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Showing posts from August 16, 2009

Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.

Here is another hairy Henry running for his life. Crocodiles. Today we went to playgroup. No-one else was there. Good thing I have a key.

Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness.

Sneaking a peek, I can see an icebreaker and an old Manly ferry. The things you'll fund! and it's the past - it's over - remember when - remember when? - remember that? - of course - i do - space and time - i do - worth it's weight - definitely - and it's there - there it is - but i can't tell you anything - i know - don't know how to sleep on my own - i know - i know 'cos i know - come on then - come on down - come on come on - that chick's gone crazy - screaming - yelling - and she sure made a lot of noise

Do not believe that you can possibly escape the reward of your action.

"Looks like you've had a nasty accident there mister..." "You wanna be careful. You wanna look after yourself little better." "A fella could get really hurt" "A fella needs to know who his friends are." "And friends need to look after their friends ." "Kapeesh?"

If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again. Then quit. There's no use in being a damn fool about it.

Here's something different for today's photograph: an Irish stew I made a few weeks back. Modesty prevents me from waxing too lyrical about it's excellent taste. I can, however, share with you a little secret in the cooking. Half the amount of water or stock you put in, and double the amount of stout! I use Cascade Stout , a fine, creamy brew with a hint of chocolate about it. Just the tonic for a shocking winter.

Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking.

It's another hairy Henry this evening, this time holding out a n olive branch stick for all the peoples of the world. Don't trust him peoples. As soon as you get close enough, he's liable to whack you with the stick and make a run for it!

Liberty, next to religion has been the motive of good deeds and the common pretext of crime...

Late afternoon in Salamanca, and here is a lamp no longer powered by whale blubber oil. It sits atop the entrance to the Salamanca Arts Centre, which doubtless is filled to the brim with testaments to man's inhumanity to man/woman/animals/trees/the planet/common sense and decency. Art these days can be a real drag. Ahhh, but enough about that, today is Theme Thursday , and this week the theme is SHADOW . Of course, late afternoon is a good time to creatively utilise SHADOW in photographic endeavours, that seems too feeble a response. However, the neo-Marxist activities I alluded to yesterday coupled with my self imposed harsh deadlines have forced my hand to rush this week. So here is a bit of short prose I have written right now for your amusement. She liked to think of the world as black and white . The people that she knew were either good or bad . People could be good , but go bad , but he had not heard of someone go from bad to good . The men in her life were gay and stra

Never confuse motion with action.

Here's Ezra from a few weeks back. It's funny, but his recent conversion to walking has already seen him shed some weight from those cheeks...

It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place.

Another morning, another one of 10 Murray, another one of the moon in the sky. Are you sensing a pattern? I am as busy as a Marxist beaver today, the masses against the classes and all that jazz. That said, I am making headway, so HURRAH COMRADE!

You can never do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.

Here you can see a damp Henry with a dry Jennifer reading Sleepy Time Olie , featuring the famous robot "Rolie Polie Olie". Now, I quite like Sleepy Time Olie , as it affords a great wind down into bed time through the course of what is admittedly a gripping text (I won't spoil it for you). The thing is though, in order for the text to properly scan, I have to affect a slight Maine accent. How I have managed to pick up the accent of an east Bangor primary school teacher, I am not sure. I think that it must have something to do with a Stephen King book or two...

It is vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves.

Waiting at the bus stop yesterday morning, I spotted and photographed some interesting colours in the sky to the east. The show in the sky was useful actually, as the bus didn't show. Bastards. Which gives me an idea for Tuesday Q and A : What withering bon mot should I include in my latest letter of complaint to the bus company?

The passions of a revolution are apt to hurry even good men into excesses.

There has been no shortage of revolutionary zeal from Ezra this evening. He's not happy, and he doesn't mind sharing it. There is a touch of the Toussaint L'ouverture's about his breast beating however, which does not bode well for the sustainability of his approach. There's only so much grumbling that l'état can take before des mesures draconiennes become necessary...

'Splaining things

Back by tepid popular demand!

Pedantry is properly the over-rating of any kind of knowledge we pretend to.

The top of the Hydro Building gets a little morning sunlight. Here is a poem! normal to be ord inary would be such a terrible burd on extra ordinarily hard hard er than not

Philosophy, n. A route of many roads leading from nowhere to nothing.

It is a very fine line between cheeky and obnoxious . Like Johnny Cash before him, Henry has chosen to walk the line .

The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.

We've FINALLY had a bit of sunshine. Here is the view of sunny Tranmere on Hobart's eastern shore as seen from Battery Point on Hobart's western shore. The general rule (that is, the rule I made up ) is " eastern shore, just add four [degrees Celsius] ". You don't say the "degrees Celsius" part aloud, as it totally ruins the metre of the saying. Time for Sunday Top Five ! My top five names vetoed by Jen for either son: 1: Frederick 2: Napoleon 3: Ludwig 4: Ulysses 5: Cersobleptes