There is an island[1] where all the lost ideas make their way to. They have excellent navigational skills, lost ideas, as well as fantastic trial hiding techniques. Once a lost idea is sufficiently far enough away it will not come back easily.
I tracked my idea to Bohemia. Victoria Cohen Mitchell presented a BBC series[2] on Bohemians through the ages, seemingly concluding that there is no easy definition of what a Bohemian is. Essentially it came down with disagreeing with the political elite, which can be a little vague. I mean, the speeding motorist on the A65 is in disagreement with a political elite.
What struck me about the programme was the number of commentators willing to attach their definition on other people, most of which are no longer able to give a reply. The trouble with attaching one's own definition on others is that one will be invariably wrong.
Wrong choice of word. Wrong definition. Wrong recipient.
At this point the lost idea seems to have wanted to take in Herbert Read, Barthes, Descartes, and Derrida. Looking at this list it is also very likely to have included a paragraph or two outlining why Oxford commas matter (with a big 'fuck you, not fuck you' to Vampire Weekend as I'm rather fond of them).
These ideas are in my head, and no doubt will come out in due course. But it is worth noting that life got in the way. Life, that thing John[3] Lennon warned us all about, the disruptor of plans.
The main thing that disrupted my thought process was Kirkstall Festival. I knew it was coming, to be fair, get out a calendar and we can pretty much predict when it will take place every year (second Saturday of July), but this year preparations for the Festival also included preparations for the stall I would help run (for Kirkstall in Bloom). Along with work being massively annoyingly troublesome[4], ideas came and went like pooh sticks in a rapidly flowing river, fifty metres away and taken by beavers before I can do anything with them.
Kirkstall Festival took my creative energy, refocused it and helped me contribute to a pretty successful event. What does it matter if my writing is a month delayed, approximately 28,000 people came and enjoyed what was on offer[6]. As one person said, imagine everything you could find in West Yorkshire and you're likely to find it at Kirkstall Festive[5].
Okay, maybe an exaggeration but there's some truth in it. There is musical acts, performance, artists, local and national organisations, a parade, dance, sports, and a dog show. Yep, dog show. I managed two walks around the site, I saw folk, Morris dancers, blues, alt-pop, and heavy metal.
Which brings up the reference to John Dunne. There is a pressure from local and national government, media commentators and soundbite technicians, to view communities as islands. By doing so one can separate and divide. Communities have it within themselves to say, no, we're the sum of the parts, we can do better than you.
Note
1- Not an island, thanks, John Donne.
2- BBC reform is such a lovely, right-wing idiots idea of progress they ignore the fact it is so reactionary it almost revolts itself. Listen to the politician say in the same sentence, 'I love what the BBC do with X, but Y is unnecessary'. Sorry, but Y is necessary to someone else, and they didn't vote for you, you're not speaking for them because of a complete dysfunction between political reality and electoral success.
3- How many Johns can I fit into this, I wonder?
4- Though not too troublesome. We're moving office in September, and the desk plan correctly gives me the right position in the new office. My desk is number one.
5- Fun fact, the current chair of Kirkstall Festival is called John.
6- I must say, Kirkstall Festival was also an elaborate birthday celebration for someone. She was most happy, even if she didn't recognise every single attendee.
Sunday, 19 July 2015
Sunday, 5 July 2015
Saga, saga
I wonder if there is a word that could describe one's attachments emotionally to a cultural artifact? Would it be a single word that conveyed all those human connotations and contradictions? Or maybe a phrase would be better, 'adding the total of one's life to the meaning of x'?
I have quite a few, some I am happy to talk about (well, by the end of this post you will see I am not happy) and others that I will never share. This weekend I went to Leeds Central Library and picked up Saga volumes one, two and three. I also picked up Adventure Time volumes one and two in Burley Library but I have no emotional ties to this. I mean, it's nice and okay.
I picked up Saga for a number of reasons. Mainly because I started reading Brian K Vaughan's We Stand On Guard this week, and figured it was time to get back on with Saga, but there's other reasons. It's a good story, told well, and not easily predictable.
I have read Saga before. Somewhere it my boxes of comic book issues there are the first three issues. I remember the day I bought them, a Friday, because that evening I learnt a friend had committed suicide.
Sylvain was a friend. We had known each other since about 1997, shared a very similar taste in music and cultural references. There had been two breaks when we stopped talking, both came to an end when Sylvain contacted me.
Having read the first volume of Saga I can see how the team set up the situation and the characters. The universe it is contained in is good, not a simple linear, good v bad universe, their universe is full of grey where people can disappear.
The second time Sylvain got back in contact was pretty amazing. The first time was awesome for me, but the second time I had worried too much time had passed. I had moved three times, out and back into and then out of London. In the back of my head there was the lost cord I couldn't connect. Sylvain was more intelligent than me.
Saga is about cultural differences. It starts with birth and violence, love and misunderstanding, and from there it just goes on. Why wouldn't you want your child to see the universe?
One morning before work Sylvain sent me a message on Facebook. We chatted and I said I needed to get to work, I was still in my probationary period. I said we'd talk again, soon.
Now, my memory is sketchy regarding the time line and I don't want to investigate it further. It's my memory, you see, and unlike Hazel in Saga I am an unreliable witness by choice.
The next message I had from Sylvain wasn't from Sylvain. It was from his partner informing me of what had happened. I didn't want to press her but from what I understood Sylvain had been very resolute in his determination. We shared a few words about Sylvain and that was that. I offered if she ever needed to talk I was a message away.
I miss Sylvain. There are a lot of things in life one can't explain or resolve, and I cannot resolve a lot of things about Sylvain without Sylvain's help. So, instead, aside from Saga, I shall share one of the other things that remind me of that dear dead Frenchman: "Wanna grow up to be, be a debaser, debaser."
Saga #1, #2, #3, Brain K Vaughan, Fiona Staples,
Leeds Central Library, Leeds
I have quite a few, some I am happy to talk about (well, by the end of this post you will see I am not happy) and others that I will never share. This weekend I went to Leeds Central Library and picked up Saga volumes one, two and three. I also picked up Adventure Time volumes one and two in Burley Library but I have no emotional ties to this. I mean, it's nice and okay.
I picked up Saga for a number of reasons. Mainly because I started reading Brian K Vaughan's We Stand On Guard this week, and figured it was time to get back on with Saga, but there's other reasons. It's a good story, told well, and not easily predictable.
I have read Saga before. Somewhere it my boxes of comic book issues there are the first three issues. I remember the day I bought them, a Friday, because that evening I learnt a friend had committed suicide.
Sylvain was a friend. We had known each other since about 1997, shared a very similar taste in music and cultural references. There had been two breaks when we stopped talking, both came to an end when Sylvain contacted me.
Having read the first volume of Saga I can see how the team set up the situation and the characters. The universe it is contained in is good, not a simple linear, good v bad universe, their universe is full of grey where people can disappear.
The second time Sylvain got back in contact was pretty amazing. The first time was awesome for me, but the second time I had worried too much time had passed. I had moved three times, out and back into and then out of London. In the back of my head there was the lost cord I couldn't connect. Sylvain was more intelligent than me.
Saga is about cultural differences. It starts with birth and violence, love and misunderstanding, and from there it just goes on. Why wouldn't you want your child to see the universe?
One morning before work Sylvain sent me a message on Facebook. We chatted and I said I needed to get to work, I was still in my probationary period. I said we'd talk again, soon.
Now, my memory is sketchy regarding the time line and I don't want to investigate it further. It's my memory, you see, and unlike Hazel in Saga I am an unreliable witness by choice.
The next message I had from Sylvain wasn't from Sylvain. It was from his partner informing me of what had happened. I didn't want to press her but from what I understood Sylvain had been very resolute in his determination. We shared a few words about Sylvain and that was that. I offered if she ever needed to talk I was a message away.
I miss Sylvain. There are a lot of things in life one can't explain or resolve, and I cannot resolve a lot of things about Sylvain without Sylvain's help. So, instead, aside from Saga, I shall share one of the other things that remind me of that dear dead Frenchman: "Wanna grow up to be, be a debaser, debaser."
Saga #1, #2, #3, Brain K Vaughan, Fiona Staples,
Leeds Central Library, Leeds
Thursday, 25 June 2015
In need
Top five lists of the ten most amazing 1001 books about the 100 websites which reveal to you the secret fifty activities you must do with everyone you know before they turn thirty. Only one number one place though picture number seven will amaze you with how unexpected it features a human doing something human. 'The sixth richest nation bar none.'
I've been thinking about hierarchies recently, and their deficiencies[1]. At university I was introduced to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, which at first seemed quite succinct to me then grew more contradictory. It presents a basic interpretation of the possible needs of a generalised populace. Which is where is starts to fall apart, a pyramid build on the marshland of generalisations.
Hierarchies rely on placing one item above or below the relative merits of another item. However, individual taste dictates that for some both items are less acceptable than a third item[3]. For each individual their own hierarchy.
As a cyclist I am aware that for some motorised vehicle drivers I have a lower position on the road[2]. Living outside the city centre of Leeds I am aware how local government money is used to varying degrees, one pavement beautifully cared for while another is overgrown and blocks access.
There isn't a hierarchy to music. I guarantee that what makes me shudder with shivers of sonic sensual satisfaction is different to what does it for you. And it doesn't matter. No guilty pleasures.
No. Guilty. Pleasures.
Just pleasures. That beat that unwinds you, yeah, that's great. That melody that sneaks through the defenses and leaves you crying with joy, yep, I have a few of those too, one by Sepultura too. That lyric, the juxtaposition of the marginally sublime with outright heartfulness, yeah, it happens to me.
The thing is, hierarchies are useless. In football one team could win the league by scoring one goal in each game. At the bottom of the league the relegated team might have had twenty five-all draws. Which games would a neutral spectator prefer to see?
And yet hierarchies are placed upon us all the time. On the same day as you read this someone would have mentioned the number one local retail destination near you. A local newspaper will tell you what people in your town are concerned about, regardless of whether you are concerned about those issues. The local government will make a decision based on one private hierarchy while publicly blaming another.
In Leeds a new retail destination is being built, with accommodation for a John Lewis department store. John Lewis does a lot for the communities it serves. Sadly, not two hundred metres from the site of this new destination is the former base of self medication support service Multiple Choice. My understanding is the closure of the service was down to funding cuts, but surely supporting those who need support the most would be placed higher on a list than remuneration, say?
People are individuals. Sure, there are patterns and from those one could work out where supporting and funding would be best placed.
But in individual taste there is no right or wrong. I like Jason Donovan, I've seen him live. I dislike the sound of the Libertines because it reminds me of the Cure. Thing is, if you thought Jason Donovan wasn't up too much but the Libertines sound and lyrics unlocked the deepest pleasure senses you have, we'd get along fine. Much better than the jerk who thought we both should be listening to the next big thing before they got big and sold out.
Notes
1- Except for the hierarchy I created of fictional detectives, though I concede that Piorot is also better than Batman.
2- On the day of writing I was buzzed by a much larger vehicle. Considering the amount of damage I could cause to another vehicle should I collide with it, the cyclist in a city centre should be first and centre, not on the side.
3- A fourth comes along with a set of nontransitive dice and suggests a game.
I've been thinking about hierarchies recently, and their deficiencies[1]. At university I was introduced to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, which at first seemed quite succinct to me then grew more contradictory. It presents a basic interpretation of the possible needs of a generalised populace. Which is where is starts to fall apart, a pyramid build on the marshland of generalisations.
Hierarchies rely on placing one item above or below the relative merits of another item. However, individual taste dictates that for some both items are less acceptable than a third item[3]. For each individual their own hierarchy.
As a cyclist I am aware that for some motorised vehicle drivers I have a lower position on the road[2]. Living outside the city centre of Leeds I am aware how local government money is used to varying degrees, one pavement beautifully cared for while another is overgrown and blocks access.
There isn't a hierarchy to music. I guarantee that what makes me shudder with shivers of sonic sensual satisfaction is different to what does it for you. And it doesn't matter. No guilty pleasures.
No. Guilty. Pleasures.
Just pleasures. That beat that unwinds you, yeah, that's great. That melody that sneaks through the defenses and leaves you crying with joy, yep, I have a few of those too, one by Sepultura too. That lyric, the juxtaposition of the marginally sublime with outright heartfulness, yeah, it happens to me.
The thing is, hierarchies are useless. In football one team could win the league by scoring one goal in each game. At the bottom of the league the relegated team might have had twenty five-all draws. Which games would a neutral spectator prefer to see?
And yet hierarchies are placed upon us all the time. On the same day as you read this someone would have mentioned the number one local retail destination near you. A local newspaper will tell you what people in your town are concerned about, regardless of whether you are concerned about those issues. The local government will make a decision based on one private hierarchy while publicly blaming another.
In Leeds a new retail destination is being built, with accommodation for a John Lewis department store. John Lewis does a lot for the communities it serves. Sadly, not two hundred metres from the site of this new destination is the former base of self medication support service Multiple Choice. My understanding is the closure of the service was down to funding cuts, but surely supporting those who need support the most would be placed higher on a list than remuneration, say?
People are individuals. Sure, there are patterns and from those one could work out where supporting and funding would be best placed.
But in individual taste there is no right or wrong. I like Jason Donovan, I've seen him live. I dislike the sound of the Libertines because it reminds me of the Cure. Thing is, if you thought Jason Donovan wasn't up too much but the Libertines sound and lyrics unlocked the deepest pleasure senses you have, we'd get along fine. Much better than the jerk who thought we both should be listening to the next big thing before they got big and sold out.
Notes
1- Except for the hierarchy I created of fictional detectives, though I concede that Piorot is also better than Batman.
2- On the day of writing I was buzzed by a much larger vehicle. Considering the amount of damage I could cause to another vehicle should I collide with it, the cyclist in a city centre should be first and centre, not on the side.
3- A fourth comes along with a set of nontransitive dice and suggests a game.
Silk dress shopping
Last night I bought a silk dress. It shimmers, I am told. How I came about this sight to be seen is quite interesting.
You see, I had seen a friend be carried off in the back of a cart. It seems someone was rounding up women in a search to find a wife, though this was more about his lack of personal boundaries than inability to find a wife. To get anywhere near him and my friend I had to persuade a drunk in a bar to make a dress, they had fallen out of love with making dresses, yet the challenge I posed was too much of a challenge to turn down.
So I have a dress. In said dress I will be bring an avalanche of trouble on the man who stole my friend. Let me introduce myself, I am Cloud Strife.
Actually, my name isn't Cloud. I am currently in the process of renaming all the Final Fantasy VII characters after characters from Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy, so Cloud becomes Arthur D, Barrett is F Perfect, and Tifa is Trillian. Aeris became HeartGold in a move that is completely coincidental.
I remember buying Final Fantasy VII the first time round, in a CEX in Soho. My current version is a download on to my Playstation3, so the recent announcement is rather exciting for me.
I'm currently four hours in. I don't play with the intensity I originally had in 1998, but there's something about that game and it's story and secret bonuses and music. Oh my, the music. I wonder how many other people hum the victory tune after completing a task, I know it's not just me.
You see, I had seen a friend be carried off in the back of a cart. It seems someone was rounding up women in a search to find a wife, though this was more about his lack of personal boundaries than inability to find a wife. To get anywhere near him and my friend I had to persuade a drunk in a bar to make a dress, they had fallen out of love with making dresses, yet the challenge I posed was too much of a challenge to turn down.
So I have a dress. In said dress I will be bring an avalanche of trouble on the man who stole my friend. Let me introduce myself, I am Cloud Strife.
Actually, my name isn't Cloud. I am currently in the process of renaming all the Final Fantasy VII characters after characters from Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy, so Cloud becomes Arthur D, Barrett is F Perfect, and Tifa is Trillian. Aeris became HeartGold in a move that is completely coincidental.
I remember buying Final Fantasy VII the first time round, in a CEX in Soho. My current version is a download on to my Playstation3, so the recent announcement is rather exciting for me.
I'm currently four hours in. I don't play with the intensity I originally had in 1998, but there's something about that game and it's story and secret bonuses and music. Oh my, the music. I wonder how many other people hum the victory tune after completing a task, I know it's not just me.
Shop like in the movies
I am a bit of a Brian Wilson fan. Mainly down to the Beach Boys, though I've kept an ear out for anything he's done. Like No Pier Pressure, released this year. No Pier Pressure is pretty amazing for me. There's some nice songs on there, including the rather hypnotic The Right Time. Al Jardine and David Marks feature, as does She & Him. I'd suggest you give it a listen, but then I would, wouldn't I.
I bought it at Jumbo Records. I also got a lovely Ghostbox 7inch.
And...
While I was paying up and chatting with the very friendly staff (he is so knowledgeable and agreeable, I've not asked his name) [1], a record came on the shop hi-fi. This is where the exchange becomes a little High Fidelity.
The record is by The Crocodiles, they're rather good. Friendly-agreeable asks whether I'd like to see the cover, yes, you might as well bring the vinyl. Three record of the day purchased.
There's a scene in High Fidelity where the main character promises to sell five copies of The Beta Band. Music is essential in record shops, the places are positively evil without it. Even if you don't like what they play, they enjoy it, and someone will listen and go, yeah, that's pretty awesome.
It's how I got into Can[2], in Selectadisc, Soho, back in the day.
Anyway, I can now cross acting out a scene from High Fidelity off my list of things to do. Also on that list is working in a pharmacist and having someone whisper 'I love you, George Bailey' in my deaf ear, working in a biker bar in L.A. when a naked muscle man comes in demanding clothes, and selling antiques to young, ginger-haired Belgians. I have been close to hitchhiking across the galaxy, but it wasn't to be.
Brian Wilson, No Pier Pressure, Ghost Box, Study Series 09, The Crocodiles, Boys,
Jumbo Records, St Johns Centre, Leeds, West Yorkshire
Notes
1- Not an "over friendly concierge" like the Pavement lyric.
2- "Dying butterfly never dies, never dies" is the first Can lyric I heard. I was shopping with my brother and future sister-in-law.
I bought it at Jumbo Records. I also got a lovely Ghostbox 7inch.
And...
While I was paying up and chatting with the very friendly staff (he is so knowledgeable and agreeable, I've not asked his name) [1], a record came on the shop hi-fi. This is where the exchange becomes a little High Fidelity.
The record is by The Crocodiles, they're rather good. Friendly-agreeable asks whether I'd like to see the cover, yes, you might as well bring the vinyl. Three record of the day purchased.
There's a scene in High Fidelity where the main character promises to sell five copies of The Beta Band. Music is essential in record shops, the places are positively evil without it. Even if you don't like what they play, they enjoy it, and someone will listen and go, yeah, that's pretty awesome.
It's how I got into Can[2], in Selectadisc, Soho, back in the day.
Anyway, I can now cross acting out a scene from High Fidelity off my list of things to do. Also on that list is working in a pharmacist and having someone whisper 'I love you, George Bailey' in my deaf ear, working in a biker bar in L.A. when a naked muscle man comes in demanding clothes, and selling antiques to young, ginger-haired Belgians. I have been close to hitchhiking across the galaxy, but it wasn't to be.
Brian Wilson, No Pier Pressure, Ghost Box, Study Series 09, The Crocodiles, Boys,
Jumbo Records, St Johns Centre, Leeds, West Yorkshire
Notes
1- Not an "over friendly concierge" like the Pavement lyric.
2- "Dying butterfly never dies, never dies" is the first Can lyric I heard. I was shopping with my brother and future sister-in-law.
Monday, 15 June 2015
Hello!, Bell and Fletcher #1
‘And that’s your explanation, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Republican insurrectionists from France?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you are sure, Inspector?’
‘Yes, what else could it be?’
Bell’s sigh was brim full of impatience and the weariness of experience, and the unexpected feeling that there had been no further developments in the case since it was handed over to the police. ‘Well, you do tend to rely on that particular group of imaginary suspects in situations such as this. I mean, last month you had the owner of the Abbey Cinema arrested for being a French republican agent.’
‘He was showing subversive films.’
‘He was only showing films that had been shown at the British Film Institution earlier. Last I heard no one has been arrested in London.’
The Inspector was defiantly deflated, like a child sulking. ‘They do things differently-’
‘Not that differently.’
‘He was only showing films that had been shown at the British Film Institution earlier. Last I heard no one has been arrested in London.’
The Inspector was defiantly deflated, like a child sulking. ‘They do things differently-’
‘Not that differently.’
Let's celebrate, let's! Break out the calvados
This sounds such a fun event, and the little parcel of news in Annabel's House of Books is that there are some new Maigret TV programmes coming featuring Rowan Atkinson.
Maigret is described as heavy set, so it will be interesting to see how Rowan plays it. In an earlier post I wrote about George Smiley in Tinker Tailor, a short character wonderfully portrayed by Alec Guinness, who isn't.
In the same post I also made rash comments about Judge Dredd and Batman. In order to clarify, im Dustjacket Towers the correct order of fictional detectives is as such;
Maigret is described as heavy set, so it will be interesting to see how Rowan plays it. In an earlier post I wrote about George Smiley in Tinker Tailor, a short character wonderfully portrayed by Alec Guinness, who isn't.
In the same post I also made rash comments about Judge Dredd and Batman. In order to clarify, im Dustjacket Towers the correct order of fictional detectives is as such;
- Maigret
- Joseph Dredd
- Batmam, joint tied with Jessica Fletcher (they both solve crime but are they not lights for the criminally minded moth?)
- Everyone else
Got it, good!
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