Between flattery and admiration there often flows a river of contempt.

Divorcee? Colville Street, Battery Point. August 2013.

PEACE.

Comments

Interesting. Stumbled upon Theme Thursday hop and thought I'd check out the players in hope of linking up next round. It's nice meeting you!

I invite you to link up with me on...
Thursday Thoughts: Parenting, Favorite Age, & Nates

PS: Do you play the Wordless Wednesday (photo display opportunity) hop?

22 August 2013 at 21:20

Kris McCracken said…

Cheers, I will pop around and have a look!

22 August 2013 at 21:42

Mrsupole said…

Maybe they are thinking that if you are a true feminist then you should not be taking a bus, that you should be jogging or finding your own way around. I think that most of us joined that movement without really understanding the consequences and how it would change the lives of the females around the world. Or that it would be an ongoing battle for the rest of our lives. Just a different battle during this age and time. The battle is not so much in the western countries but more in the eastern countries and the uneducated backwards countries. It is now to just give these women some basic rights and to not be treated like slaves. I feel that this battle will still be going on a hundred years from now. But I also think that the feminists can go too far and that some are so radical that they forget women should have the right to choose how they want their lives to be, not dictated by someone who wants to control them.

What a crazy world we live in. There are just too many control freaks out there.

Happy TT and may you have a warm week with only a few zombies visiting you.

God bless.

24 August 2013 at 01:49

Kris McCracken said…

Choice. That's what matters. Whatever the choice.

9 September 2013 at 21:26

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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