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

ratatouille's archives said…

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

20 April 2011 at 14:10

ratatouille's archives said…

Uh oh!
:-/

20 April 2011 at 14:14

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.

20 April 2011 at 18:31

Kris McCracken said…

DeeDee, we're still in shock...

Roddy, never!

27 April 2011 at 10:20

Roddy said…

Yes, ever. You may have noticed.

28 April 2011 at 18:01

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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