This will hurt me...

Shouting giraffe. Howrah bike path, Howrah. November 2012. We're off to some long forgotten beach today to test the fellas out with yet another treck around some cliffs. Ezra doesn't know it yet, but I'm preparing him for a couple of decent hikes in January up and down some of Tasmania's finest East Coast National Parks ... Meanwhile, enjoy a poem. To Friends behind a Frontier , Tomas Transtromer I I wrote so meagrely to you. But what I couldn't write swelled and swelled like an old-fashioned airship and drifted away at last through the night sky. II The letter is now at the censor's. He lights his lamp. In the glare my words fly up like monkeys on a grille, rattle it, become still, and bare their teeth. III Read between the lines. We'll meet in 200 years when the microphones in the hotel's walls are forgotten and can at last sleep, become trilobites.

Young people today! The corner of New Town Road and St Johns Avenue, September 2010. Theme Thursday yet again, and my, how appropriate is the theme today! Yes people, we are gripped by ENNUI . Well may you scoff at the notion of being engrossed in your own listlessness, but modern life is just like that sometimes. Look at the graffiti above. Consider the written expression. Are the authors likely to be dynamic and enthusiastic members of their local community? They can’t spell “ sucks ” and they forsake the Australian “ arse ” for the bastardised American “ ass ”. If that does not tell you something about the state of their melancholy, nothing will! Taken as a whole, the message is unclear. PiGS SUX COCK ASS Now, I could be generous and presume that our wanton vandals are actually intrepid young veterinary students positing a revolutionary new procedure for our porcine friends. Indeed, we might postulate that PiGS SUX [meaning suxamethonium chloride ] COCK ASS refers to some kind of...

Completing a dare, Sullivans Cove, June 2010. At least I hope that this bloke is completing a dare. Theme Thursday today, and although I am again rushed off my feet, it isn't too much of a stretch today. You see, I am lucky enough to be armed with a CAMERA for much of the day as I go about the place. Naturally, this affords me ample opportunity to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes, taking the piss . Take the image above, for example. If I didn't have my CAMERA, I would have had to simply describe how badly dressed this fellow was. "Dud haircut, pink singlet, pale grey checked short shorts, shaved legs and boat shoes sans socks" doesn't at all do it justice. With the CAMERA, I can share such a find with the world!

I often bemoan young people today: their ridiculous haircuts, preposterous clothes, inane banter, poor social skills, inadequate manners, reprehensible idols, embrace of stupidity and lack of historical knowledge, as well as being younger than me disrespect of their elders and betters. On one level though, they have not changed a dot since I ceased being young and joyous – I was about nine – their minds are as filthy and infantile as ever! Experience the witty banter of the North Hobart yoof as seen in this graffiti-ridden wall next to the swings in St. Andrews Park. There is something especially poignant about the lack of apostrophe in the flippant homophobic slur. The lack of attention to correct grammar is matched only with the casual disregard to good manners! It’s Theme Thursday you see, and alas I am already LATE for a meeting!

Theme Thursday yet again, and today the theme is LIMO . One assumes that we are to talk about a limousine , that is, a luxury sedan with a lengthened wheelbase and usually driven by a chauffeur. The cocaine being snorted off a high price call girl's breasts is an optional extra. I think that I am safe to assume that these three are most definitely not waiting for a LIMO. The stop would indicate that the Metro X-press (how hip) to Glenorchy is more likely. As my sloth in getting this post up might indicate, I've been busy, so I've little time to waste! The first thing I think about when I hear the word "LIMO" is wanker a story shared by a world weary colleague who mused on the differences between an American and an Australian , and yes, there is a LIMO involved. In many ways, Australians and Americans are alike. Former English colonies. "New World" rather than "Old Europe". Outposts in a rich an bountiful, yet dangerous and foreboding, land....

Here you can see some of Hobart’s finest skyscrapers from the vantage point of Davey Street. It’s easy in the midst of such awesome sights to get confused and image one’s self in one of the world’s great metropolises [metropolopoli?], like New York , Shanghai or Burnie . On the subject of big cities... [nice segue dude] There is a kind of Groundhog Day effect when one sits towards the back of the 4:45 Risdon Vale express. Seemingly interchangeable malnourished-looking, undersized squeaky-voiced miscreants compete in a simplistic game of one-upmanship that has a tendency to focus on five key areas. [The faint-hearted please note that the language gets a little ripe). 1. A complete breakdown of syntax and grammar (“Like this guy like was like that other guy like like that we saw at Johnnos”); 2. Tall tales of petty criminal endeavours (along the lines of “I nicked THIRTY Mars Bars from Chickenfeed the other day...” “oh yeah? Well I nicked FIFTY Polywaffles from Newtown Woolworths.....

Here is the face of an old quarry that can be found down next to Salamanca Square. A fair chunk of the Salamanca area itself is nestled into an old sandstone quarry itself. The demand for berths and storage saw the creation of new docks and sandstone warehouses in an area that had once been known as the 'Cottage Green'. The former row of original cottages were demolished for sandstone warehouses, and by the mid-1840s the bustling dock area had become known as Salamanca, in honour of the Duke of Wellington's 1812 victory against the slippery frogs in the Battle of Salamanca. [HOORAH FOR BLIGHTY!] As I've noted before, the whole waterfront area is re-establishing it's credentials as Hobart's night-time entertainment capital (that is, if one equates the concept of 'entertainment' with 'getting on the piss and having a scrap'). This is only fitting, as early in Hobart's history, it had developed a reputation as a rowdy and debaucherous place. A m...

Power lines can be an ugly, rotten feature of modern life. I think that, as with most things, it's about how you look at it. On that theme, here is a poem. Control It's all in the preparation. Drink all afternoon, have a feed, Drink 'til midnight. Another feed. Hit the speed. Hit the clubs. Home to watch sunrise. Ecstasy. A quiet drink, smoke some weed. Balance and moderation . As with most things in life.

From a few weeks back, when it snowed. I think this one is very "1970s Yugoslavia". Here's a poem pilfered from an overheard 'conversation' in the bus mall. Oh, the humanity! Thirteen years old. Grossly obese. "I fucken chundered EVERYWHERE " A moment, she reflected. "It was fucken AWESOME ." An evolutionary milestone.

Here is bit an experiment with shutter speed, a zoom and a fast-running fountain. I think that in order to get the shot that I really envisaged, I need more light and a slower fountain. I used to write a lot of things down in these books that I had. I wouldn't call the journals as such, but I'd write things in there and draw stupid little pictures and occasionally paste in newspaper articles or cartoons or comics or pictures that drew my attention for some reason or other. Often I'd record overheard conversations or (often poorly) remembered snatches of conversation. I thought that in the spirit of experimentation, I'd dig something up. I did date it, and it was overhead in the winter of 1996, during a night on the tiles. You'd never guess: and it's the past - it's over - remember when - remember when? - remember that? - of course - i do - space and time - i do - worth it's weight - definitely - and it's there - there it is - but i can't tell yo...