Fallacies do not cease to be fallacies because they become fashions.

Even beer kegs on the bag of a truck can make for an interesting photograph, if you try hard enough.

There is a quote from Günter Grass' novel The Tin Drum that I like very much, and I think captures the feeling of a kind of nervous energy that I was trying to put words to the other day.

"...At this moment I undertsood the fatal lure of the thirty-foot springboard; little grey kittens began to wriggle in my knee joints, hedgehogs mated under the soles of my feet, swallows took wing in my armpits, and at my feet I saw not only Europe but the whole world."

I really like that. If you've not read the book, give it a go.

Comments

Dina said…

I really like that too!

2 March 2009 at 08:04

KL said…

I would have liked the pic a bit crispier, but otherwise a nice abstract photo. Who would say they are beer drums?

2 March 2009 at 09:10

Kris McCracken said…

Dina, good!

2 March 2009 at 09:54

Kris McCracken said…

KL, 'cripser' as in evenly focused? Or more contrast?

2 March 2009 at 09:55

KL said…

A bit more focused or perhaps a more contrast would have also done the job.

3 March 2009 at 00:59

Kris McCracken said…

KL, the glare from the front keg limits the amount of contrast one could exploit, unfortunately

3 March 2009 at 09:18

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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