Domination delegates the physical violence on which it rests to the dominated.

Here are the silos down in Salamanca again on a brisk autumn afternoon. I am sick of the sight of those silos, yet I keep taking photographs of them. That is the first sign of my debasement.

I need a good dose of revolutionary zeal. I need some consciousness raising. I need a stiff drink.

Here, have a poem from a younger version of me.

Dialectical Materialism #12

To inhale the feeling that radiated the room
was to breathe in visions of tropical beauty,
lazy days lying on beaches to taste an unknown
something that reached right down into my testicles.
Motionless in a darkened corner, my chance had come,
but alas, a strange fear gripped me and I could not.

I'd have liked to pay some service to your eyes;
a deep blue sea raging fiercely on the inside
as angels cluster around the blessed iris.
And yes I know that I'm the most useless being
to have ever walked on this earth. But you will
never know how much I wanted you. (I'll never say)

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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