Saturday, March 10

Blah beneath (not right beneath - the last part!)

today days acquired the skill
of tightrope
walking, of allowing
time to tumble
between nets, of
acrobating to roost, listening
to squealing squalor
of order, urgency
and that –
frustration
of our middle ear
to clocks’ manipulating
(this ear itself
in limbo, an epiparasite,
a necessary evil, a
playground whistling –)

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comment? (the italics is me tilting my head, you know, 'thinking deeply', or 'trying to be persuasive' style...)

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Personal incentives

Should I get some of the work done that I have to do today (ie. a LARGE amount), I shall reward myself: new books (the novel I was reading has gone missing!! Horrendous enough to warrant two exclamation marks…) , and a French DVD; ‘L’homme du train’, which has a glorious Guardian recommendation (difficult to resist… but, where has the ‘Living With Teenagers’ gone? I used to use that to try and coerce my parents into agreeing that they need to be more liberal, that liberal is good, and that having a load of rules is only going to make teenagers (apparently ‘searching for their self’) be… R-E-B-E-L-ious. (You knew it was going to end in ‘ious’, no point me exerting more effort over capitals etc.) Finally the PC is working properly, so stuff will actually play on it. (Spent ages last week trying to get ‘Trainspotting’ to play. Worth it, I’ll add: a film which restores some attempt at will to continue in a world where existentialism seems to roam quite crazily…)

Blah over.

Thursday, March 8

Clocks, tickers, metronomes, sundials, holidays without time, that little island without clocks...

it's all spinning round... I can't stop thinking about it: and I don't mean aesthetically, but conceptually. One man on holiday said he refused to have clocks or watches during his holiday - it ruined his days, pulled them apart, constrained them, bundled them up into attempting-neat packages as if in 'About a Boy'.

Would we be better off without it? Just for a little while? (I know it's not going to happen - people have places to be at certain times, deadlines, work, trains to catch etc, etc...) We would eat when we were hungry not just because there was a designated time, we would sleep when we needed to sleep, we would surely be less stressed? People would learn to wait when they met people without instinctively reaching for the little bugger of a mobile when five minutes too far had passed, intruded, started greedily ploughing away into their time.

(Can you tell I am someone who is often renowned for being late? NB: I am not actually late if I am that bothered, unless I have slept through my alarm, but that is quite rare; so if I do really want to be somewhere, I will likely be early... the rest of the time? No comment...)

It's something that's even begun (horrendously, or merely inevitably?) slipping into my writing. Something may appear soon. May.

Sunday, March 4

Rain. Il pleut.

Il pleut, albeit not quite in the way of 'Il pleure dans mon coeur / Comme il pleut sur la ville ; / Quelle est cette langueur / Qui pénètre mon coeur ?' Verlaine, google informs me. (Which reminds me to order some Baudelaire- all I currently have is a library copy of 'Les Fleurs du Mal', when really, I need my own so I can make notes.)

More in the way which reminds me of 'Rage, rage against the dying of the light'! You can hear a fantastic reading by Mr Dylan Thomas himself of 'Do not go gentle into that good night'. http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377 (Do have a listen, you don't even need realplayer, so most people should be able to hear it. And don't you think when he says 'forked' it sounds rather different?)

Some lessons for poor students attempting GCSE speaking and listening could be learnt from the way he savours his words himself - how, if the poet/ speaker themself cannot put weight upon their own words, can anyone else be expected to?