Journal Entries
Japanese
Posted Apr 16, 2013
I was walking along the Taylor D corridor, at the end of which there is a fire door with a window in it. I saw myself reflected, and, behind me, a woman's shape. But I could only hear my own footsteps. I checked again. The figure was still behind me and possibly closer. What should I do? If I stopped and turned, there would be no-one behind me, but when I turned back there would be a white-faced wraith with long black hair and black eyes and fingernails crooked and a foot long standing inches from me, and my body would be found twisted and broken like a jumble of rags with burnt-out eyes and a blackened mouth. Or keep walking until my sanity cracked or exhaustion made me collapse, in which case I would wake up and the cycle would begin again again again again. What should I do? What should I do?
It was a Year 4 wearing pumps.
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PS. Miah to vet this AM. Miah has had her shots. Miah now has a sore eye. No blood drawn in the boxing-up process.
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Latest reply: Apr 16, 2013
Don Juan's Reckless Daughter
Posted Apr 16, 2013
I remember it from the 70s - an oddity; I never listened to it. I have had it on CD for years and it has gone in one ear and out the other. I listened to it on the Bose headphones in the cubbyhole this afternoon. Then I listened to it again.
"There was a moon and a street lamp
I didn't know I drank such a lot
Till I pissed a Tequila-anaconda
The full length of the parking lot!"
Joni is like Dylan - the words can reach out and grab you by the throat:
Coyote's in the coffee shop
He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs
He picks up my scent on his fingers
While he's watching the waitresses' legs.
...
Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar."
'Daughter' was simply magnificent.
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Latest reply: Apr 16, 2013
Ikea
Posted Apr 14, 2013
Downstairs had a row between 2 and the back of 4 this morning. Some time after 3 downstairs male was driven to assemble, dis-assemble then re-assemble an Ikea wardrobe, without the plans, in an empty and uncarpeted room directly beneath our bed, possessed of an Albert Hall-like acoustic. At some after 4 this morning downstairs female joined the woodwork party and offered the comment "well done, you've made a right mess of that." The word 'orgasm' also got shouted. I turned round and went back to sleep but S was well annoyed by it all.
I can sympathise with the whole male Ikea thing. I can recognise the urgent panic-fueled impulse that leads to it.
In my dreams, the back-story emerged. It was not an Ikea wardrobe, but it was the floorboards that were being lifted so as to conceal a body. This did not worry me too much in itself - I knew that the crime would come to light and the culprits punished - Edgar Allan Poe tells me so in The Tell-Tale Heart. My worry was in re the ghost that would now have to haunt the downstairs flat. Would it, I pondered, be bound by the four walls, floor and ceiling of the flat or could it intrude into our bedroom? I mean, it is only a matter of a few feet, and what are plaster ceilings and wooden beams and floorboards to the dis-incarnate?
A day at Uni.
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Latest reply: Apr 14, 2013
Cyclops
Posted Apr 13, 2013
I am going to have to see the doctor. My eyes have been playing up for a while and my weaker eye - the right one - has taken to half-closing on me.
I must look like Popeye.
A nice motor yesterday along the Moray Firth coast from Fraserburgh to Banff. Lovely countryside; clffs and winding ascending and descending roads. Susan and I took my mother.
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Latest reply: Apr 13, 2013
A swell nite out
Posted Apr 9, 2013
An excellent performance by an absurdly talented ensemble last night of Gogol's The Government Inspector. It zipped along at a fair old pace with the comic timing and visual inventiveness of a Marx Brothers film. The role of the Inspector had, in the adaptation, originally been devised with Rik Mayall in mind, and the performer had two marvelous set pieces, one in each half, in which he excelled. Everyone else was simply magnificent. One completely unexpected moment featured a wee old scruffy waiter breaking into a dance of lithe balletic grace and delicacy which came from nowhere and returned to nowhere in thirty seconds flat. What an evening. I will remember it for a long time.
It is absurd to crow over the deceased because all it amounts to is the statement that 'I am alive and you are dead', and that can only ever be a temporary state of affairs. If you cannot be courteous towards the dead then be ambivalent, and avoid crowing triumphalism
You who dance around our hearse
Remember this is true
That you must soon be one of us
As we were once like you.
The absurdities of dyed-in-the-wool atheists wishing people away to hell - desperate with the need for some post-death 'payback' - aye, Guardianistas, mind, and therefore of unimpeachable ethical rectitude. Secularism's grim calvinists. The stunted celebrations of faux-moral goblins. Hah! Peet's site was somewhat unpleasant last night.
This said, for Hume's sake bury her quickly and decently and let's get on...
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Latest reply: Apr 9, 2013
DruglessBrain
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