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 |   Maybe meandering, possibly peripatetic and indisputably irregular. |
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So here it is.. a blog. Repository of some of my present musings and interests. Sometimes things pop into my head that should probably stay there - it is possible I shall share at least some of them here. (Naturally I shall filter out the ones about my sordid obsession with the culinary dark arts, one has to protect the innocent!) Please feel free not to take this too seriously, much of it could wind up being snippets of things that amuse me. Yesterday I came up with this: Few politicians can be considered first class, but not a few are number twos. What can I do with it? Nothing springs to mind, except perhaps blog it. Perhaps in some other life I'm a failed stand-up comedian. I have the beginnings of an idea to introduce another player into the Mr Moonlight story, a nice visual has occurred to me, and a summoning gone wrong seems appropriate. When I finish up here I shall literally put pen to paper. I find writing at least initially longhand helps my ideas flow. When I type up what I've written, I give it a first revision at the same time, and as a bare minimum check my spellings and grammar . I do want to keep tabs on my current reading here. I usually have several books on the go at the same time. Currently I am working through 'Pyramids' by Terry Pratchett. I reread Pratchett's books over and over - usually at work where they provide much needed amusement whilst I eat breakfast. 'The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle', by Stuart Turton was loaned to me by a friend who shares a love of murder mysteries, (especially Agatha Christie's works). It is a new take on the genre and very very clever. The protagonist occupies different bodies - a selection of the guests at the house where Evelyn is murdered. Each day he spends in a different guest, and he has been tasked with discovering the murderer - or maybe saving Evelyn from actually being murdered, it is hard to tell. The book twists and turns and is quite intriguing. 'New Science - Principles of the new science concerning the common nature of nations' is an English translation by David Marsh of 'La Scienza Nuova' by Giambattista Vico, published in 1725. Not far into this yet, I had to find a copy of the frontispiece online, as it wasn't included in the Kindle edition. The first part of the book explains the idea - and uses a detailed description of the frontispiece to convey this. So being without it would have made things somewhat harder. 'The Complete Works of Michael De Montaigne' is again a translation, this time by Donald M. Frame. Montaigne's Essays are famous, I kept reading about them, so treated myself to a nice hardbound copy to dip into - usually just before bedtime. So there we have it - a blog entry - enjoy! (whispers almost inaudibly 'Bon Appétit). |
| Just a little while ago, whilst listening to Dylan's melody, I had it, or at least it's beginning. A conversation, I seem to write a lot of those, that's what comes of talking to myself, though sometimes I'm a repetitive so and so, and I bore myself, having heard it all before probably a few thousand times I should imagine. But this time it sounded grand in my head, and I went over it a few times as I worked, trying different phrases, enjoying the interplay of my two inner voices as they bickered. "You admire my integrity." said one. "I admire your self delusion." Came the withering reply. I wonder. I wonder if I were to write down those words that oft times reverberate in my mind, whether I could leave them cold and exposed, to shrivel and die? I've done something similar with bad memories, the sort that years later could make me wince with embarrassment over something long forgotten, except by me. Telling a friend and explaining that though the event was perhaps minor in his eyes it still held power over me, dispelled that power. Laid the memory to rest, never since to torment me. If I shared my inner ramblings, would that have the same effect? Is that I wonder, what confession is all about? Laying ghosts to rest? Flushing out the inner toxins, and creating tranquillity. Or if you have no confidence in religion, then a visit to a psychologist might serve a similar purpose. I tried that once, it wasn't remotely successful, though I was more open then than with a priest, probably because I cared less about what the psychologist would think of me. Can one confess to oneself? Self reflective, or is it introspective? Stirring the muddy waters, and weathering the long dark night of the soul. It sounds rather romantic doesn't it? 'Tisn't! Oh I've gathered scraps, some insights, made modifications. But. It is an iterative process, as I've stated elsewhere before. Repeated, periodically. It would be nice to think in some ongoing ascent. But. More often than not it is a case of three steps forwards and two to four steps back. It is hard work to be mindful. Harder still nowadays, with all the fun distractions available. Where will it end? When will it end? It doesn't. It won't. "And isn't life a terrible thing Thank God." |
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). I mostly reject that. I'm eating rice with an egg this morning but Pannya just brought me chocolate milk from 7/11 (bless him; I really don't need it).
