Like all weak men he laid an exaggerated stress on not changing one's mind.

The Carruthers Building emerges from the mist of the walk to work. St Johns Park, Newtown. July 2010.

Part One of the 100 Questions Meme!

Just because:

1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?

Left index finger, a nasty one right across the distal interphalangeal joint after a tragic accident involving an art room, a very sharp tile cutter, an attractive girl, a short skirt and inattention.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?

There are a few artworks drawn by Henry: relics of when Ezra shifted out into his own room…

3. WHAT DOES YOUR CELL PHONE LOOK LIKE?

A little robust Nokia.

4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?

All sorts. What a silly question. I have eclectic tastes. That said, I am not much of a jazz man.

5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?

I believe that it was just prior to midnight, but to be honest, I can’t remember much about it.

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?

A bit of peace and quiet. And far less snot.

7. WHO DO YOU MISS?

I miss Jen, Henry and Ezra when I’m at work.

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE KIND OF CHEESE?

I am ambidextrous when it comes to cheese. However, I do like a lovely Double Gloucester.

9. RABBIT OR TORTISE?

I’ve never eaten tortoise, but I like a slow cooked hare.

10. WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME?

James.

Comments

Magpie said…

Ha Ha to #6!

9 August 2010 at 13:17

Kris McCracken said…

Still waiting for that...

12 August 2010 at 09:18

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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