as when he was and didn't know he was a child

A bit of an early morning paddle. Sullivans Cove, June 2010.

Finishing up all of my old stock footage here. The Shed in the background there now has a whizz bang new roof!

One must be brief today, as in a mere few hours, we shall be celebrating my darling Henry's FOURTH birthday. Oh Henry, how we love thee!

CESAR VALLEJO, Luis Benitez

Walking along the corridors of imagination,
free and alone forever, as when he was
and didn't know he was a child,
until forgetting that I'm imagining.
That this heavy flesh, that urinates and sweats,
be resumed in one or two ideas
or comes right back, to that almost nothing
that sees almost nothing in its cloudy sky.
Send me back to the chimpanzee or make me only literature,
but do not retain in me the condition of man.
What weighs everything within me
in the outside has no weight.

Comments

Carola said…

Happy Birthday Henry! Great four year old boy. I wish you a wonderful party with big fun.
There is a congratulation on my blog.

23 October 2010 at 09:23

Kris McCracken said…

He'll always be my little baby!

26 October 2010 at 12:51

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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