Ingratitude is the essence of vileness.

We need to talk. Errol Flynn Reserve, Sandy Bay. November 2011.

Theme Thursday again and today we are casting our net to try and find an appropriate EVENT.

I considered penning an ode to the fellow who appears to have launched his own Occupy Mayfair Plaza Car Park Toilet protest (fair dinkum, he’s been in there for 45 minutes already), but I’m not sure that it really qualifies as an EVENT until the riot police move in with vicious dogs and capsicum spray).

In the past week or so we’ve had World AIDS Day, World Day of Persons with Disabilities and International Volunteers Day; and immediately looming are Human Rights Day and International Migrants Day. However, as we’re amongst friends we can be frank and admit that these thing lack the pizzazz, zing, zest and a host of other zed words that truly constitutes an EVENT.

The upcoming Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe has EVENT potential, but unless a rabid band of Guadalupens are planning to throw that virgin into a throbbingly angry volcano on live pay-per-view satellite telecast, the world just isn’t interested.

In a similar vein, today is Feast of the Immaculate Conception, which – you know – sounds great in theory, but has nothing to do with the ritual cannibalisation of holy babies that might actually make the six-o’clock news. December 17 offers Wright Brothers Day. I’ve yet to confirm it, but I strongly suspect that this will not involve the re-animated zombie corpses or Orville and Wilbur cage fighting in the University of Dayton Arena. If it doesn’t, consider it a scratching.

No, it seems that if we’re after an EVENT, we will have to dredge up that hoary old bloated concept Christmas. Do you know what I have to say to that?

Bah humbug!

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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