Waiting for the sun. Sullivans Cove, May 2010. One of the The only thing that I miss about my old job is the walk from the bus stop in the morning. Although you can still see the river from New Town, it’s not quite the same as being able to see that morning sun over the water, smell the salt in the air etc etc… Treat yourself to a poem. Behind, perhaps, let the sea blow… , Carlos Barbarito Behind, perhaps, let the sea blow. Let some word blow outside every destination of slime, rust. Perhaps ointments from Avicenna, forests of embraces, crops, swarms, humid implications. Or, perhaps, the same. It sits up. It gets dressed. It goes. The grass stands up again. At his step everything seems to find inside itself a certain form of calm. It can't be a great distance - he thought.
Hungry? Bellerive Wharf, Bellerive. September 2010. Book Club Friday again already. I finished two books this week, one Vietnamese and the other Swedish (although very much Finnish is tone and content). The first was Bao Ninh’s The Sorrow of War . Apparently quite popular in Vietnam enough to be banned – this one is a mediation through the Vietnamese War (the second one) from the perspective of a North Vietnamese volunteer. Think of it as a shorter, more disjointed Vietnamese version of The Thin Red Line . Now, I am not sure if it is a poor translation, or if the Vietnamese lyrical style simply doesn’t translate well into English, but this one was a little disappointing for me. The overarching story was remarkable, and many of the vignettes themselves were compelling and nicely drawn, but the stilted, exaggerated and overly florid description does wear you down after a while. I am not sure that the overly elaborate and shifting narrative also helped. While I appreciate an unrel
Young people today! The corner of New Town Road and St Johns Avenue, September 2010. Theme Thursday yet again, and my, how appropriate is the theme today! Yes people, we are gripped by ENNUI . Well may you scoff at the notion of being engrossed in your own listlessness, but modern life is just like that sometimes. Look at the graffiti above. Consider the written expression. Are the authors likely to be dynamic and enthusiastic members of their local community? They can’t spell “ sucks ” and they forsake the Australian “ arse ” for the bastardised American “ ass ”. If that does not tell you something about the state of their melancholy, nothing will! Taken as a whole, the message is unclear. PiGS SUX COCK ASS Now, I could be generous and presume that our wanton vandals are actually intrepid young veterinary students positing a revolutionary new procedure for our porcine friends. Indeed, we might postulate that PiGS SUX [meaning suxamethonium chloride ] COCK ASS refers to some k
History can be found anywhere. Elizabeth Street, Hobart. September 2010. Here you can see a ye olde time billboard (e?), advertising a long-since departed service station in Elizabeth Street, right smack bang in the middle of town. These days, you will struggle to find a service station anywhere that close to the CBD, they’ve all been bought up and converted into alcohol outlets (I kid you not). One day, I wonder what people will make of what we have done to our city.
In 1922, a group of eminent French scientists definitively established the causal factors behind the mystery that is marriage . It appears that – despite a multitude of philosophers, artists, alchemists, poets and cabinetmakers probing over centuries – women had known the secret all along! It seems that marriages “ are made in the heaven of women's [sic] minds and hearts .” As with most hard science, I am not sure that I fully grasp the A to B . I know that it has something with the bourgeoisie. I know that it has something to do with flushed cheeks. I presume that it relates to triggering that part of the male brain that reacts to a post-orgasmic cutaneous blood circulation in the buccae. The advertisement does not fully explain that part.
The house generally wins. Elizabeth Street, Hobart. September 2010. I am not a gambling man. I am more a gambolling man. Punting is a game for mugs, and there does not seem a shortage of mug punters out there. There used to be a lively (if not quite happening ) music scene in Hobart. Now we have poker machines. Now I understand that not everyone wants to hear another version of Keh Sanh played at the wrong tempo and sung by a guy with less gravel in his voice than Nana Mouskouri, but it is surely better than the sound of some poor down and out pissing away his kid’s new pair of shoes in the hope of three pairs of cherries. I confess that I have no experiential knowledge of electronic gaming. As I said at the top, it is a mug’s game and I may be many things – charming, handsome, sophisticated, romantic, modest – but I am not a mug. So I turn to you, the global village , and ask what is so fun about poker machines ?
People heading home. Collins Street as seen from Campbell Street, Hobart. September 2010. In a rush so here's 20 questions! Were you born early, late or right on time? You would have to ask my mother about that. Chicken pox? Twice! Aged five and again aged 14. Good times… Allergic to bees? No. I have been stung and while it hurt, it went away reasonable quickly. How about strawberries? No. I can eat ‘em all day. Hereditary illness? Not yet, although there are a few predispositions there. Have you ever been in a car accident? Nothing important. We went through a fence once. That was funny. How much do you smoke? Smoking is for losers. How much do you drink? The odd cider now and then. Is your cholesterol normal? Who knows?!? One hopes… Have you ever run a marathon? Christ no. No good for the knees. And feet. And legs. And back. And heart. How many x-ray's have you had (not including dentist)? A few. Couldn’t tell you. Do you watch what you eat? I try and practice
The World's smallest sand dune. Clifton Beach, September 2010. Sunday Top Five ? Meh. My Top Five Excuses For Not Doing A Sunday Top Five ! I have a headache. I can't be bothered. A Great White Shark ate my notes. Sunday is the Lord's day, I shall not blaspheme his name. The pretzels are making me thirsty.