We are all worms, but I do believe I am a glowworm.

Another day, another shot of Sullivan's Cove down here in Hobart. This morning the bus arrived on time, and despite the presence of one youngster who wanted to share the latest pop s hit (think robot voice unimpressively droning over equally unimpressive synth drum beat) with all on the bus, the trip passed by as pleasantly as one might expect.

This contrasts very much with three o'clock this morning, when I (an I suspect that everyone else) was awoken by the incessant squealing of tyres and revving of engines. Not being a "car man" myself, I shudder at the thought of the incredibly minuscule penises that must lay at the root of such behaviour...

Comments

Magpie said…

I especially love the water and sky in this shot. The water looks like glass.

23 March 2010 at 09:55

Kris McCracken said…

There was a similar sky this morning. I snared a few shots.

23 March 2010 at 10:33

Unknown said…

The sky is my favourite part of this photo... it is wonderful!

23 March 2010 at 12:14

Kris McCracken said…

I'll admit that the sky is what does it for me too.

23 March 2010 at 12:27

Roddy said…

There is always something about a grey, somber sky. As the clouds build and alter through all the shades of grey. Nothing better, set against a well lit background.
The prick in the car! He is all phallus. One giant prick. I wonder whether they burn new tyres or buy used ones to spin into oblivion.

23 March 2010 at 20:01

kylie said…

love this photo!

23 March 2010 at 21:56

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, I like clouds. Unless I have loads of washing to hang out.

Kylie, thanks!

24 March 2010 at 08:15

KL said…

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE this pic...gorgeous capture of skies.....

25 March 2010 at 12:40

Kris McCracken said…

KL, we've had a few nice mornings of late...

25 March 2010 at 15:37

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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