"O Eva, O Eva,
I love you so mighty,
I wish my pyjama was
Next to your nighty"
11.9.11
Accidents Happen
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 moreso 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.)
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.)
9.9.11
Friendship: 'Love's Work' by Gillian Rose
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.
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.
30.8.11
People From The Past
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).
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).
29.7.11
Clearing Out
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.
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 day need those items for something, or a feeling of guilt for discarding what is meaningful to another.
(But perhaps these things are more meaningful to me than I realise, as not only have I kept them, but I also share the experience of them with you.)
- 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.
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 day need those items for something, or a feeling of guilt for discarding what is meaningful to another.
(But perhaps these things are more meaningful to me than I realise, as not only have I kept them, but I also share the experience of them with you.)
26.6.11
Overload (Or, A Modern Experience)
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
Report From L.A.
The Unbelievable Truth
17.4.11
Asparagus in January
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.
"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.
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