Despair is the conclusion of fools.

The sand is warm. Calverts Beach, South Arm Peninsula. January 2011.

I am at work and not at the beach. This causes me no end of sorrow. In times of sorrow, I tend to console myself with questions. Today, those questions include:

Where does the law stand when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?

How do sign writers manage when they go on strike? What do they do at their protests?

What did Tim Hardin have against carpenters?

If one is 'expecting the unexpected’, isn’t the unexpected being expected expected? Shouldn’t it be 'expecting the expected’?

Has there ever actually been a ‘civil’ war?

If one synchronised swimmer is drowning, what is the correct protocol for her colleagues?

Correct answers will be rewarded with three hearty cheers and a slap on the back.

Comments

Gemma Wiseman said…

The mind can wander into interesting questions when there is a need to escape pressures of the moment! Love the sense of "nothingness" in these sands! Appealing, unique beauty!

25 January 2011 at 12:12

Roddy said…

The sands of time! If nothing else, plenty of sand for a number of time pieces.
A definite legal quandary! Who becomes extinct? Are you able to save both?
Become very vocal!
Carpenters? If I were a plumber? If I were an electrician? Jesus allegedly was a carpenter!
Expecting the expected? It is the uncertainty that is disconcerting.
I think the olden days where they took time out for "TEA", time to clear the fields of the dead and dying and time out for certain holidays would have been more CIVIL.
Look to the coach for guidance.

26 January 2011 at 04:56

Kris McCracken said…

GT, we were back there again today. Very windy!

Roddy, no lifelines.

26 January 2011 at 20:26

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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