Skip to main content

Destiny has two ways of crushing us - by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them.


Once you move beyond the morning, the excitement and the immediacy of giving and getting presents…

Christmas is all a bit meh really.

Comments

Roddy said…
Poor Ez. He almost looks like he is being lined up yo be shot. And not with a camera.
Downcast eyes, morose look on the face.
Fireblossom said…
Not if you have your disturbed uncle over and let him shoot billiard balls through the neighbor's window with a wrist rocket, causing their Christmas tree to sway and then fall. The plaintive cfries of "save us!" from within are entertaining for hours.

That child looks as if he has been made to read haiku.
A great man, like his father.
Merry (second) Christmas Day!
julia said…
Happy daz! Wonder what you mean about opting out?
Louis la Vache said…
«Louis» thanks you for your visit and Christmas greetings.

Here's one Christmas song and here's another - and better - one....
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, he should be shot.

Fireblossom, wrist rockets sound dangerous.

Diederick, Christmas usually ends in tears.

Julia, cancelling X-mas!

Louis, Mon Lo!
Unknown said…
oooh, what a doll.

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

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