Archive for the ‘this moment’ Category

Oh my god, this poem by Dean Rader.

Relational Self Portrait

The universe has not been built to scale—
everything is bigger or smaller than
it seems: the sea, the hole, a ship, a sail,

your line, the hook, your heart—that’s where the nail
of desire drives deep. Sorrow can span
a universe that is not built to scale

even though rungs are strung from star to shell
and back. We end of course where we began
(that ship, that hole, that sea). And so we sail

full speed toward the iceberg—too fast to tell
if size or scale or course is plot or plan.
The universe will not be built to scale.

The dead in heaven, the living in hell,
blaze and burn in the blue of all that can
rise and fall. The ship of this life will sail

until its stern snaps beneath the stretched swell
at the end of the end. We find out then
the universe has not been built to scale
and that our want expands like wind not sail.

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My latest column is here:

Much of the inner turmoil is displayed inside the house. That is where you really let loose. Privately. Sometimes manifesting as complete chaos and other times as an urgent desire for order. Mine was the latter. But the garden, beyond your immediate attention and yet on display to the street can betray your confidences. One day I noticed, or rather it was pointed out to me, that mine was making something of a statement. Herbs gone to seed, thirsty stalks in pots, unfinished projects and overgrown grass; it seemed to be telling the street that I did not have my life together.

At the time, I wasn’t much interested in gardens, and because I really did not have my life together what I really wanted was a new room, one that wouldn’t remind me of anything. Instead, I had a holiday and rather than going away I simply walked outside. And there in my garden I found a room, and then another, and another after that. They were quite tranquil rooms or at least, had the potential to be. Different parts of the garden offered different moods – they received varying amounts of sunshine, had a range of outlooks, provided assorted degrees of privacy or community, leant themselves to meals outside or children playing or solitude. With a little bit of work I realised they could become new living space.

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Here. (Thanks to Tedra for this link and so many other good ones).

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My article is here:

It strikes me from all of this how incredibly difficult it is to disassociate your identity from your child’s. How your child’s differences can easily be felt as rejection just as their expression of self is seen to be a reflection on you. But parenting in reply to your childhood is a conversation with the past. Just as parenting as reinvention is a conversation with an unknown future. What both these conversations lack is the present.

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For it to be a genuine encounter, we must always be able to assume that it is the beginning of a possible adventure. You cannot demand an insurance contract with whomever it is that you have encountered. Since the encounter is incalculable, if you try to reduce this insecurity then you destroy the encounter itself, that is to say, accepting someone entering into your life as a complete person. It is precisely this that distinguishes the encounter from libertinism.

This whole interview is magical. I recommend it. Alain Badiou in Verso Books.

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You have to love art that is this big with this many breasts.

ag skywhale

And maternity and breastfeeding can still alarm. From the artist, Patricia Piccinini: “I didn’t think people would react against her as much as they have, but I think that’s interesting about us. We’re suspicious of difference, and that’s interesting in itself.

I think that she’s got a very beautiful and benign presence. She’s very nurturing. She’s a maternal creature and I think that they’re qualities that are missing in the mainstream and representations in the mainstream”.


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Pour toi

bb french lunch

A friend who has been staying with me is about to return to France and he just cooked us all a goodbye lunch, which is quite something considering when he arrived he told me he was unable to cook. And so all this time I have been cooking for him without my usual apprehension thinking, well, what does this poor fool know about Australian cooking. For all he knows this dish is supposed to taste like this. That led to more adventurousness from me and ultimately more cooking success too. So there is a lesson somewhere there.

bb verrines

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I have to warn you that there is pretty much zero modesty left in me about my kitchen garden now. The combination of good growing weather this summer and lots of gardening help, plus the garden being the main recipient of both my daydreamy and my mopey attention in recent times means that it is completely thriving. And gardening is all so novel to me that I just cannot shut up about my achievements.

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