Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
global warming opening up shipping lanes in canada for more mining.
click
the fall song, eat yourself fitter comes to mind.
click
the fall song, eat yourself fitter comes to mind.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
tolstoy
there is an old cafe where i go and sit and write. tolstoy used to write in the village square for inspiration, that is, if you believe seinfeld and, frankly, what torah-fearing satirist doesn't. the cafe is a place where i can be away from my room and away from the memory of death that clings to me there. i seldom buy anything, content to sit with my headphones on shielding me from the popular music that blares from the speakers buried at the back somewhere. the headphones also protect me from the inane conversations that go on in a place like this. it's ok though, one has to make concessions. the staff are good enough to let me sit there without buying a coffee and i love the cavernous, dingy ambience.
it's a place where i can be more in my own head than anywhere else. funny that one should go to such a public place to seek solace in the depths of one's psyche but, as yeats said, you can distil your own identity nowhere so clearly as a place where you do not belong.
there is a tv in the corner that plays sport mostly. i use it as a distraction from time to time from whatever i am working on at that particular moment. recently i have spent an hour or two at the cafe before an evening lecture, offering my imagination one last chance to come out and play for the day before it faces an onslaught of facts and rules at university. anyway, it has been with obvious disappointment that i have noticed my ex lover's new celebrity fuck buddy has got himself a regular spot on a weekly sports panel that screens right at the time i sit down to quietly ruminate. i mean, for goodness sake, i'm trying to do the right thing here. i'm not calling her, i'm not feeling sorry for myself, i'm trying to live my life and this is the sick, perverted reward i get.
this does not bode well for my output this semester. if i have to continue to glance up and see that hairy, unwashed b-lister scratch himself every time he comes on screen then i may end up churning out something titled as poorly as "war, what is it good for?"
it's a place where i can be more in my own head than anywhere else. funny that one should go to such a public place to seek solace in the depths of one's psyche but, as yeats said, you can distil your own identity nowhere so clearly as a place where you do not belong.
there is a tv in the corner that plays sport mostly. i use it as a distraction from time to time from whatever i am working on at that particular moment. recently i have spent an hour or two at the cafe before an evening lecture, offering my imagination one last chance to come out and play for the day before it faces an onslaught of facts and rules at university. anyway, it has been with obvious disappointment that i have noticed my ex lover's new celebrity fuck buddy has got himself a regular spot on a weekly sports panel that screens right at the time i sit down to quietly ruminate. i mean, for goodness sake, i'm trying to do the right thing here. i'm not calling her, i'm not feeling sorry for myself, i'm trying to live my life and this is the sick, perverted reward i get.
this does not bode well for my output this semester. if i have to continue to glance up and see that hairy, unwashed b-lister scratch himself every time he comes on screen then i may end up churning out something titled as poorly as "war, what is it good for?"
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
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