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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). |
| Memory. A stone thrown across the surface of the water, which is time. Skips across, it is an incomplete journey, for me at least, since my memory is not 100%. I remember a series of events, and have forgotten countless moments and details and faces and sounds. The splash of the stone as it skips, the memories I have are imperfect. I may remember the gist, but when pressed, there is detail missing. For example a conversation. Someone was so angry with me because I was always right. I watched in horror whilst they ranted about this, and did it wrong again. I know who the person is, and where we were. I don't remember what I always got right, or what she was getting wrong. It's frustrating. It might still be in there somewhere. Summoning old memories is an art perhaps. Focus helps. sometimes an instruction to myself to find it and throw it up works, (now think of the implications of that one). Does it have to be that way? I have read of photographic memory, but I don't experience that - locked in my own mind. Would I want to remember everything? Undoubtedly not. I am thankful that I cannot remember physical pain. Memory is largely word based for me, I remember - then I narrate what I recall, imperfectly. Memory is sequential. I can follow a route in my mind, seeing inwardly the landmarks I used to navigate that route. If I smell something again, I remember it, but I cannot smell violets from memory, without that scent being present to smell in the present. Sound is a bit easier, I can run through the words of a song (but that's partially narration of course), and hear some of the tune. I can hum or mmm-mmm-mmm the intro to Beethoven's Fifth. I can't do that for Vaughan William's Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, but when I hear it I know that I have heard it before (and like it immensely). My body remembers such things as how to ride a bicycle, or to drive a car with a gear stick. Wonder why scents are so elusive? I remember dying - last time. Does that sound strange? Perhaps I am deluding myself, but it does explain some very strange childhood nightmares. If you are interested, I was gassed. I was reading recently, probably on the BBC news pages, that research has shown how inaccurate our memories are. We edit them, to present ourselves in the best light. I am always a little wary of these pronouncements, though I am sure that we, i do edit to present myself to others and maybe myself in a better light, I wonder if there is a 'range of clarity' - by which I mean do some embroider more than others? Are those who are less bothered about how they are perceived edit their memories less? Colin Wilson - a British Author who thought and wrote a lot about how humanity 'ticks' wrote something to the effect that we are like gods who constantly forget that we are gods. I have no idea if he was correct, but our ability to retain a thought for any length of time does seem to be eroded by our distraction rich environments. Which is why monks seeking enlightenment are usually depicted cross legged on top of a mountain. Although hopefully not Everest, or they'd never get any peace. Meh, I'm rambling now. Lost the thread. Skipped to the next bit. One last thing. I re-read something in my portfolio last week, that I didn't remember writing. I'd stated that I was writing it to be able to enjoy it when i re-read it in the future. Do you know what? I did enjoy it. |
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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).
