The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it.

The question at hand. Russell Street, Sandy Bay. July 2011.

Can a heart still break once its [sic] stopped beatin...

Now, I'm no cardiac surgeon, but if a heart has stopped beating there is a mighty good chance that it already is broken!

This reminds me of one of my favourite heartbreak songs that I thought I'd share with you, the Mountain Goats' paean to the dissolution of a marriage, No Children. What I really like most about this one is the almost joyful intensity of the vocal in the celebration of bitterness.

As a sucker for a decent lyric, I reckon that this one is a beauty. I mean really

I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
And I hope you die
I hope we both die

That's truth and beauty there.

Comments

Roddy said…

I guess you can. Just put it on ice until it is nice and solid and then shatter it with something hard. Bingo! Broken heart.

11 July 2011 at 20:56

Kris McCracken said…

Ouch.

13 July 2011 at 08:50

Roddy said…

Not if you are dead!

15 July 2011 at 14:41

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

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

This will hurt me...

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