Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.

Some weeks ago, Henry, Ezra, Jen and I all set out on a jaunt down the ~~river~~ estuary in the World Famous Hobart Yellow Water Taxi (you've no doubt heard of it). They picked us up just by our door, took us for a bit of a spin - including under the Tasman Bridge - and dropped us off right in town.

Here are some shot Henry took as we made our way under the Bridge. We had a good day for it weather wise, and the lads took their first foray into earning their sea legs! Antarctica next.

Crossing the bridge this morning - on a bus, overcast and grey - I was struck with three thoughts:

Poetic prose as a genre is not really my cup of tea.

The current Tasmanian election campaign is the least interesting and inspiring since 1996.

I think that I'm burnt out.

I'm wondering whether the three are related?

Comments

Magpie said…

Well..maybe the first and third, but I doubt your burnout has anything to do with the election. Maybe your perception of it though. I hate burnout...take a rest.

9 March 2010 at 11:14

Roddy said…

They live in your head, so are possibly related.
Find a new direction, if possible, to counter burnout.
Water taxi would be the way to go.
A little too expensive though.

9 March 2010 at 12:49

yamini said…

I like the subtle impressions within these photographs.

9 March 2010 at 21:33

KL said…

Your house must be at a fantastic location if that taxi can come to your door to pick you all up! Wanna a exchange your house with ours :-)?

10 March 2010 at 01:38

smudgeon said…

Someone said to me the other day of the current election campaign:

"They didn't want to know us for the past 3 years, and suddenly they've turned into used-car salesman".

The quality of this current crop is pretty underwhelming...

10 March 2010 at 11:31

Kris McCracken said…

Me, the incentives for being a pollie are few and far between!

All else, thanks!

19 March 2010 at 14:49

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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