This will hurt me...

Things are looking up at the silo apartments. Salamanca Place, Hobart. January 2012. Rain rain go away. Seriously. Piss off. Go on. Now! Corona , Paul Celan Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends. From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk: then time returns to the shell. In the mirror it's Sunday, in dream there is room for sleeping, our mouths speak the truth. My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one: we look at each other, we exchange dark words, we love each other like poppy and recollection, we sleep like wine in the conches, like the sea in the moon's blood ray. We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from the street: it is time they knew! It is time the stone made an effort to flower, time unrest had a beating heart. It is time it were time. It is time.

A crack in the façade. May, 2010. T minus 10,530 minutes and 12 seconds. Another Salamanca shot and everyone is calling in sick. If I didn't have this protective layer of egotism I might think that they are avoiding me...

Another day, another boat. Here we have an Royal Australian Navy patrol boat parked in front of the Silo apartments that I've featured a few times before . I had my upper right molar removed yesterday. The extraction itself was fine, but by golly, trying to sleep with a mouth full of coagulating blood is a trick that I struggle with! Merry Christmas indeed...

I took this photo looking up while down in Salamanca Place last Thursday afternoon. High above the Silos and the trees, that speck of white you can see is the moon. A new thing for me: TUESDAY Q and A ! Right now , at this very moment , what is your favourite word? Right now? I am going to have to go with dénouement .

Here are the silos down in Salamanca again on a brisk autumn afternoon. I am sick of the sight of those silos, yet I keep taking photographs of them. That is the first sign of my debasement. I need a good dose of revolutionary zeal. I need some consciousness raising. I need a stiff drink. Here, have a poem from a younger version of me. Dialectical Materialism #12 To inhale the feeling that radiated the room was to breathe in visions of tropical beauty, lazy days lying on beaches to taste an unknown something that reached right down into my testicles. Motionless in a darkened corner, my chance had come, but alas, a strange fear gripped me and I could not. I'd have liked to pay some service to your eyes; a deep blue sea raging fiercely on the inside as angels cluster around the blessed iris. And yes I know that I'm the most useless being to have ever walked on this earth. But you will never know how much I wanted you. (I'll never say)

Even though they tend to dominate my day to day existance, I have been very good and not overloaded you with images of the silos down here in Salamanca Place. That said, I couldn't resist this one. I'm in a Galway Kinnell mood today. So here is my favourite short Kinnell poem. Prayer Whatever happens. Whatever what is is is what I want. Only that. But that.

Back to an arty farty black and white photograph today. Here are the Silos that I have featured previously , only from a different angle, and at a different time of day (this was Thursday morning). I like how both the light, and the contrast achieved by choosing black and white show the cracks in the render of the building. Hopefully it will cost the tenants a bomb to fix it. That said, given their likely links to the big end of town, I expect that they will find some way to weasel out of paying for it themselves! Bitter, moi ? I know that they are luxury apartments, but part of me likes to think of these things as nuclear missile silos. That only happens when I am wistful for the certainties of the Cold War . It is an odd thing to miss, I grant you, but from Tasmania, the old Soviet Union seemed terribly exciting .