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Showing posts from March 8, 2009

Pain doesn't listen to reason, it has it's own reason, which is not reasonable.

Here you can see the water taxi making a quick getaway from Sullivan's Cove one afternoon. I've not done so, but I could catch this one home, as it stops just over the road from us in Geilston Bay. If you can believe it, it actually works out cheaper than a road taxi. A bit pricier than the bus, however. Sometimes I get very tired. When I am, very tired, I know that my patience shortens and that I am prone to saying nasty things. Accordingly, because I know what can happen when I get very tired , I often choose to not say anything at all in order to avoid saying anything nasty that would really be about tiredness rather than nastiness . Yet on occasion, people assume that to not say anything means that you must be angry even though you're not angry you're just tired and at that point the silence isn't about anger because you're not angry, you're tired . Of course, the fact that people keep asking why you're angry even though you're not angry (yo

Most people are walking in their sleep; turn them around, start them in the opposite direction, and they wouldn’t even know the difference.

This is one of those "sleeping baby" things that you've probably heard about. Take a good look, it doesn't last very long right at the moment... And yes, Jen knitted that cardigan. If I'm not mistaken, it is a mix of cotton and (would you believe it) bamboo.

The past is utterly indifferent to its worshipers.

Here you can see a sad old bugger waiting for the five fifteen to Claremont. There was once a time when men were men , women were women and people were people . Dogs were dogs, cats were cats and rats were vermin and rules were rules . Citizens respected authority, children were seen and not heard , little boys were little boys , little girls were little girls and they hated each other for it. People did what they were told and everybody was happy , (or at least pretended to be for the sake of their neighbours). There was no sex , no drugs and music was kept at a sensible level. Women dressed smartly , respected themselves and had pride in their appearence. Men kept their hair short, their nails trimmed and never cursed in the street. Ladies were ladies and were thus treated like ladies and genlemen were well-mannered and the rest knew their place and didn’t cause any trouble . By Christ it was horrible .

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A combination of shiny shoes and synthetic pants will always ensure that feisty woman that you have your eye on will soon have her will ground down until she obliges your every whim. Complete and utter subservience. It's what makes marriage great!

But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave.

Can you believe that it is time for Theme Thursday already? Today we are not talking chocolate , toddlers , mess or ignominy . No, today we're dealing with ANIMAL . Now I could have posted a picture of a possum, numbat, wombat, wallaby or any other furry killing machine that roams our fair isle, but I figure that I'd use a far more deadly creature as an example of an animal . Some people - I know them as fools - have chosen to embrace that highfalutin idea that human beans are for some ungodly reason superior to animals. Of course, what these imbeciles seem to forget is that were are simple animals ourselves ! Anyone with a baby, toddler, teenage boy or Queenslander in their household could tell you this. Look at Henry [above]. One chocolate frog in the back of the car on a sunny day and all of a sudden it's Elagabalus meets Bacchus for a quick shandy in the Serengeti and we're down on all fours carrying on like a cat in heat. Fair dinkum, anyone who choo

It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety.

Isn't it always the way? You come home, you've lost your voice, you have to get the dinner on and feed the tired an cranky masses, and there's a bloody robot in the kitchen ! Not only that, but the robot seems to have developed a thing for the rubbish bin. It's very creepy.

Money, money, money.

"Money, money, money. Always sunny. In the rich man's world. Aha-ahaaa." Wise words from ABBA there. They say that money makes the world go around. I try not to think about money myself, but an eagle-eyed reader pointed out something they noticed while travelling the other day. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the following banknotes... This must be that million dollar smile that people talk about. I knew that Henry had a following in Russia, but this was news to me. If you visit Festisite , you might find something equally amazing.

Mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependdence on ritual.

Here you can see the Tasman Bridge as seen from the CSIRO building down in Battery Point. Now here is an experimental poem! i n s i d e o n e e m work। a d e o s thing rder to

Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression.

Look! It's Jen and Ez! They're out of the house and in the Geilston Bay Community Centre!

"It don’t take no nerve to do somepin when there ain’t nothin’ else you can do."

There was an international triatholon around these parts some weeks ago, and there were these metal railings scattered everywhere around town. I quite liked the formation of these and took a snap. I don't know who won, but I suspect that they were tired. I will admit that I find it depressing when I see the cool teens about town dressed very much in the style of 1986. To my mind, 1986 was a rather bleak period for fashion. Bad hair, too many colour clashes and ridiculous sun glasses. Why any young man would want to walk around looking like Brian Mannix is beyond my comprehension. I certainly would not like to deny the lad his right to do so, but I can't deny my inclination to shake my head at the Joseph and his techicolour vomit t-shirt. But it isn't poor taste that depresses me. Poor taste is pervasive in any era. What depresses me is that for Master Mannix-II, 1986 would equate to 1969 in McCracken lifespan-adjusted years. Am I really that old? Do people my age bore p

For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?

So, at last, we look north to the city centre. I've keep the image quite large so that you can see a bit of detail if you click on it. You can see Sandy Bay in the immediate foreground, Battery Point behind it, and then the CBD behind that. To the West is South Hobart, which is just north of West Hobart (confused yet?). Over the back you can see the Glebe, North Hobart, New Town and the other northern suburbs. Below, I've given you a glimpse of the Tasman Bridge. To the right is Hobart's eastern shore (where all the cool and sexy people live). In the foreground is Bellerive, then Montague Bay, with Lindisfarne tucked in behind that and the glamour suburb of Geilston Bay sitting just behind that. That's where Henry lives.

Is not general incivility the very essence of love?

So here I am looking over Storm Bay. Next stop, Antarctica! Storm Bay is the entrance to the Derwent River estuary, and is bordered by Bruny Island to the west and the Tasman Peninsula to the east. This view is to the south east, where the vilest, most wretched and smelliest convicts to be vomited from Britain's shores ended up!

A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.

Yesterday I showed Jen and Ez standing in the Signals House on Mount Nelson. Here is the singnals house itself. Early on in the history of Van Diemen's Land, they didn't have mobile phones, Internets or [gasp] even fax machines. So they made do with flags. Here upon this great big hill, they had a ruddy great pole with flags of all colours to send messages all the way down to Port Arthur, where the horrible and smelly convicts were kept. I'm not sure as to its veracity, but Henry tells me that this signal here is, "Darling, we're out of bread. Oh, and a carton of milk too while you're at it..." More views of the city and the river to come shortly.

Events dear boy, events.

Here you can see the shed on another gloomy morning. Very apt for this wretched building. I was going through an old book the other day and found a sentence scribbled in my handwriting in the margin. I hadn't thought about the topic in some time, but I think I still agree with the younger me (although in general I am a little more sanguine these days). "This Descartes needs a good fucking kicking." What do you reckon? Does Descartes deserve a damn good thrashing?

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Here you can see Jen and Ez sending me signals up at Mount Nelson Signal Station. I'll share some of the view with you tomorrow. Sleep beckons.

All is vanity, you know, ALL in the long run is but vanity and vexation of spirit.

When I first moved to Hobart in the heady days of the mid-1990s, I used to have to walk up this lane carrying all of my groceries for the week. The lack of shorter alternative routes should explain the voice. Somewhat unwisely though, I also chose to jog up it every second day for "relaxation". It was an odd kind of folly, and demonstrates the extremes that vanity will drive us! Go on, here's another one minute poem , this time penned at the bus stop. indignation get it? got it. et cetera cornered into thinking specified instructions yeah... and she can tell you every detail every fucking detail.