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Showing posts with the label Fern Tree

If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man but deteriorate the cat.

This fellow may not be a monkey, orang-utan, squirrel, leopard, snakes, frogs or lizard; but the boy sure can climb!

The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made.

The perfect time for me to pour boiling oil down the stairs and secure the fort!

If you can't protect yourself with talk, you won't be alive to protect yourself with guns.

Ezra contemplates direct self-realisation and complete self-actualisation through a combination of Panentheism, transcendental meditation and dharma practice. I'll let you know how he gets on...

Of all fatiguing, futile, empty trades, the worst, I suppose, is writing about writing.

Snake in the grass #1. Fern Tree. February 2012. The Tartar Steppe by Dino Buzzati tells the story of a young officer and his life spent guarding an old, increasingly neglected border fortress on a dull frontier. It's a slow book. Very little happens: our protagonist misses his chances to escape the drudgery of this post, and slowly drifts into the monotony of barracks life. His career, and (more importantly) his life slides by quickly. Then, almost suddenly, he is old and ready to die. This is a tricky book to categorise. Slow moving almost to the point of catatonic, it's about the need to seize chances when they emerge. The risks of being locked into dull routine and letting life slip away are more than displayed here. Not for the faint hearted! Second up is The Death of Napoleon by Simon Leys. The conceit of this short, but complex novel is that prior to his purported death in exile, Napoleon Bonaparte manages to switch identities with a noncommissioned officer by those p...

Boast is always a cry of despair, except in the young it is a cry of hope.

I do like a nice bloom of flowers in the snow. Jen snapped Ezra here shifting some snow about in the hippy commune Hobart suburb of Fern Tree back in September. Quite what he was intending to do with all that snow, well, that he wouldn’t tell me…