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Showing posts from September 4, 2011

The danger of the past was that men became slaves. The danger of the future is that man may become robots.

Pre-haircuts. Paul and George?

I worship your fleece which is the perfect triangle

10 Murray: going the way of the Tasmanian Tiger? Corner of Murray and Davey Streets, September 2011. It's about time that I had a sexy poem... The Ninth Secret Poem , Guillaume Apollinaire I worship your fleece which is the perfect triangle Of the Goddess I am the lumberjack of the only virgin forest O my Eldorado I am the only fish in your voluptuous ocean You my lovely Siren I am the climber on your snowy mountains O my whitest Alp I am the heavenly archer at your beautiful mouth O my darling quiver I am the hauler of your midnight hair O lovely ship on the canal of my kisses And the lilies of your arms are beckoning me O my summer garden The fruits of your breast are ripening their honey for me O my sweet-smelling orchard And I am raising you O Madeleine O my beauty above the earth Like the torch of all light

People pay for what they do, and still more for what they have allowed themselves to become. And they pay for it very simply; by the lives they lead.

On a clear day you can see forever Tranmere...

It is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself.

The sun also rises. St George’s Church, Battery Point; as seen from Queen Street, Sandy Bay. September 2011. A couple of books this week, of decidedly mixed resonance (and indeed esteem). First up, the good! I read John Braine’s debut Room at the Top a few weeks ago and enjoyed it very much. Set ten years from the events of that novel, Life at the Top chronicles the life and trials of Joe Lampton, a once ambitious man of humble origins who has discovered that ‘life at the top’ (well, in the upper middle classes) is not all it was cracked up to be. A fantastic snapshot of a certain time and place (England’s industrial north in the early-1960s), of a certain class consciousness (a rising proletariat and declining landed gentry) and a shifting gender and sexual politics. Life at the Top was seemingly lost in the rush of ‘angry young men’ novels that emerged in the UK in the late-1950s and seems now long forgotten. This is a shame, because it’s definitely a worthwhile addition to t

Nothing is ever the same as they said it was.

The track is now well and truly built. They still need to build a bridge over the creek though...

Never pick a fight with an ugly person, they've got nothing to lose.

I ran... I ran so far away... Little Howrah Beach, Howrah. August 2011. I am wondering: should I continue?

Life is an end in itself, and the only question as to whether it is worth living is whether you have had enough of it.

Please excuse me for a moment, I do believe that I need to vomit.

Resting on your laurels is as dangerous as resting when you are walking in the snow. You doze off and die in your sleep.

The sixth-ugliest building in Sandy Bay. Marieville Esplanade, Sandy Bay. September 2011. So I have the flu. Bravery / foolhardiness compelled me to go to work yesterday (that and a meeting that I really didn't want to have to reconvene), and it was indeed a struggle. To give you an idea, try this on for size: work up a nice little temperature and then chair a meeting in the late-afternoon (with teleconference), within which you also have to do a fair whack of the talking, as you arranged the thing. After valiantly making my way through the meeting (relatively) unscathed, the voice completely gives up the ghost in the cab on the way back to the office. Thus I find myself 'resting' at home today. Kogel mogel all around! Have you ever tried to pull to rowdy children through the delicate art of mime?

It is a vain hope to make people happy by politics.

We scoot we skate we run we roll we flip we tumble we fumble we flop we cartwheel we skip we hop we jump we walk we talk we moan we groan we slink we slouch we grouch we go home. Repeat to fade.

The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall.

Who stole that brick and how did they get up there? Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay. September 2011. I'm on struggle street today. Burdened down by what seems like a flu but with a meeting so important that it cannot be postponed, I suspect that today is going to be a very long day .™ I think that I'll need provisions, including: Handkerchief (x 3). Grapefruit. Orange juice (with pulp). Bottle of water. Forlorn gazes out of window at sunshine.

I cannot pretend to be impartial about the colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones, and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.

And BOOM goes the dynamite!

There are two things more difficult than making a speech: climbing a wall which is leaning toward you and kissing a girl who is leaning away from you.

No-one Came Here For A Lecture On Communism. The living room, Geilston Bay. September 2011. There are at lest two pair of elite athlete's feet here. The other pair I suspect is good at knitting. Let's go to the tape...

I am not struck so much by the diversity of testimony as by the many-sidedness of truth.

Cold? You don't know cold! Why, when I were a lad we'd be thankful for this kind of cold! I'd go to sleep every night thankfully that I had a blanket of snow keeping me warm at night!

To understand is to perceive patterns.

Don't believe the spelling and punctuation. St George's Terrace, Battery Point. September 2011 Sunday Top Five already? Okay, now it's time for My Top Five Favourite Married To The Sea Cartoons This Sunday Morning ! V. IV. III. II. I. Don't forget to visit Married To The Sea and browse through the back catalogue...