This will hurt me...

Octopus's garden? Bellerive Bluff, Bellerive. August 2013. Wordless Wednesday.

Under water, looking out towards the sky. Flowerpot Point, Blackmans Bay. May 2013. The Sea: Day by Day , Philip Plisson: Magnificent images, could have possibly used more exposition. B- . The Boy Who Taught the Beekeeper to Read , Susan Hill: Subdued stories that explore loneliness and loss. Bleak. C+ . Pantone: The Twentieth Century in Color , Leatrice Eiseman: Some lovely colours and images, somewhat marred by shallow complementary text. C .

Hormosira banksii, a.k.a. Neptune's necklace. Flowerpot Point, Blackmans Bay. May 2013. As you know, the Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (and RSS feeds.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning... Would you want to be friends with Humbert Humbert? An article on the importance of “likeability” in novels. A selection from the 2013 National Geographic Traveler Photo Contest . Syphilis, sex and fear: How the French disease conquered the world . Splashdown! The Breeders' Cannonball-Like Re-Entry . A compelling case against empathy, arguing that empathy alone is not sufficient to uphold morality — and may even work against it. A map of the world’s most and least racially tolerant countries . Astronomy porn. The most depressing thing I've read all week. Five Warning Signs That You're Finally Getting O...

Sea weed. Denison Beach, near Bicheno, Tasmania's East Coast. January 2013. As you know, the Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (and RSS feeds.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning... Interesting fusion when an NBA player merges Marxism and a critique of modern mental illness . The sky. Cheating in sport is as old as sport itself. Tasmania on the bumpy road to economic sustainability. Describing shark encounters as 'attacks' is misleading and outdated, researchers say . Did dinosaurs love their children? If emotions are something special to humans, how and when did they develop?

A kelp forest. Calvert's Beach, South Arm Peninsula. January 2012. A merry Watery Wednesday to all on this cold and grey Summer morning in Tasmania! In order to avoid the dismal truth that what should be the sunniest season is looking like a damp squib today, today's photograph harkens back to a week or so ago and a beautiful morning of a balmy 22°C - at 8am - as we rounded the cliffs at Goat Bluff.

A bird? A plane? A helicopter? Diomedea exulans ? The Rapture? Most likely another ball…

Sea weed. Alone. On a beach. Little Howrah Beach, April 2011. It's hard being tired all the time. Sea Poppies , by H. D. Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure spilled near the shrub-pines to bleach on the boulders: your stalk has caught root among wet pebbles and drift flung by the sea and grated shells and split conch-shells. Beautiful, wide-spread, fire upon leaf, what meadow yields so fragrant a leaf as your bright leaf?

A handful of seaweed, a footy, an unfettered idea and positive sense of self/ What more could you possibly ask for?

You keep playing up Hank, and this here seaweed is going to be your dinner. And I'm not deep-frying it.

This seaweed appears to be waving hello. Bellerive Beach, December 2010. Why? Why not. Why not indeed! Because. Because why? Just because. Just because I said so. Why? Because! Why not? Because. Because why? Why because? ? ? ? ! ! !

A little bit of kelp has found its way ashore. Seven Mile Beach, September 2010. Finally ! Saturday has arrived and with any luck, Jen will have a car again soon. With it, the wonderful world of the beach will be unlocked to us again! To celebrate, here is a poem: A Little Called Pauline , by Gertrude Stein A little called anything shows shudders. Come and say what prints all day. A whole few watermelon. There is no pope. No cut in pennies and little dressing and choose wide soles and little spats really little spices. A little lace makes boils. This is not true. Gracious of gracious and a stamp a blue green white bow a blue green lean, lean on the top. If it is absurd then it is leadish and nearly set in where there is a tight head. A peaceful life to arise her, noon and moon and moon. A letter a cold sleeve a blanket a shaving house and nearly the best and regular window. Nearer in fairy sea, nearer and farther, show white has lime in sight, show a stitch of ten. Count, count more so...

Blue sky. Blue-green water. Healthy seaweed. It can only be Seven Mile Beach in Spring. Of course, this isn't today . Today it's grey and raining. This is a weekday a couple of weeks' back. Time for the Sunday Top Five! In the wake of top international statesman imbicile Hugo 'Boca Grande' Chavez's recent attempt to rehabilitate misunderstood altruists Robert Mugabe, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and the dearly departed Idi Amin, I nominate five others that the Latin American strongman moron might turn to next: 5) Yoko Ono: "The fascist, imperialist and capitalistic dogs of the West could not stand an invader from the East..." 4) Pol Pot: "Pol suffered for being little more than a cheeky chappy with a big dream from a developing country..." 3) Gary Glitter: "The Fascist, imperialist, immoral Western pigs hate Gary because of his close links with the Third World..." 2) Adolf Hitler: a challenge, I know. How about "a great patriot who ...