If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.

I would have added a question mark. Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay. July 2012.

Theme Thursday?

"It's your EYES", he used to say. He said it a lot.

"I love your EYES."

"You have the most beautiful EYES."

"Your EYES are deep whirlpools of adorableness."

He might have lacked a good thesaurus, but he always seemed sincere.

However, his fixation on her EYES always worried her. Even during their most intimate moments, he would start and finish with them. He would start by kissing them, gaze intently at them right throughout the act and usually returned to them with soft and tender lips before rolling over into a deep sleep.

To be sure, he enjoyed the delicate cleft underneath her left buttock. He relished the suppleness of her pert yet full breasts. And yes, it was not unusual for him to dwell on the gentle curve of her waist or lightly tongue her right earlobe.

Yet is was always about the EYES. Even as he left, after he carefully packed away his collection of rare and valuable cactuses, he stressed - almost by way of apology - that "It's your EYES I'll miss most".

Because she loved him, and against all sense and good reason she still loved him, she could not bear to see him unhappy. So, with no little effort and with the assistance of a teaspoon from her mother's prized Sheffield plate silver service set and a pre-postmarked package, she set about giving him what he wanted most.

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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