010 at 16:08

Kris McCracken said…

UH, I have heard one or two.

6 February 2010 at 16:08

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. ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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