This will hurt me...

Ezra is one of those people that - from a mere glimpse - you can tell whether he is smiling or not. Consider his ear: happy, sad or ambivalent?

Look at the plump, juicy …. [err] things. St Johns Park, New Town. February 2011. If I wrote a Chinese poem of the Sung Dynasty, I think that I should like to call it Reports examining the range and magnitude of alcohol’s harm to others highlight the importance of comprehending the largely hidden impact of alcohol on children and observe the wide range of harms experienced by children as a result of their parents’ drinking . I believe that it would have achieve no small amount of success and esteem. Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles , by Billy Collins It seems these poets have nothing up their ample sleeves they turn over so many cards so early, telling us before the first line whether it is wet or dry, night or day, the season the man is standing in, even how much he has had to drink. Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow. Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name. "Viewing P

Henry hunting Notechis scutatus . Tiger snakes rank amongst the deadliest snakes in the world. Does this stop our Henry? Of course it does, he's not an idiot!

The Croquet Club has seen better days. New Town, February 2011. Another Friday, more books. The Drowned and the Saved is a book of essays on life focused on understating life in the Nazi extermination camps by Italian author (and Holocaust survivor) Primo Levi, who draws upon his personal experience to face this ambitious task. Levi is one of the authors that I respect most, and whereas If This is a Man – a tremendous first of a pair of novels written directly after the war– was an autobiographical attempt at both recording and understanding, The Drowned and the Saved is his effort at an analytical approach. The problem of the fallibility of memory, the techniques used by the Nazis to break the will of prisoners, the use of language in the camps and the nature of violence are all studied. This book, published just months after his (apparent) suicide in 1987, was written in a time far removed from the experience of the camps. In it, Levi attempts to position himself as the dispassion

Ezra’s first upskirt upshorts pic!

Clouds seen in the hospital windows. Argyle Street, Hobart. February 2011. Sometimes the best way of looking at something is by looking at something through something else. We often fool ourselves that when we observe something for ourselves, we can achieve some kind of objectivity. Of course, all observation is mediated through the observer. If we consciously choose to observe something through something, we immediately abandon that pretence, and factor in the potential refractive points. We won’t get objectivity, but at least we might get something more contemplative. What that has to do with clouds is anybody’s guess.

It doesn’t matter how cold the water is, Henry remains am incredibly handsome chap!

Looking south down along the Tasman Peninsula. Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011. It seems to me that there are two kinds of people in the world. First, there are people who annoy me. Second, there are people who annoy me less. The Tessellated Pavement glimmers in the morning light. Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011. I am not sure that I was built for these times…

Jen and Ezra always apply their sunscreen whilst bounded by delightful yellow flowers. Indeed, if I don’t have delightful yellow flowers at the ready, they’re both susceptible to Whitney Houston-level eruptions, and that’s something that nobody needs in their life…

Careful now, men at work. A crane as seen from the corner of Liverpool and Argyle Streets, Hobart. January 2010. I treat the discovery of somebody else’s library due date slip – now helpfully printed out by some kind of bibliophile robot – as a rare insight into the mind of somebody else. Thus, when I found tucked in the back of Vladimir Nabokov’s Transparent Things a slip from the Burnie Library, I eagerly pocketed it for my perusal. What might it tell me about the puzzling punter who had previously perused the putative plot of a perplexing pederast? Let’s have a look shall we? The Critique of pure reason The very best of Bert Kaempfert [sound recording] Water music : and, music for the royal fireworks [sound recording] Immanuel Kant’s bold – and utterly impenetrable – attempt to understand understanding , a collection of the hits of a German ‘easy listening’ orchestra leader, and GF Handel’s most famous piece paired with a suite written to celebrate the end of the War of the Austri

Would you buy a beefcake calendar featuring these two beefcakes?

A bacon and egg roll and we’ll just wait and see what happens. Campbell Street, Hobart. January 2011. History – and historical memory – can be an odd business. It is hard to get a sense when you are in the present of the true historical magnitude of the events taking place around you. Conversely, it’s nigh on impossible to comprehend truly the importance of events that happened with the distance of time between you and it/them, removed as you are from the proper context. That does not stop us from trying of course. You may have seen the (most recent) attempt to tally up the views (and scores) of British historians along a set of criteria and deduce the “best” President of the United States . It is an interesting exercise, and makes for some great arguments (you can read all about it here), but ultimately it strikes me as being a bit of a futile exercise. While I will confess to be an FDR fan, I really couldn’t tell you if he was really X percent superior to (say) Grover Cleveland; or

At some point Ezra will been viewed with increasing suspicion as he lurks around ladies’ public toilets…

Someone must be paying attention. The stairwell in the Curruthers Building, St Johns Park, New Town. February 2011. Crikey, Sunday already and I need another Top Five. With inspiration rapidly dwindling, how about Five Mr Men Books That I Think Would Totally Be Worth Reading ? Mr Seedy : I’ve always thought that Charles Bukowski would have made a decent Mr Men book. Mr Seedy could teach Mr Fussy a thing or two about having fun. Mr Moral : There’s a lot of potential for this one. Think of a superior and condescending Mr Man learning true moral worth. Mr Happy can take the charge, but there’s scope for many Mr Men joining in. Mr Resentment : Think Victor Meldrew, only more bitter. Mr Obsession : Mr Man as creepy stalker. Little Miss Splendid can be the target. Mr Lebensmüde : not only would this make for an interesting picture book, we could try and leverage off a Bergman-esque four hour film as well…