Skip to main content

War remains the decisive human failure.


A crime has been committed. De Bomford Lane turn off, East Derwent Highway, Geilston Bay. April 2011.

If you think that Hobart is some serene and peaceful idyll filled with blissful and benign sprits floating around gently hugging each other, THINK AGAIN!

I couldn’t possibly comment on the perpetrators of the heinous act I’ve photographed above, but I suspect that it might have something to do with the kind of internecine war commonly found in groups like the Cripps, the Bloods, Mara Savatrucha, Sureños, the Hells Angels, the Babysittters Club and the Muppets.

The local hardcore exxxtreme posse is the notorious Risdon Vale Boyz. Note the nerve-jangling utilisation of a ‘z’, as this flagrant disregard of the correct plural suffix indicates an exxxtreme challenge to established authority. You see, the breakdown of society begins with importer syntax and sentence construction, it continues through car theft and wilful destruction of authority, and into the kind of anarchy that makes the Hobbesian state of nature look like a CWA knitting circle.

No, lately Geilston Bay has been more like Baghdad, Belfast or Beruit.

No wonder we’ve left town!

Comments

Hi! Kris...
Wow...That's terrible!...The only place you, can find peace is in...

Kris, I agree with the quote 100%...I plan to take a "peek" at the link!
Thanks, for sharing!
DeeDee ;-D
Roddy said…
Are you going to remain in contact with your one adoring fan? Mainly me!
Unfortunately the idiots are everywhere. I thought I could shelter you and your brother by moving to Tasmania. Alas, no, the idiots have followed me.
Kris McCracken said…
DeeDee, we're still in shock...

Roddy, never!
Roddy said…
Yes, ever. You may have noticed.

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

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