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Showing posts from October 3, 2010

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.

Just like a vigorous young colt in the world of racehorses, Jennifer and I need to take Henry and Ezra down to the beach and let them unleash their pent-up, volatile and potentially perilous power and energy . Here you can see Henry trotting alongside Jen, just before she pulls out the whistle and – in true Pavlovean-style – permits him to let loose and tear up and down the beach. It’s quite a sight to see.

Our world is more lovely than anyone's

Duck, duck, Goose. Geilston Bay, July 2010. What could be more relaxing on a Saturday morning than a stroll down to the bay to feed the ducks, talk to the geese, and warn your children not to fall in the water? Ka 'Ba , Imamu Amiri Baraka A closed window looks down on a dirty courtyard, and black people call across or scream or walk across defying physics in the stream of their will Our world is full of sound Our world is more lovely than anyone's tho we suffer, and kill each other and sometimes fail to walk the air We are beautiful people with african imaginations full of masks and dances and swelling chants with african eyes, and noses, and arms, though we sprawl in grey chains in a place full of winters, when what we want is sun. We have been captured, brothers. And we labor to make our getaway, into the ancient image, into a new correspondence with ourselves and our black family. We read magic now we need the spells, to rise up return, destroy, and create. What will be the

'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.

Note to future parents: toddler + cargo pants [i.e. multiple pockets] x beach = sand all over your living room.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

Thinking about Dialectical Materialism while waiting for the bus. New Town Road, August 2010. Today is Book Club Friday, my name is Kris and I have a confession to make: I am an Engels Man . Friedrich Engels used to be a name that was known throughout the world. Cities, towns and streets bore the name. Ships, railway engines and tanks. You don’t see so much of that these days… The book that I am currently halfway through (it’s a biggun) is Tristram Hunt’s exploration of the man, The Frock-coated Communist: The Revolutionary Life of Friedrich Engels . If you are not familiar with Engels, perhaps you’ve heard of his more famous philosophical collaborator, Karl Marx. It seems to me that – with this book – Hunt is seeking to recover Engels’s reputation from those who have portrayed him as responsible for Stalinist excesses and chosen him as the fall guy for the failures of Marxism. In this (at least halfway through the book), he’s partly successful. I’ll reserve judgement on that when I’ve

Only one man ever understood me, and he didn't understand me.

This evening I present to you a nice juxtaposition of my sons, with a bit of distance to mix things up a bit in a composition sense. Here you can see Henry and Ezra on the lookout for secret treasure . Every time we cross this patch of ground we are alert (but not alarmed) to the prospect of finding a rich booty of this very special substance. Now, I put it to you dear World, what are we looking for?

Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew.

Getting some exercise. Seven Mile Beach. September 2010. Theme Thursday down on Seven Mile Beach back on Father's Day, and Jennifer awaits the arrival of her two sons. The nearer they get, the nearer that AGOWILT will strike. Anyone familiar with my children will have felt the kind of AGOWILT that simply being around them generates. There is a cruel beauty in the unbridled aggression. A harsh pleasure in their simple brutality. One typical toddler and one self-styled "big boy". Engage with them only if you are GAME ...

Leaders should lead as far as they can and then vanish. Their ashes should not choke the fire they have lit.

Coy. Bashful. Timid. Shy. Reticent. Inhibited. Not one of these words applies to Ezra.

Knowledge rests not upon truth alone, but upon error also.

Late afternoon and vampires start circling Royal Hobart Hospital. August 2010. Today already feels like a living version of the first joint-authored treatise of Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx. A Critique of Critical Criticism . Indeed, supplementing the first draft of my critique of critical criticism will be much sweary-language and quiet groaning. I’m in pain.

It has been said that man is a rational animal. All my life I have been searching for evidence which could support this.

Take a look at that face and you tell me whether you think he’s up to no good or not…

Ads that I like: # 118

This little ripper of an ad emerged out of China just as the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution was kicking off. I suspect that the artist might have had an idea what an angry mob baying for blood might have looked like. The tagline for this campaign is the snappy Resolutely support the American people in their resistance against American imperialist aggression in Vietnam . I especially like how the artist has managed slip in what I expect were a multitude of ‘gags’ to impress his friend. For example, what is Leon Trotsky doing there? In fact, I believe that they have gone with Trotsky as the primary model, and hilariously fused in Stalin’s brow as an unsubtle pop to their Internationalist cousins. And what is with that angry French sailor (I expect he’s from Martinique)? I know that Red China was pretty much a closed state, but those Anglo features and African skin tones really do clash with the Gallic shirt … Added props must also be awarded for sneaking in that Ukrainian kulak

Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.

Shiny happy people holding hands. St Johns Park, New Town. October 2010. Every day I see this as I walk into work. Every day I wonder why the sun should be so happy to look over a withdrawal unit, pharmacotherapy dispensary, nephrology unit, mental health/drug and alcohol policy unit, aged care facilities and on and on...

I say there is no darkness but ignorance.

Two years old and he already needs a walking stick! I blame his grandfather…

The best way to suppose what may come, is to remember what is past.

As Australian Pied Cormorant lurking somewhere between Frederick Henry Bay and Storm Bay one Spring morning. Clifton Beach, September 2010. The pain from my tooth means that you get a meme. A meme All about Me! What time did you wake up this morning? 6:07 am. What do you like most about yourself? An acute sense of loyalty and duty. What do you like least about yourself? My low threshold for imbeciles. Can you sing? I think so. I like to sing. Can you dance? Whether one can or can’t dance is such a subjective concept. I’m better than Elaine Benes, worse than Mikhail Baryshnikov. Do you smoke? No I don’t. I tell people off for smoking at bus stops. Do you drink? Very rarely. Can you swim? Of course I can. I live on island. I would be stuck if I couldn’t swim! Year you were born? 1977, mere days before Star Wars opens in cinemas… Favourite colour? Blue. More specifically, the darker shades of blue. Even more specifically, I like Sapphire . Sleep with or without clothes? I sleep as nak

Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed was the ninth beatitude.

Every time that Henry and Ezra make their way down to Bellerive, and see those glorious light-towers looming over the heaving cauldron of passion that is home to the mighty Tasmanian Tigers – 2006–07 Sheffield Shield champions – they launch into a rousing call-to-arms and poignant rendition of the Tiger’s themesong. It brings a tear to my eye every time…

Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?

The morning sun on the corner of Liverpool and Elizabeth Streets. Hobart CBD, September 2010. Inspired by regular commenter "Me", and an afternoon spend wading through the Bowie catalogue, today's Sunday Top Five seems a relatively straightforward one: Pick My Top Five Bowie Albums ! Low [1977] Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) [1980] Station to Station [1976] The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars [1972] Hunky Dory [1971] Looking upon my list, I can't help but suggest that it appears I enjoy Bowie's seventies output the best. My apologies to to you Tin Machine aficionados out there, most of whom live in Norway, I believe...