Thursday, March 15, 2007

As new obsessions go the toonery is lasting longer than most of my recent compulsions. I got two done today. The first one got me out of bed at 4 am! A small part of my brain just kept needling me till I got out of bed and did it. Which does raise a question; given that everything looks like total shit at 4 am (4 am is, according to statistics I just made up, the time of day when people are most likely to realise the futility of existence and the meaningless of life - Jean-Paul Sartre apparently only wrote for quarter of an hour a day 4 - 4:15 am. There's no way even a Frenchman could have written a sentence like "Consciousness is consciousness of itself insofar as it is consciousness of a transcendent object." on a day when the birds were singing, and the sun was shining, and beautiful shag-happy French girls wandered the streets in summer dresses - that's 4 am type thinking).

So, the question: Is something that you think funny at 4 am still funny in the light of day? I dunno. I think so, it still struck me as amusing when I looked at it later - but then again Phoebe has been poking about in my head with a spoon, so what do I know.

The second one came to me this afternoon when I was round at Mike's being hypnotised by him explaining his latest essay to me (he's doing a Master's in English Literature). He uses me as a sounding board and it's fascinating. I don't understand half the concepts he is talking about, and don't recognise a lot of the words he uses either, and even then I have to translate the ideas he's playing with into movie terms before I can get a glimmering of what he's on about. (Today for example I managed to grasp some difference between Wordsworth's poetry and Keats' by playing in my head the shower scene from Psycho, and the scene where Anna Massey watches the movie in Peeping Tom. Something to do with the implicit and explicit. It made sense at the time.)
I guess if Mike can explain things to me he stands a chance of getting them down on paper. Though his evaluation of Matthew Arnold, considered by many to be the Victorian Age's third greatest poet, as " a boring cunt " might not make it into the final draft of the essay.


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1 comment:

pj said...

mmmmm shag-happy French girls

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