June 21st, 2004


Not meant for human hands

a sense of excitement... tiptoe in, and sit down to play. Strange thingstied together, balance between a former definitional foe turned friendand the fallen betrayer turned friend.. laugh as we construct a new fabricfrom these strange strands, reweave memories and ideas. Slip back, andanother hand reaches down, and grabs a long lost strand.. Wahl... breathethe essense, remember the excitement for a future that never was. A celebrationof pain... "One Headlight", and that other song, barely remembered.. "if youwant to send me flowers, just go ahead now" .. the swarm of bugs moved withmotion like one being.. laughter, delight.. hands holding a head beneath thesurface of the water.. a horror movie? Going with a friend (T) and his mother to.. a university? To see a musical? Long-past repressions and ones still therethat we refuse to toss.. So many strands. So toss them away, a diseasedcircuit? When the strands burn your hand, they leave interesting marks, butrefusing to let go will destroy your hand. The worms will eventually touchyour heart, and you will die. Touch me, pale tree, on your journey, and youwill be blessed forever. Essense of oak, in the corn I eat, in the cork of thewine you drink. The band played waltzing matilda... but tell me what elsecould they play? So welcome back behind the counter... smell again the smells,walk down the paths closed to the public, see the markings few have seen. Silentcorridors, empty now for years, your corridors, in *your* head. Raise your voiceand return to your childhood. Again, the two odd companions, the odd bridge,sideways from the abuse, we cross it widthwise, and people stare. My twostrange companions shrug, never to meet, although I swing one of them towardsa real person, and another offers to remove my treasured scars. I laugh, butthe laughter hides more pain than pleasure.



Hidden Currencies of Blood

Drink from the fountain, but never think of the paths, the undergroundrivers, that carry the sources to you. Don't think about the millionsof dollars, the labour of thousands of people, the long path throughmostly clean but occasionally rusted pipes that the water takes to getto you. It is worth it, you declare, whatever it has cost us, as you sipfrom the fountain. We even have fountains that never stop, regardless ofneed...

Abtahi has a funny story on his blog. It's only funnybecause, like a whip desired by some kinds of people, it touches on painwithout intruding too strongly..

At the dinner party, one subconversation I found interesting was about a movieI really like -- the Dinner Game. N, who is from France, made it pretty clearthat I misinterpreted the meaning of the movie because of cultural differences.Basically, I thought that the film was a biting satire on French society, inthat the main character, by cruelly manipulating the secondary character, whois an idiot, and in doing so managing to lose his wife and get audited, infact was getting just desserts, and was a bit of an idiot himself in the extenthe took his cruelty. It turns out that the main character isn't acting in away outrageous at all to French society, and that, at least from what N said,it isn't at all a satire, but rather a simple exercise of a regular Frenchenjoyment of making fun of people, the destruction of the main character merelybeing an aside. I'm not entirely certain I buy it, but it seems to definitelybe a possibility. I'm going to try babelfishing a fewFrench film review sites (and reading a few German ones) to see if I can get afeel for if its seen as a satire or not... In any case, it's a film worthseeing, although if I was seeing some elements in it that arn't genuinelythere, maybe not as much as I thought.

Oh, one thing I noticed -- it's really fascinating how Brazilian Orkuthas become. If one does a search with no location specified, chances are verygood that you'll be seeing almost all brazilians.

I found a good plot summary for y'all of one of myfavourite bad movies -- Puma Man. This is kind of neat -- it reminds meof Myst.

I keep going back and forth when it comes to taking notes while reading --I know for certain that I'm not happy writing on books themselves, and so whenI do take notes, I do so on other sheets of paper. My worries are that inselecting things for writing down, I will tend to have an enchanced memoryof those things, and less of one for other things, I will read more slowly, andthat I'll stop reading if I don't have pen and paper handy. On the upside forwriting while reading, I often have a lot of ideas as I digest a text, and Ihate losing them... For example, I'm sketching out Trotsky's understanding ofa more final form of communist society as I continue to read his book, and alsonoting things that I see as challenges for the philosophy, both in terms of howthings have changed since Marx and Trotsky were around, and in terms of wayswhere Capitalism intuitively seems to work better. I think it's fair to say atthis point that I'm giving Communism a good, honest evaluation for the firsttime in my life. I don't yet know how it's going to turn out, and that's a goodthing -- while I've shaken off market fundamentalism and learned to see throughthe knee-jerk defenses of the current system people use, I honestly don't knowif Marx's ideas, taken as a whole, are a better, or even workable, system.What I'm doing now is, I think, the best way to find out.