The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.

Do you need a parasol to qualify? Bellerive Wharf, June 2011.

All GAMBLERS and FANCY WOMEN must sign up with captain?

Who decides? What if you change you mind mid-voyage? Will there be a test?

I must say, this seems a little heavy-handed in that rollicking hotbed of libertarianism New Orleans! Does it have something to do with their hurricane? How did they end up in Bellerive?

So many questions, so little time...

Comments

Roddy said…

Who decides? The captain of course.
Change your mind? What? That you are not a gambler or a fancy woman! And what do you change into if you do decide to change? As for the test. Will it be written or orals?
Time is infinite. Where do we start measuring and where do we stop?

16 June 2011 at 15:07

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris...
The quote is so very true and the photograph is nice too!
"Do you need a parasol to qualify?"
If so, I will sign-up dressed as author Gail Carriger.
deedee ;-D

17 June 2011 at 05:44

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, time.

DeeDee, the more the merrier.

17 June 2011 at 14:40

Roddy said…

Time, I have an abundance of at the present. Although a little more would come in handy.

17 June 2011 at 16:55

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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