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

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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