The Favour of a Moment

From 'DOOM' by William Gerhardie

2011-12-05T11:15:00.000-08:00

"O Eva, O Eva,
I love you so mighty,
I wish my pyjama was
Next to your nighty"

Freudians versus Jungians

2011-11-21T06:10:00.000-08:00

When undertaking some archive work with the psychoanalyst Malcolm Pines, I came across a photograph of cricketers, standing for a group portrait. I showed this to Malcolm, asking him to explain the photograph if he could. He looked at the photograph, then suddenly remembered. "That was when the Freudians played the Jungians", much to my delight. The battle of the minds' form of taking it to the streets. I asked if he could remember who won. He replied, "I think they agreed to call it a draw."

Accidents Happen

2011-09-11T07:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my six year old niece said to me "I have to tell you something." Intrigued, I asked "What is it?" She answered: "For the first time I got told off by my teacher..." I interrupted, "For the first or for the tenth time?" She replied (intolerant to my joke), "For the first time". She then started from scratch: "For the second time I got told off by my teacher for not concentrating by accident." Of course, all three adults in her company laughed at this child's admittance that it was not in fact the first time, but more so at the defense of her classroom neglect as an 'accidental' lack of concentration.

Actually, she is completely right. Of course it was by accident. For who intends to not concentrate? I conclude that she is a very observant young lady.

(I also recall that earlier this year she told me a similar story, where the teacher told her off for not concentrating. She defended herself by saying "I forgot to concentrate as I was looking out of the window." My guess is that these accidents happen on a regular basis.)

Friendship: 'Love's Work' by Gillian Rose

2011-09-09T13:09:00.000-07:00

What does it really mean to say that one has been affected or changed by something? Because often we say this about things we have seen or read, the truth being that that it hasn't changed us at all. Maybe we just want it to have changed us.

What touched me the most about Love's Work was the relationships Gillian Rose had with people - a closeness with friends that was direct, yet warm and unconditional. Something that I am unsure if I have ever had. I finished the book feeling that it had changed me.

I have since felt that I would like to explore some of the friendships I have and possibly be more active in making new friends. I do have friends (though not in large numbers - though numbers do not bother me), a few good friends for whom I feel affection towards. What I am hoping for is a friendship that goes beyond niceties. For one to be able to accept a person as they really are, and this to be reciprocated. I may have this with X, but with a lover/spouse it is not the same as with a friend.

But I am not sure if it has actually changed me, as I have yet to act on this feeling. How can one change how they relate to people? This cannot happen over night, and I am just too lazy to put the hours in.

It impressed me that Rose could have such an openness with people. Perhaps she did not have this with all, but it is enough that she had this with the few friends she mentions in Love's Work. I am envious. Yet happy that someone else has this at least. Because I do not believe this kind of friendship is as common as we'd like to believe.

People From The Past

2011-08-30T11:54:00.000-07:00

I have to question whether people from the past are worth the effort. I have a feeling that often they are simply nosey and curious to know what you are up to now. Are you more successful than me? Are you happier than me? Are you more interesting than me? The answer to all these must be 'no', of course. Not only must you not exceed their amount of happiness and success, but you must have less. Otherwise this is intolerable.

It's a good job my personality is such that I have no care for those in my past (and that my success and happiness are limited).

'INTERVIEW WITH MYSELF' - by Jean Renoir

2011-08-24T02:27:00.000-07:00

Clearing Out

2011-07-29T14:04:00.000-07:00

Whilst tidying up recently I found some items which triggered some thoughts and memories. I immediately decided to write them down. So, I have written some of them down, though now I do not think they are worthy of being written about. But I'm not deleting it now.

- A postcard of a drawing of the Cinque Port Arms pub, in Hastings. On my visit there in 2009, I discovered that the pub, which was built in 1824, then rebuilt a century later after a fire, was originally the spot of a tudor inn. The ghost of one of the innkeepers lives there, and bangs on the ceiling. I had a gin and tonic, which I remember was very nice.

- A postcard of a painting of Brighton's West Pier, with a note from Joy, the artist. She gave me this after a pleasant conversation about my time living in Brighton. Joy worked on Kubrick's film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. When I think of her I smile as she is so colourful in both personality and dress. I have been meaning to buy her a pink cup for ages.

- A Wiener Library newsletter for Summer 2010, which mentions their planned moved (which has now happened) out of its long-term home in Devonshire Street to Birkbeck. No money, no choice. I am appalled that this has happened. I have fond memories of reading in there.

- Programme for Peter Handke's Kaspar, produced by the Aya Theatre Company in 2010 in Southwark. Strange and trying, but very good. The first part was better than the second. One side of the programme opens up into a poster, which has a picture of man a man standing in front of a wall which has spray-painted on it 'I WANT TO BE SOMEONE LIKE SOMEBODY ELSE WAS ONCE'. I remember being utterly impressed at the actor's ability to repeat this sentence over and over. I very much like Handke's The Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick and The Left-Handed Woman.

- A birthday card sent to me, written by my niece when she was first able to write, with a drawing of me and x dancing at my party. What strikes me as unusual in this is that my dress has a front door drawn on it.

- Tate Modern programme for season 'Outsider Films on India', where I was able to see Rossellini's very rare film 'India: Matri Bhumi'. Wonderful - and proof that one should always make the effort, even when it rains.

- Small booklet titled 'Quick and healthy breakfasts' which I kept in order to have just that: a quick and healthy breakfast. I have yet to make anything from it, but will keep it just in case.

- Programmes notes for the Philippe Parreno exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, which I went to in February 2011. I liked these films very much, but didn't really understand what was going on until after. But I believe that things can still be interesting and very good even if we have no idea what is happening.

- An incomplete draft of my MA essay on Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. A most enjoyable book to write about, yet the story of my life is that things always remain either incomplete or entirely rushed. Live and learn (though I haven't).

- A note to me from a nice, older gentleman, whom I encountered at Judith Butler's talk on Kafka's archives. Tickets had sold out, but I had a spare to sell. The note is from John Smythe, dated 5 Feb 2011, and reads as follows:

"Dear WENDY
That was so kind of you.
Permit me to tell you about the
FREE Scottish Dancing Classes @ } starts
St. Columba's Church, Pont St. SW3. } 7:15
Worth tracking down."

- My psychological report from when I was tested for various learning difficulties in 2006. The conclusion was that I have a 'Specific Learning Difficulty' which I hate saying. I have largely ignored these results and advice - I'd rather suffer and be stressed than have to spend time re-learning how to learn. I'll stick with my old and trusted, albeit stressful, exhausting and time-consuming method.

I can't think of a good reason for keeping all this stuff, but will. As an archivist, part of me wants to throw it away now - it will only be thrown away after my death. I hate the idea of someone else discarding these things. I'll get there first. My difficulty with throwing things away is to do with the fear that I will one days need those items for something, or a feeling of guilt of discarding what is meaningful to another.

Overload (Or, A Modern Experience)

2011-06-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

Like Hal Hartley's films, David Byrne's 'Report From L.A.' has a detachment between the one speaking and the words being spoken. In ‘The Quotable Gesture’ Walter Benjamin writes, “An actor must be able to space his gestures the way a typesetter produces spaced type. This effect may be achieved, for instance, by an actor’s quoting his own gesture on stage.” This is no easy feat for the actor, yet is undoubtedly achieved in Byrne's performance and in Hartley's films:

Report From L.A.
The Unbelievable Truth

Asparagus in January

2011-04-17T03:09:00.000-07:00

As I have previously mentioned I am very fond of the change in seasons. So imagine my delight when coming across this reading of the season's, or rather, one's relationship to them, in Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, when Razumikhin says to Raskolnikov,

"You see, Roddy, in my opinion all you have to do to make a name for yourself in the world is to stick to the seasons. If you don't order asparagus in January, you'll be the better for a few roubles in your pocket."

I am not interested in making a name for myself, but still see Razumikhin's advice as worth following: stick to the seasons.

Lines

2010-12-31T08:34:00.000-08:00

Amongst the tens of thousands of lines repeatedly typed "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" for Jack's manuscript in Kubrick's The Shining, the employed typist rebels, writing instead "All work and no pay makes me a dull boy".

A Red Hat by Gertrude Stein

2010-11-19T05:48:00.000-08:00

"A dark grey, a very dark grey, a quite dark grey is monstrous ordinarily, it is so monstrous because there is no red in it. If red is in everything it is not necessary. Is that not an argument for any use of it and even so is there any place that is better, is there any place that has so much stretched out."

Empathy With The Protagonist

2010-11-03T15:39:00.000-07:00

Why do so many people feel that to like a film they must 'like' the protagonist within it? For these people a film is to be rejected if the protagonist shows no weakness, no humanity, no affection, no guilt, and so on. If the protagonist is despicable, and the audience feels they cannot identify or empathise with them, there is a strong dislike of the film, and criticism of the director. Oh, how wrong these people are.

An example of this is Stanley Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon'. Barry Lyndon is the protagonist that people cannot tolerate; a reprobate, with whom there is no relief but rather relentless indifference. He goes through his whole life without changing his ways. Perhaps there may be fleeting moments of guilt, but this only makes it worse as they are only fleeting - he is soon up to his old tricks again.

But this is precisely what makes Barry Lyndon a great film. If the protagonist is such that we cannot empathise or identify with them, what a blessing. This is a hard thing to achieve, and I admire the film-maker who manages to pull this off.

I believe that people do not like films with such characters for many reasons, but by and large because
1 - they need a happy ending, telling them that life is always ok in the end (very weak);
2 - they do not like to see traits in these characters which they too possess (the lack of common identity is simply suppressed);
3 - they are simply not very clever or interesting people.

If anyone would like to tell me of other films with such unlikeable characters I am most interested.

A Gift From A Friend

2010-10-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

My friend shared this information with me recently:

"Was just thinking of this today.
I have a few things that I would not bear in a partner.
On my next serious date I will have a list:

Do you keep the TV on when you are at home all the time?
Do you watch daytime TV?
Do you keep the TV on as "company"?
Do you like cooking?
Does it really matter what you eat?
Do you try to add that "little touch" to food?
Are you obsessed with your parents?
What is the relation with your siblings?
What do complex family issues annoy you?
Do you live to make money?
How do you wake up?
What do you do if you are awake at night?
What is your ideal breakfast?
Do you find dried fish repulsive?
How do you behave in nature?
What do you think of spending time on your own in nature?
Do you enjoy chit chat conversations while hiking?
Describe how you would make your latte/capuccino?
What do small things in life do to you?
Do you keep everything in order and how do you act when things are not as you expect them?
What do you make of trivial things, tiny details/facts?

Well. I think this is enough Right?"

In The Middle

2010-10-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

Finishing something is always depressing - unless it is cooking something well, or eating a good meal (anything food related will do).

To finish something one should feel happy and proud, and a sense of achievement. But yet it is always the opposite feeling. But I am not suggesting that one should leave things unfinished. On the contrary, to not finish things can be even more depressing.

I would like to lead my life as an interruption in the middle - never really beginning anything, and therefore not having to finish anything - a middle man, perhaps. I don't think this will ever be achieved though.

Shameful Behaviour

2010-10-16T08:41:00.000-07:00

Someone recently told me that they feel ashamed of their past, even though they didn't do anything that they should feel particularly ashamed about.

I, too, feel this way. The result of this is that the thought of a by-chance meeting with someone from my past, or even seeing photographs of them, or hearing about them through others, makes me feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure what this is - perhaps it is a worry that they know something about me that is hidden but has always been with me. They probably don't, but the fear of it is enough.

My apologies if anyone out there reading this is from my past (though I would still prefer it if you stayed away from me).

Heinrich Mann's Gravestone

2010-06-01T06:09:00.000-07:00

Paul Dessau's Gravestone

2010-06-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

Brecht's Gravestone

2010-06-01T06:06:00.001-07:00

Marcuse's Gravestone

2010-06-01T06:04:00.000-07:00

Fichte's Gravestone

2010-06-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

Hegel's Gravestone

2010-06-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

art and technology (1)

2010-04-29T12:13:00.000-07:00

At a recent exhibition of some of John Latham's archives, there was a small blue piece of card or paper with the following:

art and technology (1) 1970
make a device that does less than any known amount

There are several things I like about this.
It seems to me to be a perfect synthesis of art and technology.
Impossible, yet will be achieved.
I like less, rather than more.
It leaves me curious about 'art and technology (2)'
I like that this is written down, like an every day 'to do' list.

The Future Found

2010-04-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

The following are proposals for T.V. pilot shows. Many are already under production. Others are for sale to private or public networks, please enquire after individual prices...

"Your place or mine" (location: the walls of a medieval village, dismembered heads on spikes hold conversations amongst one another/ related idea: heads caught in basket under guillotine speak amongst themselves)

"Dry Clean Only" (set in a drycleaners, each episode the story revolves around a stain on an item of clothing that has been brought in, how it got there, etc. 90% of stains will be sexual fluids. Adult Content)

"Crappola" (one man's continually unsuccessful attempt to sell the brand "Crappola" to cereal companies as a commercially viable product name)

"The Glass House" (standard situation comedy, except the characters live in a glass house, which is never alluded to)

"Countdown to Nowhere" (dramatization of final hours of the Waco Siege)

"It's raining misery" (set in a publishing research house, where the current project concerns the formation of a new dictionary. The same person is continually given non-existent words to research).

"Learning to love what I love about you." (Remake of "The Upper Hand")

"Penny for 'em" (set in lost property office, each episode recounts how a particular item came to be lost. Already under production, the show has received positive test screenings. 1st episode sees a gentleman arrive at a train station, which unfortunately doesn't have a baggage storing facility. Upon asking the lost property office if he can leave his bag with them, he is told that they can hold lost property only. He then sets about trying to lose his bag on purpose, with disastrous consequences)

"Vigilante" (this one does what it says on the tin)

"Tick tock ta mane" (still in embryonic stages)

Angst In My Pants

2010-03-16T14:25:00.000-07:00

I constantly feel anxious. Luckily, it is not always severe. That doesn’t make it less frustrating though. If anything, it is worse to suffer from continuous mild anxiety (CMA) because one feels like a real phony.

Success: A Story

2010-03-16T14:09:00.000-07:00

Regardless of what some might say, I have some progress in my life and have pictures and a menu to prove it. There was a time when I would only eat very plain food and would not allow one type of food to touch another type when on my plate (for example, cauliflower could not touch the brussel sprouts). There was no way boiled potatoes could touch the stewing beef as the liquid from the beef would colour the potatoes, and potentially make them soggy. Two things had to happen – the beef had to go on a separate plate and bits of onion and most of the liquid from the beef had to be removed. One would imagine that this made my food life pretty bland and depressing, but these feelings were not felt – instead a feeling of comfort and safety.

I suppose the first change came when after booking a flight to Italy for the first time. I thought to myself, “I cannot go to Italy with my diet,” so I tried eating pasta. Within weeks I was an addict, though eating the pre-made jars of sauce.

Then, when living in Germany, I tried strawberries – this led on to blueberries, green beans, wholemeal bread, sweetcorn, peppers, even carrots. I had never been so healthy (though I lost lots of weight, and was always feeling hungry).

It is only fair that I admit that whilst I was trying new food, I was often just eating the same ‘new’ dish over and again – a habit that is hard to kick.

Now I cook everything from scratch, and am starting to try new recipes even. Before, going to restaurants was difficult, to say the least. Now I can eat in most places.

The question that has always entered my mind throughout all of this is the extent to which these issues with food are expressions of altogether different issues. Someone once raised the question to me, “What if you tried the food and liked it?” It was then suggested that my fear of food is a symptom of my fear of success, or of being happy. At the time this seemed true to me. However, if this is true, how come the fears of living life do not disappear alongside the fears of food? That is very puzzling, and I will probably never have an answer. Nonetheless, one should be content with the new variety of food in one’s life.

(Since writing this, I now eat bruschetta, corn on the cob, and flapjacks).

A Portrait

2010-02-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

A recent discovery that I am afraid of photographs has brought home that perhaps I need therapy of some sort.

Let me be clear, this is not a fear of the photograph itself, but, rather, photographs relating to my life. I have many camera films that I have never printed, and, quite frankly, I do not want to see them. And I do not like to look at the photographs I have. The thought of looking at photographs of my past makes me feel nauseous and anxious – as if I have failed to complete something very important. Something has been left undone. What is worse is that I suspect that what I am now is the very thing I failed to complete.

The good news is that I have decided to continue to suppress these feelings, so things are looking up for me.

Scenarios From Out Of Town

2010-02-18T11:01:00.000-08:00

I often sit and think about how I would react should a certain things happen or be said to me. This escalates, and I get angry about it. I then realise that half and hour has passed me by, and I have been sitting getting angry about something that has never happened, and probably never will. This might be what mad people do.

Day-Dream Believer

2009-12-03T13:12:00.000-08:00

I used to believe that my day-dreams were just as important as living life, perhaps more so, as to an extent I was in control. I believed that to imagine something was as good as reality itself, as one could still take pleasure from it. I even convinced myself that these day-dreams were real. The problem was that not only were the day-dreams often very similar, but the pleasure was always a passing moment. So afterwards I often felt sad and depressed about it, and then believed I felt this way because I was back in the really real, physical world, without realising it was because of the falseness of the imaginary world.

Fortunately, I realised that these dreams were not pleasurable experiences, they were attempts at gaining power and control.

I still day-dream occasionally, but now have the capacity to interrupt it, and to see the dangers of living life in a day-dream. That is not to say that it is bad to let the mind wander - one must just be careful not to confuse two worlds.

A Secret Story

2009-11-22T15:01:00.000-08:00

Some stories simply cannot be written, only spoken. There is a short episode that I have told to a few people, and decided to write it down, seeing as I have always had the response of it being such a nice story. However, on attempting to write it the story became as damp as the patch on my living-room wall. All the pleasantness from the memory of the episode, and even of my re-telling of it, vanished. So, reader, you will never read the story, nor will I ever disclose what story it is.

But I am not unhappy about this, after all, some stories cannot be told at all.

(The secret, then, is not the story itself, but which story it is that could not be written.)

Pictures of Pompeii

2009-11-14T07:44:00.000-08:00

The progression of civilisation puzzles me somewhat, as with it we no longer have such beautiful floors.

Pompeii Floor 5

2009-11-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

Pompeii Floor 4

2009-11-14T07:31:00.000-08:00

Pompeii Floor 3

2009-11-14T07:30:00.001-08:00

Pompeii Floor 2

2009-11-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

Pompeii Floor 1

2009-11-14T07:27:00.000-08:00

Living Cliché

2009-09-20T14:03:00.000-07:00

Recently I looked in mirror and could see that I am starting to age. As I stared I thought about how quickly the last ten years have gone by, and how quickly the next would disappear. Realising how short life is, I thought to myself, "Why am I living my life in a way that I don't want to?" As if this thought wasn't depressing enough, I then thought, "I am full of clichés." That really made me feel bad.

(But perhaps clichés are the only thing that can be thought whilst looking in the mirror.)

Sign of the Times

2009-08-28T11:34:00.000-07:00

A problem of the current times is that people believe that they can turn their hand to anything. The critic is a critic in the very broadest sense, moving from one thing to another with an ease that leaves one gasping. But the truth is that these people are not interpreters: they move with such ease because their hand merely polishes the surface they want to penetrate. Give them some building blocks and they will surely build an unusual looking object, but it would never cross their minds to take the single block and break it open.

When trouble begins...

2009-05-01T05:47:00.000-07:00

I just realized that I have a fear of downstairs toilets.

I have a memory of sitting on the toilet in my home as a child, my feet only just touching the U shaped toilet carpet, and suddenly seeing an insect - a beetle or louse or something. I screamed and ran out, paying no attention to the circumstances of the act of using the toilet. My mother and siblings could not find the insect, leaving me knowing that it was there, hiding, waiting for me to be alone again. In the 15 years that followed I used the toilet upstairs, unless circumstances dictated that I use the downstairs one. In these few instances I would rush, ensure my feet did not touch the carpet, and rapidly move my eyes around the floor, looking for this insect to show itself. It never did.

Modern Times

2009-02-07T10:44:00.000-08:00

I am coming to the conclusion that all paid work is the same. And that perhaps we convince ourselves that we are lucky to have employment that fully reflects our interests. Yes, I used to think that to have this combination is the perfection of life. Now I am beginning to believe that one should absolutely separate their interests from employment, so as not to poison the well of one's passions. Not that this will even remotely lead to fulfillment either.

NB: this is my current feeling, but is subject to change of employment.

Different Seasons

2009-02-07T10:36:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I realised how much I love the different seasons. In the moment where one feels the season at its fullest, one is the happiest ever. But also the wonderful thing about the seasons is that one has the blissful memory of it, and one anticipates the wonders of the season to come. So all three temporal instances are of equal importance.

So everyone should get outside - this fullest feeling of happiness does not happen indoors.

Amor Fati

2009-01-08T13:03:00.000-08:00

It really is true that when presented with the opportunity to actually change something about oneself, in particular, one's appearance, that very thing that one always wished one could change or 'correct'', there is the sudden realisation that to accept such an opportunity would be to alter something that is so inherently oneself, that this no longer becomes a dream but a nightmare. Well, that's how I feel about changing my teeth, anyway.

The Pleasure of Paranoia

2008-09-11T15:17:00.001-07:00

What a wonderful thing paranoia is. Yes, we claim that it is unpleasant, but really it is stimulating. The panic and excitement is riveting, and then, when things get close to no return, one is suddenly saved by a reassurance. Paranoia means living on the edge. Even if others see your life as very normal or uneventful, you know that you are stepping close to a boundary line on a regular basis.

There is also the pressing question of truth that is a fundamental part of being paranoid. The argument with the accuser of “paranoia”, where they think you are without reason. Yet, you know that there is a strong possibility that you are right, and not paranoid, yet feel a certain hopefulness at actually being proved wrong, making what you thought to be true, in fact, untrue. The demand for proof from the non-paranoiac is met with the same demand, the latter always making a stronger challenge.

You see, the paranoiac is in a win-win situation. If they are paranoid, the problems they thought they had are not actually true. Also, with the acceptance of this status, they can relax and not feel guilty about it. “I am paranoid, therefore I am right to have these suspicions.” If the feelings and suspicions they have turn out to be true, then they have the satisfaction of knowing that they were not paranoid all along – the others were all fooled, but not this one.

Fragility

2008-09-11T14:55:00.000-07:00

With a stretch I pull a muscle, with a gentle tap I bruise, with a sneeze my back tightens, with sex my legs ache, to be in close contact with strangers I catch their cold. To have a weak body can leave one with feelings of constant regret. ‘Why did I move in that position?’ ‘Why did I not protect myself more adequately?’ Not just regret, but fear of the future too. ‘What will life be like in 30 years with such a body?’

If one has a weak body, but is a genius, that is ok. “Well, his physical weakness added to his greatness.” “His suffering made him what he is, giving him the perspective that no-one else can have.” I am no genius though.

The problem with such physical weakness is that one accepts it as one’s essence, and thus nothing is done to combat it. Is the acceptance as this weakness as one’s essence not a sign of yet another, non-physical weakness? Weakness of the mind – what a combination to have. I do not want to delve into that. (Certainly showing the very weakness of her mind).

The Destruction of Humanity

2008-08-17T15:04:00.000-07:00

Nihilist; Pessimist; Miserablist; Complainer; Destroyer of Humanity. These are accusations expected to be thrown my way due to my tendency to complain at times.

What a mistake this is. Often the complaints of daily life, as tiresome as they may sound to those listening, are not ones that want to simply destroy. In fact, these complaints and hatred of the world are often those that want to rebuild (and if it involves any destruction, it is to enable something else).

Of course, it cannot be denied that anyone who really is a nihilist, moaner, or destroyer of humanity would refute these accusations. Therefore my testimony cannot be trusted. Besides, even if I were trusted, unless the destroying and rebuilding is actually taking place, what use is this? In fact, without the latter taking place, one could rightly accuse me of being a pessimistic nihilist, with a tendency to complain alot. It just goes to show that often in life we do not see the forest for the trees.

Notes on Domination: The Mediation of Colour

2008-06-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

When something, anything, this or that, is put to use, it signals the impending destruction of mankind. This is especially so when something so natural and so beautiful, that which we often take for granted, is seized upon and thrust upon us with force, trying to maintain the feeling of naturalness, hiding the manipulation (or even not hiding it).

Colours are a fine example of this: that which is to be looked at with pleasure and admiration, beyond our grasp, yet not out of reach. We have the gift of seeing colours, the relationship between the human eyes and the colour should be direct between those two only – no third party should be involved.

Colour is suddenly put to use. Red signals danger! Black signals death! White signals purity! Yellow signals happiness! Blue signals a boy! Pink signals a girl! Grey signals unsure territory that one should stay away from! Cultural lying has ensured that colour comes with the mediation of a third authoritative party, who seeks to control your minds. Even the shades of colour are put to use. The prison or the asylum use this colour to impose a feeling onto the deranged or criminal – a crackdown on crime with pastels (though this is once captured, before then only the strongest, most dominating colours are used).

People in homes in pursuit of the mood they long for, take heed.

Bees

2008-06-08T09:48:00.000-07:00

Bees are wonderful little (but by no means inferior) creatures. Intelligent, graceful, caring and always busy; the bee knows how to use it's time well. How can one not hold in high esteem a creature that likes to spend it's days making honey, buzzing around colourful flowers and hunting sticky sweets? All this, and the perpetuation of mankind!

The Pleasure of a Tickle

2008-06-07T13:20:00.000-07:00

One of the most pleasurable things in the world is to experience a gentle tickle, a tickle that is like a gentle stroke. This is not just for the back, it can be on the arms, legs, even chin, and feels wonderful. Tickles on the side of the body can be nice, but often it tickles a little too much, thus interrupting the pleasure.

Getting hold of these tickles can be a problem. One cannot ask a friend, even family (unless you are a child) to give such pleasure. A spouse may give tickles, but not for long (at the beginning of the relationship they are always willing to give them for 30 minutes, sometimes more. Later in the relationship you have to beg for 2 minute's worth). You can only get so far tickling yourself – not only is the pleasure taken away from having to actually undertake the tickling, but as tickler, you know exactly where the tickle is about to happen – no sweet surprises there. Plus you cannot comfortably reach your own back.

A tickle machine is out of the question – it must be a human touch, otherwise one feels sick to the stomach, and guilty of such an obscenity. Pets cannot do it either. Though they sure as hell have no problems accepting them, even from strangers in the street.

I suppose the biggest problem is that the tickler finds it boring and gets a sore arm after a while (or worse still, wants the tickled to reciprocate). Until this state of affairs can be changed it will remain difficult to obtain these gentle touches.

NB This tickle is NOT of a sexual nature. If that is what you are looking for, you are in the wrong place.

To Return, Again

2008-06-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader,

The problem I have when writing is that I begin with a thought and from thereon simply write, with the excitement that I am proving my point so perfectly. When I come to the end of writing I suddenly realise that my argument has gone in a 360° circle. My argument has, in fact, proved the very point I was so against at the beginning. The strangest thing being that the content of my argument is not even inconsistent. I am then faced with the question, “What is the right thing to do, and who should it be right for?” Often I have to re-think the whole situation. Often I keep this written piece for my eyes only (some of the few secrets I have in my life). Other times I accept the fate of my theses, with the worry that all those reading will regard me with certain ridicule.

Whilst I cannot at any stage refer to a form of a priori determination by which this writing would be guided, I do hope that this will not cause any distrust between us.

Unassuredly Yours,

Me and You and Me

2008-06-07T09:20:00.000-07:00

The difficulty of being with another has, for me, nothing to do with the commonly expressed complaint of ‘losing one’s identity’. In fact, the problem is perhaps that one has managed to formulate their identity, and show this as fully as possible to the person they are with. This is problematic as it then becomes impossible to ever do this with anyone else. By being able to express oneself so fully to another can only lead to the downfall of relationships with others. A sanctuary at home, but one must always remain at home.

GSOH

2008-05-10T15:29:00.001-07:00

I would like to know what the value is of having a “good sense of humour.” When someone craves a “good sense of humour” what is it they really want? The person with a GSOH (and this abbreviation, as awful as it is, is very appropriate for this personality trait) is someone that refuses to challenge that which is put in front of them. Someone who will join in the fun, have a good chuckle (even at some naughty stuff). Someone who will make fun of a friend (in the most jovial fun-loving way), and is prepared to be made fun of. Someone who will laugh along appropriately with the crowd they are with, even if it is accompanied by feelings of guilt inside . A gutless person whose main concern is being liked and being safe. The individual with a GSOH will go to heaven (but can go to hell).

Why on earth is the description of a “GSOH” a compliment? Why would a person seek this in a companion? Is it the fear that if a GSOH is not specified they might get someone who has a bad sense of humour? Worse, none at all? Why does that personality trait take preference over many other ones?

The person with a good sense of humour is, quite frankly, a bore who has nothing to offer but meaningless, untrustworthy laughs.

The Same Difference

2008-05-10T14:29:00.000-07:00

Without believing to be different from anyone else (though secretly desiring this more than anything), it can be difficult when one sees that another human being can lead a happier or less complicated life than oneself because they do not follow strict rules of what they do not want to be (this is not even a question for them). The restrictions given to oneself can often lead to the question, “Why can’t I be like the others?”

Today I bought a dress. The warm weather had arrived in the city, and in a moment of heat-induced madness a dress was bought. Not one to normally wear dresses (particularly those with a feminine quality), the decision came because I wanted to cool down like other ladies do. I considered that men do not wear dresses, and therefore my situation is no worse than theirs. I came to the conclusion that it is worse as I cannot wear t-shirts and baggy trousers (who really can?).

The dress is simple, but not to my taste. I desperately want to wear this linen-lycra mix dress like the other ladies do but I am certain that tomorrow I will take it back to the cheap shop it came from. I do not know what the bigger problem is: wanting to be the same or wanting to be different. I do know that I will not be wearing that linen-lycra mix dress.

I bought a dress in a similar situation last year. I wore it once then realised it was not right. I should have accepted my lot then.

Returning to the question, “why can’t I be like the others?” Don’t you already know that you are? What a shame, as one really does not want to be like the others, and is, in truth, under the false impression that one is different (but, of course, to admit this would be to open up oneself to great criticism).

Beautiful Umbrella

2008-05-06T14:20:00.001-07:00

It is problematic to want to turn back time. To return to a time. No, to bring to the present that from the past, be it a feeling, an atmosphere or an event.

Nonetheless we cannot help thinking of things from our age that we dislike and comparing that to the time before, longing to remove that specific thing from its past context and bring it to the present, replacing the present equivalent with the perfect form from a lost age. An example of this is the umbrella, or rather, the whole politics of the umbrella in today’s society. In short, the problem of the disposability of umbrellas in our present age.

People are happy to walk around with the ugliest of umbrellas, and the cheapest. It is of no concern if the umbrella is lost or stolen – another one can easily be bought. This goes on and on. People lose their umbrellas because they do not care about them. Ugly, cheap, disposable.

There was a time when umbrellas were well made and very beautiful. They even had strength. With such an umbrella, gone would be the burdensome days of carrying a rain-protector. In fact, it would be a pleasure to carry one – we would no longer have to judge the weather: “should I take an umbrella with me?” “What if it rains later?” We would want it to rain, and would take our umbrellas out with us always in the hope of prompting fate.

The argument for practical value (as opposed to aesthetic) is fine, but even in this scenario we see the same problem: practical and functional should not mean disposable.

Of course, this can be said about many things: kettles, plates, clothes and cars. But there is something about the elegance and the function of the umbrella that makes the lack of concern (and respect) for it particularly offensive. It is difficult to find objections to bringing forth to the present the (now lost) relationship one used to have with their umbrella.

The Pleasure of a Haircut

2008-05-06T14:17:00.000-07:00

What a wonderful feeling to get great haircut. “I want this haircut to last forever.” “This really will look great with all of my clothes – even the scruffy ones.” “I’m going to be the envy of all with this look.” “This haircut really makes the features on my face look more attractive.” “My reflection in that shop window looks so good.”

A great haircut revives a person. It makes one want to go out and grab life – it must be done to show off the hair.

I am unsure how the hairdresser who performs the great cut feels about this. Do they realise that they have made such a difference to someone’s life (even if it is just until the hair grows a bit)? Whatever they feel is of no real concern, after all, it is my hair, therefore my triumph, and I want everyone to know about it.

Knives and other sharp instruments

2008-04-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been lying in bed trying to sleep but unable to because of dark thoughts? What is worse is that often dark thoughts like these are not thoughts at all, but rather just a feeling (so not allowing one to approach it rationally).

There are, of course, occasions when they are dark thoughts. This is when sleep is required the most, but cannot be achieved (oh, the torment). One of the worst instances of this that I can recall was when I had vision of cutting myself with a sharp instrument. Please do not be alarmed (I wish someone had said this to me at the time).

I just lay there with the image of a knife slicing across my wrist, but before the blood poured out I would shake my head and the image was temporarily removed. Minutes later it returned. The image was so strong that I had to stick my head of the window for air as I thought I would be sick. The worst part of it was that I needed the toilet, but was too afraid to enter the bathroom in case I encountered a razor. This meant having to go to the downstairs toilet, which really bothered me as I hate to walk down stairs in the dark (and do not like this toilet).

Fortunately, the trauma of having to walk down the stairs was such an interruption to the thoughts I was having about knives that I was able to fall asleep shortly after returning to bed.

Unfortunately, the same thoughts returned to me the next day, but that is the way life goes.

(At least I came to the realisation that there is a difference between real life and fantasy, albeit it an often indiscernible one).

The Gadget Obsessive

2008-04-26T09:03:00.000-07:00

It cannot be denied that there are occasions in life when a gadget of some sort is appealing, and can be useful (a memory stick, for example). However, I would say that generally I do not like gadgets. The gadget often creates the solution to a problem that did not exist before the gadget came into being, or else the gadget woos with its ‘state of the art’ looks and functions.

What is worse than the gadget itself is the gadget obsessive. These people lack such imagination that they must fill these voids with toys that give them a sense of fulfilment. This is, however, short-lived, and a new gadget is soon needed to fill that hunger-gap. The gadget is bought in the name of the ‘new’, but is actually the act of rejecting the new.

These obsessives also like to inform those around them of their new gadgets, giving demonstrations where possible – a tedious time for the person having to feign interest.

My Will

2008-04-26T08:57:00.000-07:00

In the event of my death I would like people to pay attention to my abhorrence towards my body being placed in an expensive coffin. I would like whoever deals with this to place me in cardboard, or something similar – something with the least wastage and least expense. Do not put any of my clothes on my dead body.

In the event of my death I would like it to be acknowledged that any ‘in memorandum’ written for me is something I would not approve of. If one wishes to remember me, please do so, but do this using your own memories and thoughts of me, rather than gaining recognition from others for doing so.

In the event of my death I would like all of my possessions to be sold or go to charity, except any items family or friends wish to keep (without sentiment). Unwanted books are to be donated to libraries.

In the event of my death I would like all to know that any false ceremony (which is all ceremony) is not a response I would welcome.

In the event of my death I would like any useful body parts to be taken. My hair can be sold.

In the event of my death I would like any work I have done to be destroyed. This is not an self-congratulatory act that compares me to, say, Kafka. Rather, the destruction of any work is because of the mediocre quality. The exception to this rule would be any emails that people want to keep (as I am often told they are quite good).

In the event of my death I would like the person that killed me (if I was killed by someone) to not be blamed or punished (this has got nothing to do with Christianity).

In the event of my death I would like the person/s that killed me (if I was killed by a company or by the government) to be blamed and punished, without reserve.

The living dead and the dead living

2008-04-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

It is true that I have always been afraid (or at least wary) of clowns. I have also never felt at ease with china dolls. When one considers the two, one can see that both the clown and the china doll actually have similar features. Both are unpleasant and can be used to scare and intimidate . I would say that the difference between them lies in their personalities, yet both personalities cause alarm.

The clown, with his crazy face and oversized and over-coloured clothes, acts with frightful enthusiasm and silliness. He also always wants to act with an element of surprise - the only result being intense fear and panic on the surprised. No-one likes surprises. The clown is never still in the presence of another human, heightening our sense of panic. I don't think horror films that have clowns in them began this fear - clowns were always to be afraid of (and always wanted to be).

The china doll also has a madness in her face and wears clothes that give it a ghost-like image. Her face has similar painting to the clowns, though slightly shinier. Her eyelids can move up and down (and we are always waiting for them to flicker). The clothes are from strange periods in history, ranging from what looks like the early eighteenth to the late nineteenth century, and always from the upper-middle classes. There is always a feeling of her coming back from the past. Or being dead, but never having died. Either way she is never from our age and is therefore always judging our present age. She has a stillness that makes us quiver. My great aunt used to have lots of china dolls in her house (only great aunts do) - at any moment they could have come alive (at night they surely did). The gaze is cold and dead, which is how you will end up if one of these dolls gets their way.

The clown intimidates with his chaotic personality, the china doll with her cool, watchful personality. Both have some kind of angry mental disorder and are truly psychotic. As an informed man once said to me, "they [clowns and china dolls] are two sides of the same coin." The clown should be dead yet is alive, and the china doll is dead but should be alive. The clown is the appalling reality of an inanimate thing come to life, the doll the appalling reality of the living thing petrified. That is enough to frighten the toughest of humans.

My relationship to nature is at a distance

2008-04-26T07:01:00.000-07:00

My relationship to nature is at a distance, particuarly with things that grow, such as plants.

I have never felt at one with nature. What's more, I do not think this is ever possible. I think, in fact, that I fear nature, or, rather, the possibility of contact with nature (even though I believe this is never possible). Perhaps it is also because I live in the city. In the city there are some trees, parks, flower-beds (usually cordoned off to prevent contact with the public), but generally there is a lack of nature, and an overabundance of concrete. this may be a contributing factor to my inability to relate to nature. I cannot touch an insect, I cannot sit on the grass, I cannot have trees towering over me. I can't even pick up a leaf. This is a sickness of modern times that I am unwilling to try to cure (an altogether other sickness). At the same time, I would say that those who believe that they have crossed the boundary line of the natural world are deluded, and slightly arrogant.

One of the most uncomfortable things I have ever seen is an advert for a moisturizing cream, which took as its subject a dry autumn leaf, and 'cured' this by putting the said moisturizer on it. The image on screen was then one of a very soft leaf that still had youth on its side

When it comes to rocks I am also fearful. They are so strong and sturdy, that even the strongest waves smack against them without causing the slightest damage. Who could stand up to that? Not that I long for a confrontation with the rock - I just don't want to get involved.

The expression of someone being a "rock" is meant to be one that is applied to a person who is strong during difficulties, doesn't weep during another's sad time but lets waves of tears of the other crash against them. What about the cold, unmoving, unaffected side of the "rock"? This is the problem when humans try to apply nature to themselves - all kinds of difficulties arise.

The fear of the sea is so obvious there is no point in discussing it.