We might as well die as to go on living like this.

Accept only the best in terms of secure fencing! St Johns Park, New Town. March 2011.

MORE questions?

Bring ‘em on!

Are you a good dancer?

I hold the record score for The Girl is Mine on The Michael Jackson Experience for the Wii. ‘Nuff said.

What was your favourite game to play as a child?

I’m not sure that it was y favourite, but “Run away from Father with the strap” was a regular feature…

If you have read/seen Sophie’s Choice, do you think she made the right choice or the wrong choice?

There was no right or wrong choice. That was the point. The ‘choice’ was merely a reminder of her insignificance to the system around her. The ‘choice’ was simply a more brutal way of destroying her. In fact, you can say that it was a more effective expression of totalitarian control that any amount of bullets or poisonous gas. One of the more devastating literary experiences I’ve had.

How old are you in your dreams?

Since the age of about twenty seven, I’ve generally been younger than the age I am while dreaming.

Do you have a tattoo, where is it located and what does it stand for?

I don’t have a tattoo, nor have I ever been interested in getting a tattoo. Each to their own, but I find the recent trend of everybody getting inked up bewildering. I am particularly bemused by this tendency to get your child’s name tattooed on your neck. Why would you do that? Do you think you’ll forget?

Comments

Roddy said…

Was I home often enough for "run way from the strap" to be a regular game?
I, as you know, have a number of tattoos and I don't see any merit in some of the alleged art works these days.

17 March 2011 at 20:31

Kris McCracken said…

Regular enough.

18 March 2011 at 10:19

Roddy said…

I didn't think I was that hard. And I think the strap was more threat than punishment.

18 March 2011 at 13:36

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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