This will hurt me...

What are they doing in there? St David's Park. November 2011. Oh I do love peeking over a fence. Two Songs , Adrienne Rich 1. Sex, as they harshly call it, I fell into this morning at ten o'clock, a drizzling hour of traffic and wet newspapers. I thought of him who yesterday clearly didn't turn me to a hot field ready for plowing, and longing for that young man pierced me to the roots bathing every vein, etc. All day he appears to me touchingly desirable, a prize one could wreck one's peace for. I'd call it love if love didn't take so many years but lust too is a jewel a sweet flower and what pure happiness to know all our high-toned questions breed in a lively animal. 2. That "old last act"! And yet sometimes all seems post coitum triste and I a mere bystander. Somebody else is going off, getting shot to the moon. Or a moon-race! Split seconds after my opposite number lands I make it-- we lie fainting together at a crater-edge heavy as mercury in our ...

People in Tasmania store all manner of things in their front yards: cars, broken washing machines, unwanted children et cetera. In Battery Point, however, things are quite different. Ever since the suburb threw out the prostitutes and drunks was gentrified, the front gardens have assumed an air of little England circa 1907. Roses, violets and stiff upper lips reign supreme. Houses named " Charlesworth ", " Heathcliffe " and " Edgar " abound, and one assumes that the abodes simmer with firm manners, forced smiles and repressed sexuality. Occasionally though, one bucks the trend. This little split terrace features an old weather beaten plough shear not fashioned into a tank, rather a novel little perch for a concrete cockatoo. This household better be careful, I suspect that the neighbours are already preparing the giant wicker man to burn them in, lest they continue to bring down the tone of the neighbourhood....