A hundred days...

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54739032014335218572011-07-08T10:10:05.817+10:00A hundred days...eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comBlogger121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-53247407016475574592009-10-04T22:53:00.012+11:002009-10-09T23:24:26.991+11:00perception is fatal: on the bus (seat)

Had I missed it?Crossing the road to the bus stop, I can't tell whether or not I am going to be rewarded for my morning dash for the 8:08am bus. It is 8:08am exactly according to the clock on my mobile phone. There isn't anyone standing at the bus stop itself, which is a bad sign.There is, however, a middle-aged couple standing by the road about ten or so metres away who would have seen the bus

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-9894515502372618162009-10-04T15:04:00.007+11:002009-10-08T23:00:00.338+11:00perception is fatal: on the bus (pin)

The bus rolled stationery to acquire a few more passengers. I had already noticed the Indian mother seated in the seat just in front, for it was a cold day and she wore a salwar kameez and a warm woolen shawl wrapped about her shoulders and neck. The shawl looked enviously warm and comfortable, and her plait of braided black hair, interweaved with a few strands of white, rested on the shawl down

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-20454859694341537162009-08-03T01:21:00.009+10:002009-08-03T22:28:35.301+10:00the frustration of life

Patrick White, The Solid Mandala, p. 187:Some years later, when they got them, he hated Arthur's dogs--though technically one of them was his own. If anyone, thinking of his good, had been interested enough to accuse Waldo Brown of neglecting his responsibilities to his fellow men, nobody could have accused the dogs of neglecting theirs: in being, in reminding at least one of their owners of the

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-54527062427501591142009-06-30T00:50:00.005+10:002009-08-03T01:36:23.369+10:00more flatulence

As for Runt and Scruffy, they accepted the fatality of their arbitrary relationship, gnawing, licking, tumbling each other over. They enjoyed the luxury of each other's farts. (page 181)

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-58616072986173381402009-04-05T22:58:00.008+10:002009-06-01T17:37:01.861+10:00dissolution

a sinkfull of dirty dishesbut one clean spoon leftthatI dare not useforthenIwill haveno clean spoons leftand dissolvedintoa sinkfull of dirty dishesIwill beeun

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-42127623039271113592009-03-29T23:32:00.055+11:002009-10-04T15:32:12.223+11:00what she said

INT. BATHROOM - EARLY MORNINGJESSIE, an elderly, white-haired resident of the B. Retirement Community, sits naked on a plastic showering chair, the kind with a hole cut out of the seat. ANITA, a young Sri Lankan woman, stands beside the chair holding the shower rosette in her hand. She directs the water onto Jessie's body, and with her other hand washes Jessie with a soapy wash-cloth. She wears

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-32837643250849660582009-03-05T22:20:00.007+11:002009-08-03T01:42:05.453+10:00the lost weekend

Good morning.Hello. How are you?I'm good. That's the way. How was your weekend?It was good. What did you get up to?I spent the weekend enthralled by seductive imaginary futures I'm too coward to attempt. Between thralls, I ate intermittently. Oh. Really?Yes. I managed to do the dishes but not the groceries. That's... interesting.Yes. It was... interesting.

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-38068295729888678302009-01-17T19:15:00.032+11:002009-08-03T01:42:05.454+10:00the 2008 Schools Spectacular

Bored of a Sunday afternoon, I found myself sitting at my desk watching the 2008 Schools Spectacular online on ABC iView.It began well enough, with a performance that raised goosebumps of appreciation along my arms in spite of the summer heat: "Love is in the air!" the kid from the Special School sang with all his heart, somewhat off-key, but quite debonair in a white, John Paul Young style

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-9379772097064177452008-08-09T01:59:00.006+10:002009-08-03T01:38:09.442+10:00flatulence in 'The Solid Mandala'

References to flatulence in Patrick White's 'The Solid Mandala':Only the old pot-bellied dogs appeared convinced of the mild pleasures they enjoyed, frolicking and farting, though somewhat cranky with each other. One of them - Runt - lifted his leg on a seedy cabbage and almost overbalanced. (page 24)So they turned, and the two dogs were at once joyful. They tossed their sterns in the air, and

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-80350073118858815062008-08-03T23:50:00.005+10:002008-08-09T21:46:12.950+10:00a culinary discovery

A culinary discovery, most delish:fusilli, cooked al dente, and salteda generous libation of virgin olive oilanchovy fillets preserved in olive oil, choppedkiwi fruit, sliceda light grinding of black pepperStir with fork until anchovy and kiwi fruit disintegrate. Savour warm.

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-50384747561223613492008-05-22T22:36:00.010+10:002009-01-30T23:00:22.449+11:00tangled hair

I stare down at the galaxy of tangled hair--black,spread out against wet tile,beside naked feet,born of coursing stream and shower drain,-- as intent as any astronomer whoturns gaze upward towards the stars.eun

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473903201433521857.post-60993479783523782222007-12-15T17:10:00.002+11:002008-05-22T22:53:53.188+10:00a hundred days

Those whom summer’s heat tortures yearnfor the full moon of autumnWithout even fearing the ideathat a hundred days of their life will then have passed forever. Buddha Shakyamuni

eunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10489603271271604342noreply@blogger.com