This will hurt me...

This photograph would make an excellent passport picture for the big little man. I figure that there is no way in the world that airport authorities could ever mistake him for a terrorist.

Kayak on the Derwent. May, 2010. One day – I promise – I will kayak to work. What’s the point of living next to a river estuary if one does not kayak to work? We are the time. We are the famous , Jorge Luis Borges We are the time. We are the famous metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure. We are the water, not the hard diamond, the one that is lost, not the one that stands still. We are the river and we are that greek that looks himself into the river. His reflection changes into the waters of the changing mirror, into the crystal that changes like the fire. We are the vain predetermined river, in his travel to his sea. The shadows have surrounded him. Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away. Memory does not stamp his own coin. However, there is something that stays however, there is something that bemoans.

There is a time when me must sling their hook over their shoulder, and go their own way in life. This was one of those time. Fortunately, they came back.

Looking north at lunchtime. St Johns Park, New Town, August 2010. Did you know that the island of Tasmania is the twenty-sixth largest island in the world? Well you do now. Wondering what to do at lunch. St Johns Park, New Town, August 2010.

Ezra does his best impression of Jimmy Barnes (back when he was on the grog).

Rowing on the Derwent on a cold Winter's morn. Derwent River (with Bellerive in the background). June, 2010. Theme Thursday and it appears that everybody has GONE FISHING. “GONE FISHING?”, you say. GONE FISHING. I myself have rarely GONE FISHING. I’ve gone snorkelling; gone kayaking; gone running; gone swimming; gone off; gone on; and gone apeshit, but I believe that I have GONE FISHING two, perhaps three, times in my life. It’s the guts I don’t like. I can handle the killing no problem, but the ritual disembowelment in such exhibitionist fashion seems to me profoundly disrespectful for the dear fish’s family and friends. Give the poor creature some dignity! I’ve long queried the extended airtime given to the multitude of television programs dedicated to the men who have GONE FISHING. While I have no ideological, intellectual, ethical or indeed stylistic opposition to such programs, I wonder why it is seemingly okay to broadcast reel after reel of some pitiable pilchard in its d...

You know that movie The Thin Red Line , where that bloke who was Jesus had a lot of long, ponderous interior monologues? Looking at this photograph to me prompts a soft, searching Midwestern US drawl meditating on the realities of man's inhumanity to man, nature and God. I've really got to get Henry trained on that Midwestern US drawl...