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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). |
| As a follow up to some of my earlier posts: 1) I bought a webcam, but for whatever reason, couldn't get it to work. That said, my camera does record videos, so really I could record something if I was serious about it, so far though, I'm not. 2) Bullet journaling. Now this is working, though I am using it exactly as I wish to, I am using it regularly. One of the things it has help me do is to tidy my desk top considerably. Apparently there was wood under all those shoals of paper... who knew! The other thing it is involved with is me getting to grips with the shop accounts. Going well, and this years tax return is in months early, so ensuring a stress free Christmas and New Year period - at least from that point of view. 3) I have made a notebook, and it isn't too bad at all. One work colleague said that they'd have believed me if I had told them I'd bought it. I learned a bit trying it, and plan to do a bit more - with the possibility of creating a book of poetry. I have quite enough poems to do this with, and the idea rather appeals. 4) I am continuing to read on a daily basis, and have reduced considerably the number of unread books on my Kindle. Some of the books have proved to be very enjoyable reads, some were of dubious quality, but most I have enjoyed a lot. Reading is, I am sure, good for my health. It has engendered a feeling of satisfaction - that the books are getting read; that I have done something positive about a situation which niggled me and because I was worrying that my attention span was dwindling. Applying myself to finish books has reassured me that I can still concentrate, and because I have been reading every day for more than a year and a half now, it's become easier to concentrate when I read. |
| 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." |
| "Hello. Hello John? Are you there John?" "Wuugh! Who? Yes, yes it's me." "Ah good. Hi John, it's Dwayne." "Dwayne? My boss Dwayne?" "You got it Buddy, now listen I just need to go over the Marshall figures with you." "I'm, I'm dead Dwayne, how are you even talking to me like this?" "You know Joan Petrochelle in accounts?" "Kind of, small woman, Eastern European?" "That's the lady, well it turns out her Mum is a gifted medium and as I really need to just go over these figures with you..." "So much for having the afternoon off when I'm dead." "Yeah, sorry about that Buddy, now about these figures..." |
| Lest you think I take nothing seriously, I have just spent £110 on a second hand book about cosmogonical poetry to be sent from Australia. I did have an e-book of this, but when I changed computers it stopped working. This is probably the most I've ever paid for one book, but hey ho. I don't smoke, don't drink much. A man has to have some vices! |
| I sat up feeling much better than I had any right to, and even when I turned and looked down at my frankly rather ghastly expression, I merely thought how that would have turned my stomach, had I still been alive. I confess that I felt no surprise that I was dead. After all I had just killed myself. But, I was somewhat taken unawares to find myself still here. Or at least my soul seemed to be. Or was I a ghost now? How does one tell the difference? My speculations were interrupted by the entrance of my wife. "Oh!" She said, looking right through me to my corpse lying on the floor beneath me. 'Oh!' Oh!, is that all? Your husband is dead and all you can muster is 'Oh!'? "Hello. Well I'm not sure really. It's a bit too late for an ambulance, but I expect I'll need one, and probably the police as well. It's my husband. Yes. He's blown his brains out. Yes, I'm pretty sure that he's dead. There isn't a lot of his cranium left, that's why." I listened as she dutifully gave her details, name and address that sort of thing. Then she went to the kitchen and filled the kettle and switched it on. To say I was dumbfounded is an understatement, how could she be so calm? The police arrived, together with no less than three ambulances, which was overkill in my opinion, though no one was interested in my opinion. Probably because they couldn't hear it. Ponsonby came in and gave me a look. I remember reading somewhere that cats can see ghosts, and it did seem to be true. The strange thing is, I could have sworn his look said "Oh the can opener is broken, that's a shame." Then he meowed meaningfully at my wife, who'd just finished making everyone hot drinks. She patted him fondly and reached for a sachet of cat food. Ponsonby gave me rather a smug look and settled down to enjoy his dinner. |
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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).
