In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare!

Someone has rushed this. Geilston Bay, August 2011.

Now time for part II of yesterday's stolen questions:

20) Have you ever flown a kite?
Of course!

21) Do you wish on your fallen lashes?
Not that I am aware of. Am I supposed to?

22) Do you consider yourself successful?
It depends on one’s measure. Some days I think that I am.

23) When was the last time that you made an obscene phone call?
I never have.

24) Have you ever asked for a pony?
No. They make me sneeze (no good if I was on the run from the draft board.

25) Plans for tomorrow?
Work.

26) Can you juggle?
Very badly.

27) Missing someone now?
Always.

28) When was the last time you told someone "I love you"?
This very morning.

29) And truly meant it?
I have never once said it and not meant it.

30) How often do you drink alcohol?
Once in a blue moon.

31) How are you feeling today?
Spritely.

32) Have you ever tried to write a meme?
Who hasn’t?

33) Have you ever been fired from a job?
Never. Can you believe it?

34) What are you looking forward to?
The next cuddle.

35) Have you ever crawled through a window?
Many a time.

36) What's the most recent bad meal that you had to endure?
No comment.

37) Can you handle the truth?
Whose truth?

38) Who’s to blame for what's going on?
We are all to blame.

39) What will it take to fix it all up?
A miracle.

Comments

Sue said…

You are successful in all the ways that matter, Kris. You are much loved and loving. Worthy measures to go by.

22 September 2011 at 22:20

Kris McCracken said…

The proof is in the pudding!

1 October 2011 at 08:14

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. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

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...

This will hurt me...

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