A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.

Don’t give up little man. Battle on! Royal Botanical Gardens, Hobart. March 2012.

What more could one ask for this lovely Theme Thursday than a little bit oh HOPE?

“What are we if we are without HOPE?”, one might ask.

The answer is of course Tasmanian, but at the moment, it’s neither here nor there!

No, HOPE springs eternal, noted short literary bloke Alexander Pope used to say. He has a point, but that doesn’t mean that the confidence in an assured outcome will ever be repaid. Unfortunately, the cynical among us sometimes can’t help but feel that HOPE is the eternal purchasing of a TattsLotto ticket to a draw that will never happen.

Of course if HOPE translates itself into something more than the passive expectation of a result, it might have some use. HOPE transformed into action might instill a determination that otherwise could dissipate. This is the HOPE I like. This is the HOPE that seems very un-Tasmanian.

Can you tell that I’m having a good past couple of weeks?

Bring on the Easter Rabbit!

Comments

Roddy said…

What can we do with a drunken Ezra? Early in the morning.

5 April 2012 at 20:15

Brian Miller said…

i rather like the thought of hope as an action....and great pic of the kid man...

6 April 2012 at 03:29

Mrsupole said…

I just wonder sometimes if we did not have any hope then would we ever invent anything or make changes in our lives. So maybe you are correct in saying that hope can be active. At least I hope you are right.

Have a Happy Easter and TT.

God bless.

8 April 2012 at 22:30

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...

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. ...

This will hurt me...

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