Showing posts with label Birmingham. Show all posts

XLII.

to a large extent I have given up on trying to understand the world, and therefore have given up on trying to explain myself within the world. if I do not understand where the world is, and certainly not where it is heading, then I do not know my own place in it. this is an easy conclusion to come to, and perhaps it's cowardly, but I certainly don't think it's something tired and overused. there is something inherently surreal about the world, and perhaps it is some kind of lazy historicism to call the current age 'the end of history', but it certainly makes sense. Kurt Vonnegut wrote,

I sometimes wondered what the use of any of the arts was. the best thing I could come up with was what I call the canary in the coal mine theory of the arts. this theory says that artists are useful to society because they are so sensitive. they are super-sensitive. they keel over like canaries in poison coal mines long before more robust types realise that there is any danger whatsoever.

I think those words now aren't only prescient but quite intelligent. but in its prescience it also has a time-specific quality to it. there are many adventures that mankind have undertaken; some damaged us more than others, and some seemingly tore us apart that we might not heal, but this might be 'the end of adventure'. the idea that we may have had our day—that man reached a pinnacle and thereafter can only fall—is one that every day has more weight. a man must be very careful when he makes these sorts of proclamations; as doomsayers have been proven wrong almost every time they have sprung up, but we also can't lose ourselves in the colourful blur of meaningless optimism that post-modernity promises.

so the picture above showed two tips jars at a coffeeshop. the idea was that you were casting your vote with your change. the coffeeshop sits on the crossroads which ties together four worlds. one way takes you to the East Asian (Chinese, mostly) campus of the university, one way is to the Magistrates Court, one way is to the degraded part of the centre of the city, and the last way is to the arts school. the clientele is therefore quite a comprehensive selection of the modern city society, and yet the change was not evenly distributed. it's harder to tell from the picture, but there was three or four times as much change, and with more valuable coins, in the glass titled "Platitude & Happiness". the glass titled "FREE will", before I put my change into it, was nearly completely empty.

either this says something important and worrying about humanity, or it says something terrifying about humanity. either, it is simply the richer people who want Platitude & Happiness, because they have already made their money, they spend their money well and they tip well. this means that they have more purchasing power, which means that society is damned to go down the road of meaningless consumerism. or, it means that there are simply more people who value Platitude & Happiness than people who value FREE will—that the British penchant for sarcasm has become fully, and with self-awareness, nihilistic—and this means that we're already at the end of that road.

earnestly, Elliot

P.S. on the website that I found this quote (while looking it up for the exact wording), the quote underneath it is "from a withered tree, a flower blooms" - Buddha. so maybe all isn't lost, and all we have to do is make it through the hard times that I see coming.

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XLI.


// post fourtyone. for a long weekend I went to see my granddad in Totnes. we went to Dartmouth and had a wonderful lunch in an old Tudor manor house (tapas: a mini boar burger and sweet potato chips with guacamole and a giant couscous-stuffed baby bell pepper with goat's cheese, and a caraffe of white wine), which had anamorphic circles in the restaurant, and we went to Brixham and had crème brûlée ice-cream in the sun walked the dog along the harbour where you aren't allowed to fish by order of the harbour master but hundreds of people were catching crabs. and I chose a few piles of books to bring back to Birmingham.

// now I'm back in Birmingham and the heat wave has broken! thunderstorms and lots and lots of rain. I don't know how long it will last, but at the moment I'm enjoying wearing a jumper. the cold is much better than the hot, even if the sun does make photography much easier. xx

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XL.


I finished Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, oh my what a bloody excellent book. anyone who hasn't read it should read it out loud and speaking fast, and let the words fall to v. special places within you. I fell in love with another sentence:
And what was their shimmer but the shimmer of the scum that mantled the cesspool of the court of a slobbering Stuart?
now the trouble becomes what to read next. I have a few books lined up and I don't know what to choose. xx

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XXXIX.

so I was going to put some time aside and do some proper blogging, like about a popular subject, or about style, or something that I saw in the news and wanted to comment on, something that people know about that they would like to search and read about, but instead I think I want to talk about a few lines of James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. he writes:
When we speak of beauty in the second sense of the term our judgment is influenced in the first place by the art itself and by the form of the art.
and it got me thinking about my idea of beauty in art. immediately I think of Michelangelo's contrapposto David, or Egon Shiele, or to go as far as Kazimir Malevich's Supremus No. 58, and I think of them as beautiful, but even the last one does not challenge my sense of beauty. if I think of a grand sculpture, or an excellent painting, or a precise exercise in colour, then I think of a beauty that I have already in my head. this does not weigh down on the beauty the art has, but it makes it familiar.
//
for an overused example, Damien Hirst's tiger shark is a piece of art that challenged my perception of art. if I thought in my head of a shark suspended in a tank, I would not have thought it was beautiful, but in reality it was, so my perception of beauty was changed by a piece of art, and that is a rare and important thing. xx
//
P.S. just so there's no confusion, I think that Michelangelo's David is by a v. v. long stretch the better piece of art of the two. xx

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XXXV.

someone buy me these, yes? maybe from here and here? they're absolutely beautiful. I go between wanting a  really comfy and lovely and homely colourful place with all round edges and soft pillows and Persian carpets... to wanting just black and white and stark and square and sharp, with minimalism and shocks of cubism and suprematism prints on the walls. xx

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XXXIV.

I deleted a few posts, and this is yet another try at making this blog more presentable, first, so I can actually look at it and not feel ashamed, and sort out some actual content. I'm going to try to just talk about the things that I'm interested in on here, not be so formal, just try to enjoy it. I suppose this will be like a rebirth thing, I'm going to try to make this more of a blog. xx

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XXVI.

Moving out tomorrow, I think it's going to be good.  A new place and a new outlook, going to try a little harder, I think. Be productive, but try not to lose sight of who I am, a happy-go-lucky scamp.

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XXV.

And also I'm going back to university soon, so maybe I'll have better things to talk about.

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XXIV.

For the first time in a long time I find myself in bed with a book. And what better way to get back into nighttime reading than to lend my mind and emotion to one of the purest examples of a word-perfect genius available; F. Scott Fitzgerald.
//
I am reading The Beautiful and Damned. Because now I think I am old enough and have experienced enough (though little) to relate (though I am not beautiful).
//
This is a passage from the first page, talking of Anthony Patch:
//
"As you first meet him he wonders frequently whether he is not without honour and slightly mad, a shameful and obscene thinness glistening on the surface of the world like oil on a clean pond, these occasions being varied, of course, with those in which he thinks himself rather an exceptional young man, thoroughly sophisticated, well adjusted to his environment, and somewhat more significant than anyone else he knows."

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XXIII.

Going back to university in a month and my mum's decided to move house so am helping her with that and it's stressful and strenuous and I hadn't realised how QUITE how unfit and useless my body is until then, so that was nice. Time to start working out again. And I can't work out how to pay my Vodafone bill and I'm not sleeping very well and this is the most interesting post I've ever done. Just thought I should update Blogger, turns out I shouldn't have...

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XXII.

Up to twenty two, now.  We're moving house, and though I'm not doing much of the work, it is erratically exhausting and thrilling. We are stripping wallpaper and ripping up carpets, throwing away garden bags and dismantling furniture. I feel weaker every day, I wish this wasn't happening during one of my body crises. xx

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XXI.

Been watching the Olympics. They're good. I want to fence and have an athlete's body and win gold and show the world how grateful I am by crying and falling to my knees. xx

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XII.


the one at the top is a setting called "london". it emphasises reds, and gives the rest an almost monochrome colourlessness. the one under it is just a leaky one, and it's the effect I use most of the time, for most things. both of these are taken on my phone, and I want to buy a camera so I'd feel less of a tit...// I got 45 tom & jerry cartoons, the original ones, and I found out that the format I got them in is incompatible with my playstation, so I can't watch them on my tv. very sad day for me.// on the plus-side, my clothes arrived from new look, bringing a cardigan, two tops, one white, one orange (!), a pair of trousers with that cowboy arch thing going on, and a pair of dark blue deck shoes, which are very pointy and look like they're about size 12, but they fit fine.// now my dog has fallen asleep on me while I was unaware and writing away. conniving little thing. xx

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XI.

on a different, less geeky note, look at the nice weather we're having. this was taken very late, so the shadows are longer than you'd expect from a "look at the nice weather we're having" photo, but I took a few today and did not realise I was shooting in 640 pixels. xx

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IX.


I had some more german bread with the kirsch on, which is like some kind of cherry jam, I suppose? and I also had a jam jar of orange juice. I do love pretention and hipstery. anyway, today, I did very little. went to the shops in the early afternoon, then entertained my brother for the evening, but other than that, nothing. I got my £500 bursary today, for continuing at the University of Lancashire, and I booked harry potter tickets. I also started playing this adorable little tower defence game called "Pixeljunk Monsters", and it's been taking up a good portion of my concentration for the past couple of hours.// oh! I also did the Pokémon Red glitch / exploit, the one where you can catch a Mew in Cerulian City! it's the first time in my life I've done it, seeing as I haven't played on Pokémon Red since I was about 10. I also found out that burning DVDs takes about three hours, which was a surprise.// oh, this has been a boring blog update. oh, well. I suppose it's supposed to be personal. xx

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VIII.

today, I had two breakthroughs shattered. one, I thought I would be able to sort out my university course fiasco, but it became more complicated. I tried to add some understandings, but she kept adding misunderstandings. at the moment, I might not be able to do Philosophy as a single honours; I might have to have it as a combined honours, and continue with creative writing, which I don't want to do, as I'd much rather have a single degree in something that sounds good. two, there was a really attractive girl on the train, and I'd promised myself that when we got off together in birmingham I would ask for her number, and I was so excited about it I couldn't think about anything else, but then she got off at crewe, so all my determination was wasted and I shrunk back into my socially paralytic self. xx

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VI.

"does feeling have a physical representation? this video is the story of a feeling represented by a warm vibration spreading all over the body."
I know I should be in bed, asleep, but I'm not. just finished watching a short film from france called "Electronic  Performers" by L. Bourdoiseau, J. Blanquet and A. Ganzerli, produced by revolvair and machine molle. at just five minutes, it is a synthesised and imagined story following the birth of a feeling, including everything from the instant the electronic pulses shoot from the brain, to the serotonin released into the veins, to the sound waves passing the ears and tingling the hair on your neck, coupled with a music number so that the whole thing was set up like a beautifully realised equaliser. and I thought it was very good. I gave it 4/5 on Mubi. xx

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