Show Me The Treasure

Home Archive for October 2014

at 16:17

Fog Lights Inaction

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Saturday doubled up on fog, waking to foghorns, that forlorn long bovine wail that echoes around Sydney Harbour and the foreshores is one of the better variations of Spring. Like in Camelot the morning fog disappears. Usually. Saturday afternoon saw the fog pawing its way back, grey and misty, sneaking over Middle Head and giving a Mona Lisa

at 08:35

Swept Sticklers for the Deck

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Time has turned the deck here into something of a chameleon, an exercise in patience, and repetition, this small pile bought down courtesy of this week's wild wind, was swept into a neat post card of kindle. Why this should be pleasing? The sense of time played out in twigs, the tonal graduation? Perhaps its being an artifact

at 19:08

Postcards from the West Wind

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While Tuesday's whirligig wind bought down a whole suit of sticks, it also snipped off these green tips from the parperbark and jacarandah trees, were a kind of message, though I am not sure what, though Marshall McLuhan's 'the medium is the message' seems to fit. While Tuesday's whirligig wind bought down a whole suit of sticks, it

at 07:58

Spilt Drinks - An Opportune Media

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In the sort of calibrated beloved of spin doctors, in the Years of Spilt Drinks, I decided to redefine what was a spill to only those drinks that made it onto the floor, thus taking the pressure off small visitors and small residents who were prone to knock over glasses of juice and water. A small spill at

at 08:01

Models of Discretion

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This orchid falls somewhere between being showy and inconspicuous, a state of balance perfectly suitable. This orchid falls somewhere between being showy and inconspicuous, a state of balance perfectly suitable. This orchid falls somewhere between being showy and inconspicuous, a state of balance perfectly suitable. This orchid falls somewhere between being showy and inconspicuous, a state of balance

at 20:19

Red Hats To The Rescue

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These three women, tribal in their statement red hats, blue/purple outfits and red shoes, might be an installation of the best kind, a self-organizing fluid, a tribal collective of collectors, nearly antique art savants, friends of a feather, I saw them drift into the Queensland Gallery of Art, and thought aha! the Qld art club's answer to The

at 08:22

Teepees of LEDs Spells Incandescent

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Teepees of LEDs Spells Incandescent Image

Five teepees of little movies playing on LEDs create a glade of pleasant nearly strangeness in south side of Hyde Park. Like coming across fragments of dreams out for a night picnic, some murrmuring quiet stories, another a character in search of adventure, it's hard to pick a favourite, but then favourites always were over-rated. Five teepees of

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Curiosity Cabinet

As a child I thought there was a jewel box hidden in my parent's house, I imagined there was a cache of pink cut glass rings - the ones with adjustable soft metal sizing - laid out in pink foam in the nailed tight plyboard box in my brothers' walk-in robe.

Years later, I realised the box was really the back of the bathroom cabinet. I got a lot of enjoyment out of those pink glass jewels that weren't there. Imaginery treasures are curiously satisfying.

Here is a central point where someone who might be interetested can see what bits of words, some links to work published in journals and ezines, and images that I have made.

Absent Knowledge

We are talking about knowing certain facts,

and he says, I know all that or used to,

it is only that I can’t remember.

Is this not knowing or forgetting

what you know? Perhaps the head holds

a trace of what was there,

perhaps it is there but can’t find

the way out; maybe it was there but left,

or there was a rumour that it was coming

but never did,

like the promised holiday ,

in Pennant Hills. At eight years old

I would lie in bed at night a hardly contained

precipice of anticipation that time

would take me to Pennant Hills and a big house

with a swimming pool. I can see

the façade of the house, the curve

of suburban street, where that house

I never went to might be - or even was.

Though I know I never went, maybe

somewhere, there is an unborn memory

of being there, and I am thwarted by absent knowledge

from enjoying what I did not do.

Carol Jenkins

From Voices from the Meadow Wollongong Workshop Anthology 2007 ( Five Islands Press)

Bambiraptor

The Going Down Swinging # 25 -special double CD edition has at last unwrappped itself in Sydney, with a lauch at the Last Bastion of Civilisation last Wednseday 25 September. I still don't know what is in this CD it apart from my spoken word poem Bambiraptor as I was incarcarated in an invention called Good Mummydom. I hope every one else had a good time at the launch party.

The fossil Bambiraptor’s importance in the evolutional of dexterity and the dissonant name gave me this rave by Blanche (Street Car Named Desire) - here she makes a play for Bambiraptor believing his tough and powerful persona is lined with tenderness, like Stanley. This poem is one of my bids to get fossils to colonise and take over the myth as the substratum of literature.

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