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Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are.

Ain't no big thing. Jus' me and Ez.

maggie and milly and molly and may

Rock on. Spring Beach, Orford. July 2012. Someday. Yes, it might come. Some day. One day. Maybe. maggie and milly and molly and may , e e cummings maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as the world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Barbarism is needed every four or five hundred years to bring the world back to life. Otherwise it would die of civilization.

Sharks patrol these waters.

An artist must be a reactionary. He has to stand out against the tenor of the age and not go flopping along.

No smoke on the water. The River Derwent, Sandy Bay. August 2012. Two books this week. First up, The Death of Grass by John Christopher. This is a neat little post-apocalyptic novel that centres around the human response to a virus that kills off all forms of grass. While the swiftness with which society reverts to savagery strikes me as perhaps a little off, there is great power in the descriptions of man's culpability for the disaster. Indeed, this one is a very prescient book. Recommended. Second up is The Dying Animal by Philip Roth. For a book that is ultimately about sex, it wears out its welcome reasonably quickly. A couple of imaginative paragraphs aside - Roth can write, after all - you can't help but think to yourself, 'get over it, you filthy old bugger!' Only for the keen.

If I knew what I was so anxious about, I wouldn't be so anxious.

There is a foot. A sky smile. An Ezra. A sleeping Henry (just left of shot). Such things you see on a long drive up the east coast and back.

At times I think and at times I am.

Faith. St George's Church of the Martyr, Battery Point. August 2012. Theme Thursday and I have been busy all day. 'What AROMAS did you smell?', well might you might ask. Discontent. Anger. Resignation. The usual...

As one grows older, one becomes wiser and more foolish.

Henry starts up an impromptu freestyle jazz riff with the sticks as Ez gets ready to scat his way through a bebop interpretation of Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov . We are thinking of taking the act to the next Arkhangelsk urban fringe festival, but just need some start up capital for air fares and bribes...