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...

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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