Dialectic thought is an attempt to break through the coercion of logic by its own means.

If you haven't already guessed, I'm a sucker for photographs featuring odd angles, and am forever drawn to boats. So when I managed to fuse the two in a harmonious rhapsody, I am a happy fellow indeed. So today I present to you a rat's eye view of the fine brigantine, Windeward Bound.

I was intrigued to find some raised eyebrows the other day when I expressed disdain for the work of one K. Hepburn. I’ve always found her a dull and interminable actor, forever locked into playing the same feisty, offbeat scallywag. Now, I appreciate her bucking the norm, but a combination of red hair and that frankly grating toff accent firmly puts her in my “can’t stand” pile, and they fact that such an elitist shrew acts as some kind of cynosure for “strong women” displeases me.

In honour of Dame Katherine, I wish to begin a Katie Hepburn Dishonour Role of sacred cows. Some time ago, I entered into the dangerous territory of naming and shaming people or creative endeavours that annoy me, so they can join in to the inaugural class!

Katherine Hepburn

Dr Suess

Ian Curtis

The Dalai Lama

Robert De Niro

Radiohead (since 1998)

To this esteemed company – and to bring the intake into a far neater TEN – I wish to add:

Bill Hicks: if I wanted to hear crude and simplistic rants about politics, I’d just go back and work with undergrads again. Seriously, if the dude hadn’t died no one would give him a second thought. He’s like the Joe Strummer of comedy.

Frank Zappa: it’s experimental is it? That doesn’t make it right...

The Shawshank Redemption: number one film on IMDB? Really?!? How? Triumph of the human spirit? Overlong, dour, pompous example of agonizingly contrived and cloying twaddle morelike!

The Clash: where does one start with The Clash? Toffs hating toffs? Tick. Lionising mindless action over thought? Tick. Mediocre chords that seem pedestrian when compared to anything not prog-rock related? Tick. A couple of decent tracks amidst a long list of crap albums? Tick. Let’s face it, The Clash are lyrically superficial, musically ugly, and frankly, little more than embarrassing poseurs slumming it (and not very convincingly, I might add). The Clash are the Bill Hicks of Rock ‘n Roll.

THAT should set the cat amongst the pigeons!

Mad as hell

So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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