Better a debauched canary than a pious wolf.

WATCH OUT HENRY!

PHALLOGOCENTRISM!!!

It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and many things to fear.

To my mind, crayfish/lobsters rank amongst the most overrated of foods. It's not rubbish by any means, but it doesn't really rock my boat. That said, people must like it if they're prepared to pay through the nose. You don't have to look too far to find a cray boat here in Hobart at any time of the year.

Who does she think she is...., by Shel Silverstein

I asked the Zebra:

Are you black with white stripes?
Or white with black stripes?

And the zebra asked me:

Are you good with bad habits?
Or are you bad with good habits?
Are you noisy with quiet times?
Or are you quiet with noisy times?
Are you happy with some sad days?
Or are you sad with some happy days?
Are you neat with some sloppy ways?
Or are you sloppy with some neat ways?

And on and on and on and on
And on and on he went.

I’ll never ask a zebra

About stripes

Again

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Here is Ez doing his best William Blake impression, it's subtle, but very, very good.

I wonder if you can tell that Henry is doing Keats? This is just before he dropped the Grecian urn, however.

Bad officials are elected by good citizens who do not vote.

This bloody great big hand can be found next to the children's park in Montague Bay, itself found right next to the Tasman Bridge. I think that it has something to do with man's inhumanity to man.

Or something.

Not Waving but Drowning, by Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.

Occasionally, Henry looks like a younger, cleaner cut Keef Richards.

I need to get him a bandanna.

Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are.

A couple of buoys, waiting for some girls, down in Sullivan's Cove. There are boats everywhere in Hobart at them moment.

Sameness, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Over all hilltops
is peace
in all the treetops
you feel
barely a breeze;
The birds in the forest have
stopped their song
Wait, before long
you too will be still.

If a thing loves, it is infinite.

If Jen, Henry and Ezra ever started a three piece post-punk combo - Jen drums, Ezra bass/vocals, Henry guitar/vocals - I'd use this photo for on the inner sleeve.

Two questions remain though, what do I call the band? And, what is the album called?

Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen.

Ezra spied these little fellows paddling around the pond at the Botanical Gardens here in Hobart. They're ducks, by the way, not tigers.

Today's poem?

The Duck, by Ogden Nash

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.

An artist is like a woman who can do nothing but love, and who succumbs to every stray male jackass.

Henry received a guitar for Christmas. He fancies himself as a balladeer in the vein of a John B. Sebastian or Richie Havens, but he sounds more like an incredibly drunk Bob Dylan.

I see big things on his horizon.

Failure is never quite so frightening as regret.

The Tasman Bridge is a five-lane bridge crossing the Derwent River, near the CBD of Hobart, Tasmania. It connects us on the Eastern Shore - the best shore, not just because of Henry and Ezra, but also the location of the Hobart International Airport, the Geilston Bay Community Centre, as well as the home of the 2006/7 Sheffield Shield winners the Tasmanian Tigers (Bellerive Oval) - with the dregs on the other side. The bridge itself if 1,395 metres long, and has a pedestrian foot way on each side for those willing to risk the winds.

Today's poem? Australian Kenneth Slessor's Beach Burial

Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs
The convoys of dead sailors come;
At night they sway and wander in the waters far under,
But morning rolls them in the foam.

Between the sob and clubbing of the gunfire
Someone, it seems, has time for this,
To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows
And tread the sand upon their nakedness;

And each cross, the driven stake of tidewood,
Bears the last signature of men,
Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity,
The words choke as they begin -

'Unknown seaman' - the ghostly pencil
Wavers and fades, the purple drips,
The breath of wet season has washed their inscriptions
As blue as drowned men's lips,

Dead seamen, gone in search of the same landfall,
Whether as enemies they fought,
Or fought with us, or neither; the sand joins them together,
Enlisted on the other front.

Keep your fears to yourself, but share your courage with others.

Ez and I headed down the the Botanical Gardens the other day to re-enact that scene from The Sound of Music where Julie Andrews runs down the hill spinning before gunning down the Waffen-SS squad sent to ship her off to Sobidor sing a merry tune.

Thus I have two images for the price of one. Above, I've gone for the full CinemaScope vibe, with a fair bit of post-production work. Below is the more straightforward shot. The question I ask is, which do you like?

Remember: Y'all is singular. All y'all is plural. All y'all's is plural possessive.

Seagulls, council buildings, museum roofs, flags, it's all happening here!

Today the gang and I are headed up to the loveliest coast of Tasmania - the North West Coast - for some well earned rest [HAH!]. As Internet access will be uneven, if at all, I'm programming the robot again to take care of the posting while we're on the road.

I've instructed him to scan the archives and post some of my favourite poems each morning. Consider this week my very own Poetry Festival. Feel free to share your picks if you think I'm backing duds.

First up?

i like my body when it is with your, e.e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Perfect courage is to do without witnesses what one would be capable of doing with the world looking on.

Nothing says "Parliament lawns" more than jumping castle. Here you can see Henry and Ezra, plus some other kid who literally stood bolt upright and perfectly still for five minutes.

Perhaps he was in awe of the terrible tremendous twosome?

A happy childhood is the worst possible preparation for life.

Here's a felt sandwich that Jen made the boys for Christmas. The choices are limited, but if you'd like some mix of ham, Jarlsberg cheese, tomato, lettuce and beetroot on white bread, and don't mind not being able to eat it; this sandwich is for you!

Which brings me to today's Sunday Top Five: My Top Five Sandwich Fillings!

1) Cheese: I'm a cheese man: Double Gloucester; Wensleydale; Gouda; Cheshire; Provolone; Edam; Limberger; Lancashire; Mozzarella; Havarti; Mascarpone; Gołka; Camembert; Tilsit; Gruyère; Brie; Fetta; Gorgonzola; Red Windsor; Red Leicester; Quark; Chèvre; Ricotta on and on and on it goes. Today however, I can't go past a nice mature smoked Cheddar!

2) Salami: Like cheese, the varieties are endless. I can't look past a spicy Hungarian though...

3) Tomato: fresh from the garden!

4) Lettuce: a crisp and fresh cos will do.

5) Beetroot: you know what they say...