Wednesday, April 27th, 2011
They said that I could never focus properly
I had turned
my face, my ears, away
from music for a long time.
Tuned myself away,
too far to hear your melodies;
your harmonies; your song.
Now here/hear then these words, all I can craft in return,
obscure black pixels on glowing screens
the most imperfect reply.
if answers you’re looking for, out here,
if answers should find you,
if you ever come by here,
these seven (#7) (for a secret) then are mine (never told):
I’m very sorry;
I hope you’re well.
I wish you all the best, should you find this.
And should you never find this –
well, my wishes stand,
just the same, in the silence.
Take care –
(‘ -, Friend.’ Robin Hood would say fondly, were [s]he allowed).
Instead of a photo or a poem – and it also marks the first update where I actually talk to you, the mysterious reader, out there. So, dear reader, what I offer you here is really only useful to you if you’re a student, or know a student, or somehow have a deep and mysterious love for reading term paper writing guides.
If, however, you should fall into one of those three categories, then I give you:
SOME WORDS ON THE MYSTERY OF WRITING A TERM PAPER
(complete with references ranging from Star Wars to advice given to passengers of river crossing vehicles)
– or, in other words, my own humble attempt at writing a “How to write a term paper” guide. It’s also longer than most term papers need to be. Oops. It’s here on a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial share license, so feel free to share far and wide. And let me know about improvements you’d like to see.
Aaaand that’s it for now – more photos, quotations, and maybe some posts about what this blog says that it’s actually about – points of view, relativity, postmodernity, language, literature, the ineluctable modality of the visible and of everything else – coming soon. I just need to finish writing them. And, at that, the PhD.
For five centuries the Colosseum nourished artists and writers, but it was precisely the features which conflicted with the original ‘truth’ of the Colosseum which triggered their creativity. The black Martyrs’ Cross, on whose steps sat Daisy Miller, Chateaubriand and Pauline de Beaumont. Moonlit solitude, and the owl’s cry heard by Byron. The spectral smoke which drifted away to reveal Cellini’s demons, Goethe’s geometries and Poe’s dizzying vortex of Eld. The hermit who grew his hay; William Beckford’s reverie in the cypresses; and Deakin’s Christ’s Thorn. All have gone, and the Colosseum is extinct. Today it is the most monumental bathos in Europe: a bald, dead and bare circle of stones. There are no shadows, no sands, no echoes and if a single flower blooms in a crevice it is sprayed with weed-killer. The monument is open to the public from nine-thirty a.m. to six p.m., when the gates are locked. At nightfall one day in the 1820s Stendhal watched an Englishman ride his horse through the deserted arena. I wish that could be me.
Woodward, Christopher. In Ruins. London: Vintage, 2001. page 30f.
Yes, once I make it to the colosseum, that photo is totally getting replaced. Still – different ruin, same phenomenon.
Never again will we hear stamping on the road
The lively foot of a horse on the burning cobbles;
Adieu, slow journeys, distant noises that one hears,
The laughter of the passersby, the slow turning of the wheel,
The unexpected bend on varying slopes,
A friend met, the hours forgotten,
The hope of arriving late in the wild place.
Distance and time are defeated. Science
Traces around the earth a sad and straight road.
The world is reduced by our experience
And the equator is only too narrow a ring.
Chance is no longer. Everyone will slip along his line
Immobile in the single place which departure allots him,
Immersed in a silent and cold calculation.
A. de Vigny
The voice in the mirror
The voice in the mirror
is crackling and faded
the pictures it paints
Too long has it been
since an image, an icon,
a face could be spotted
The corruption in things is not only the best argument for being progressive; it is also the only argument against being conservative. The conservative theory would really be quite sweeping and unanswerable if it were not for this one fact. But all conservatism is based upon the idea that if you leave things alone you leave them as they are. But you do not. If you leave a thing alone you leave it to a torrent of change.
G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy