This will hurt me...

Phallogocentrism. Davey Street, Hobart. May 2012. A poem... Detail of My Sort of Light , Ander Monson Now I know that everything is a body, so even the snow and the sand and the blood rivered down in the snow, and snowed on again so it's buried is a body. All things are bodies in photos— detail of the left side of a breast and the arm's pit—detail of the sled slumbered under by the storm's leavings. Detail of my sort of so-early half-lit eyelid light that bodies are near to invisible and touch is no longer the sole way of knowing, and outline is all that there is. Detail of your body as it does its morning leaving thing. Detail of what light there is on your skin. Detail of land- scape of let me in please and coffee, warm when the weather's action on this body is less than ideal. Landscape with pear. Landscape with weather and part of a breast in the frame.

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.

Short cuts. St Johns Park, New Town. June 2011. Breaking my streak of books that haven’t disappointed me (I was up to TEN) is the highly regarded sci-fi ‘classic’ Camp Concentration by Thomas M. Disch. I shall admit that perhaps I was not in the best frame of mind to tackle this one, but like many novels of its time (1968), I fear that it has not aged well. Set during a war that seemingly emerged from the Vietnam War, this altered history posits a United States as having taken a decidedly authoritarian turn. The narrative is the journal of a poet of some renown, the lapsed Catholic Louis Sacchetti who has been sent to a secret military installation as punishment for his conscientious objecting. This experimental camp sees military prisoners are injected with a form of syphilis that is intended to make them geniuses and thus harness their genius for the good of the state. Of course, things are never that simple. Don’t be fooled by the sci-fi tag, the book is crammed with a multitude o...

A moon over Davey Street. Hobart, December 2010. The chimney belonged to the Hobart Gas Company, and was built in 1854 to establish a gasworks to lighten the city streets. This was the third gasworks in the southern hemisphere, but we all know that it really was the best. A lot of bricks, piled real high... Hobart, December 2010.

Phallogocentrism is alive and well in North Hobart! One thing that strikes me about this town, is the abundance of large chimneys built in bygone eras. At some point I will collate them all and release a book! Yeah, that's what I'll do, release a book entitled Hobart: the home of the Victorian phallus !

It’s Theme Thursday folks, and have we got a fantastic theme set up for your pleasure today! Did it convince you? I tried, really, I tried. What in blazes can I talk about today? I’ve got a photo of a chimney in Battery Point. It could be brickworks, or a crematorium, or just an over-enthusiastic homeowner with cold toes. Truth is, I don’t know. It does make for a nice picture. But then again, I would say that. The theme today is BEGINNING . And this is the END