This will hurt me...

So we’ve got some water and a rope again. This was taken this morning in Sullivan’s Cove, right in the heart of Hobart. Thanks to Willits’ finest, Elaine , I have one of these interweb tube meme things to relieve me of the need to be overly creative. This is a good time for one of these things actually, as I’ve been up since half-past-three in the morning (Ezra got back to sleep, I didn’t) and I’m not faring too well. All I have to do is reveal five details about myself, and I figure that I can probably manage that so I shall give it a go. 1) I fail to understand what is so special about the work of Vincent Van Gogh. In general, I think that the post-Impressionists were pretty rubbish when compared to the Impressionists. 2) I think that Gough Whitlam seems like a bit of a wanker, to be honest, and I can’t understand why so many people – with many of whom I share comparable political views – worship him. 3) I sometimes regret not throwing in “Napoleon” as a middle name for Henry. 4) I s...

Someone may be able to guess what today's photo is of, you can find them on a lot of streets around these parts. I know that certain readers (well, one, hello Julie ), have been asking for more poems, and I felt a bit guilty just stopping like that. But as I said before, poetry was only ever a diversion, as I generally consider myself a prose man. I've got books filled with little bits an pieces, beginnings of things, endings of things, dialogue, short stories, complicated narratives, simple word play, outlines of novels never written; you name it, I've started it. So, instead of giving you a poem that I am probably less than happy with, I'd share an experiment in prose from the dark ages of 1998 that I remember liking at the time. I've edited it slightly, chopped a bit here, fiddled with a word there, so let's call this a "2008 re-mix". Now, some people might find this tricky to read, but my advice is to just let it flow, don't stop too long firs...