My friend charlotte, who came with me to see casino royale on Friday, plays the violin. She may appreciate this.

Bbc news has reported on something very worrying indeed. Disabled and visibly ill children are more likely to be bullies at school. To a certain extent this is obvious: one needs only to have been a kid to know how shallow and vicious they can be. Many cant seem to tolerate any difference whatsoever.

I fear that many people would look at this article and say ‘wouldn’t they be better off in a special school?’ at first this seems the obvious solution: keep the special kids away from their bullies. But a closer inspection reveals this analysis to be as moronic as it is condescending. Keeping kids apart only feeds prejudice against the ‘other’ when taught apart, kids learn to feel and resent difference even more, so when such kids do come into contact the bullying is ten times worse.

Obviously, Professor Al Aynsley-Green’s report will be ceased upon by the maria hutchings and David CaMoron’s of this world – people with absolutely no understanding of the issues – as evidence that inclusive education does not work. We must counter them with logic, inclusion does work and it is the only sensible solution to such problems.

link

We just got back from the cinema. We went to see casino royale – well, me, charlotte and Tony. All I can say without spoiling it is that it rules. Totally. I especially like the end. I love the beginning, too. Of course the middle bit also rocks! Its just excellent.

I’ll go to bed a happy man.

I just realized something with regards to academia that I wonder why it didn’t occur to me last week. The two purposes of university are education and research. We want that research to be as accurate as possible and I see two opposite ways of ensuring this.

Universities should have tougher selections. This means that only the best people go to university, meaning a smaller amount of ‘good’ research.

To have a student body as wide ad diverse as possible. Work produced will vary hugely, some good, some not so good, but in diversity there’s a truth which transcends subjective ideas of ‘quality.

In art there is no right answer. In science we should do research into as many areas as possible and let peer review do any weeding necessary. Give these two facts, universities should open their doors.. option two is the logical solution The government wants 50% of people to go to university, this now seems low. If humanity is to progress, we should do it as a whole and as many people should be given the resources ad support to pursue their talent as possible. This is irrespective of race, religion, physical, or metal ability, or ay other superficial factor, ad is applicable for all arts and sciences. The fact that I ever said otherwise appals me.

As most of us probably know, casino royale is released in the cinemas today, and never before have I been so sorely tempted to abandon lessons to go to the cinema. I guess it’ll have to wait till Saturday – after all, films don’t disappear after a certain period – but my id demands I see the film now.

NOW NOW NOW!

I’ve not been this excited about a film since return of the king. What is it about bond? The gizmos? The girls? The locations? I love it all. In my teens, before uni, ITV had a bond season; every Wednesday I used to watch bond films in bed. I tended to fall asleep and since then I’ve associated them with comfort and warmth. Also, they put bond films on on Christmas day, so there’s an association between bond and the taste of roast turkey, the feeling one gets when surrounded by family.

I better stop writing before I get carried away and miss lessons. But something tells me I have to see this film. My mind is bent on the task. I wants it!

Campus is a very liberal environment. I was just talking to a couple of friends: academia is like a country unto itself, where creativity is encouraged and free independent thought is the norm. its quite wonderful, and my friend, the previously mentioned graham, was lamenting the prospect of ever having to leave. It’s a place where the constraints of the outside world are irrelevant, so that one is free to prosper. It’s weird, now that I think about it. I’ve already nearly finished my degree. Only about 7 or 8 months to go. The prospect of saying goodbye to my friends is absolutely gutwrenchiing.

I just realised: today my hitcount reached over 300,000. woohoo! Quite why people keep coming here frankly baffles me, but people obviously like it, so I’ll keep on blogging.

Graham must be insane. It’s the only possible solution.

Some time ago my friend graham asked for my input on his stage adaptation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s A Hundred years of solitude. He leant me the book, which, as usual, p prevaricated about reading. However, last Thursday I went to his rehearsal, and was so impressed that I decided I wanted to get the damn book read. I was then only sixty pages in, and, given the next rehearsal was next Tuesday – today – I would have to average 100 pages a day.

I read slowly, so this meant at least five hours of solid reading a day, at least. I’m glad I did it on two counts: first, I needed to prove to myself that I could still do it; it’s been ages – years – since I seriously sat down and read something. The last time was Moby dick, and then I cheated by getting the pc to read to me. Second, I wanted to know what the hell graham was on about. Now that I know, however, I don’t think I support g’s project.

The thing is, the book is beautiful: it’s absolutely stunning in it’s scope; it matures over time; characters mature and shape in the mind. It’s a slow, introspective piece of prose, and that’s why I think it’s unsuitable, almost ludditry, for graham to want to convert it.

But that is also why I am fascinated. I want to see how he would pull this off. With any luck, he’ll let me help. What he produces could either be a masterpiece or a total mess. Either way, it’ll be fun.

I found this a couple of days ago. you know, they really should be classified as a now species.

[kidding – boy, that does sound like it has racial overtones. I didnt mean it that way. okay I’ll shut up now.]

Tonight sees the second in the current series of planet earth. I cannot wait: I’m going over to watch it in the student lounge with Steve tonight. I’m a huge fan of this amacing series, of just on the scoppophilic level. It’s just…wow!

If the dumbass jocks are in there watching the infantile kikkie-ballie, there’ll be hell to pay!

I still feel uneasy about what happened here yesterday. Part of me says my concerns were legitimate from an academic perspective, but a larger part of me says I was being an elitist prat. I suppose I was being narrow minded, and Kate’s point about me ‘always saying you are pro inclusion – or is that only at school level. You seem to be saying higher education is only for non or not quite so disabled people.” Made me feel like dirt. She is, of course right. I should never have written that damn piece, let alone posted it.

On a much happier note, yesterday was Dan’s birthday. Dan is the boyfriend of Vikki, and they’re both good friends of mine. Just after lunchtime, I was talking to Vikki, who was telling me about how herself, Dan and a few friends were going to a Thai restaurant. Jokingly, I said ‘ehem, and why wasn’t I invited?’ (the way my lightwriter says ahem is quite amusing). I expected Vikki to laugh it off, but instead she said they had two spare places – did I want to come?

It transpired that my friend Steve was going. Steve has done some PA work for me in the past, and apparently he would be more than happy to help (although he’s too fine a man ever to say if he wasn’t). to cut a long story short, at about seven last night Vikki, Steve and Nicky came round to my room; I put my coat on and we headed across town to Dan’s. Dan had a couple of mates from back home up, and we watched something called dirty Sanchez while we waiting for the taxi to take us to Crewe. Our table at the lak Thai restaurant being booked for half nine, the plan was to have an aperitif in a pub before eating.

This plan was going quite well, until we got to the pub. We all got in except Jamie, who the bouncers refused to admit. Apparently he looked too young, which is rather silly because I look younger than he does and got in no problem. Poor dude had to wait outside. I was tempted to go to he bouncer and explain that Jamie was on my PA staff (which he kind of was) and therefore needed to be admitted, but that would have just been an abuse of the system, if not downright cheeky.

We stayed in the pub, talking, drinking, and watching music videos. At one stage I found it highly amusing to note that I owned a white leotard similar to those which were currently being worn by the dancers on screen, but nobody was interested in this odd fact except Vikki. I must say that it seemed quite a pleasant little place, if crowded and slightly Smokey. It certainly made a change from brandies and the pubs in alsager.

Either way, about half an hour later we headed out again. I expected to see Jamie by the door, but he wasn’t: I supposed he must have gone for a walk. We started to head to the restaurant, Steve pushing me in front with the others behind, passing the now dark shops. As in Paris, Steve made slightly irreverent jokes about the things we passed (”help the aged? No. we do not want to help the aged. We do not like old people!” in a slightly dirty French accent which had me chuckling.)

It was then that it all went terribly wrong! Out of the dark a man with a hood approached us: ”give me your money!” he demanded. I shrieked, Steve prepared to fight. I thought we were doomed.

The man pulled his hood down to reveal Jamie. Never have I been more relieved to see his wolf-boy complexion. I laughed in the relief we were not doomed after all, silently vowing to ram Jamie in the ankles next time I see him.

”Apparently, disabled people are more likely to be sexually deviant (for want of a better term). This could be due to our affiliation with rear entrances.” I thought this rather crap joke up as we entered the Lak Thai restaurant through the back door, avoiding the stairs at the front. It was then that I had the second shock of the evening, but this one was much nicer. It was a hug.

”is that Jane Higgins?” I thought. Jane, the learning support co-ordinator from South Cheshire College, was sitting at the table in front of the door, and, recognising me, rose and greeted me. It was great to see her again, and we had an all too short conversation before going to join our friends. She is doing well, as bubbly and as exuberant as ever.

The meal, I must say, turned out to be one of the best I’ve had. Ever! It was delicious; I think I’ve fallen in love with Thai cuisine. Me and Steve ordered a meal for two, consisting of a mild, creamy, pork curry, curried fish, and dips. The taste and texture was gorgeous, and I’ve not had food as good as that in a long time.

As I ate, listening to my friends chat, happily celebrating Dan’ birthday, I got to thinking.

”you know, without that lady sitting over there,” I thought, ”I wouldn’t be here. Without her encouragement and support, if not her sheer level headedness, I would still be that rather bitter young man I was four years ago.” When we first met, Jane had asked me a simple, but life altering question:

”Matt, why aren’t you at university.” Before then, it never occurred to me that such a thing was possible: I didn’t think myself good enough. Jane proved that assumption wrong – very wrong. I never thought it possible that I would not be alone.

I looked down the table: Dan, who is always good for a laugh; by him, Vikki, one of the kindest people I know; by me was Nicky, a fellow geek and trekky; and opposite me Steve, who is probably one of the greatest friends I ever had. Before I met Jane, I was a lachrymose little twerp, full of self pity and unable to see beyond disability. Two years at university had taught me how very wrong I was. Looking down that table, I realised with regret the errors I made yesterday: no disability, intellectual and physical, should be seen as a barrier to happiness. No disability, intellectual and physical, should be seen as a barrier to education, at whatever level.

And I was happy. I looked over my shoulder at Jane: ”You know, Steve, I owe that lady a the world.” I said.

The meal continued. After a while Jane came to say goodbye, and presently we left too. Striding out into the rain, listening to my friends chat; then the taxi ride home, snuggling up to Vickie as if to nod off; then the warmth of bed back on campus. To say that anyone should be denied such joy, for whatever reason, is nothing more than idiotic.

This afternoon I did something rather stupid. I tried to argue that there should be limits to the social model of disability in the area of academia. I argued that some people should be denied entrance into university. While I am still for academic rigor, to argue that literacy should be a yard stick was stupid; there are no reasons why the inability to read should dictate one’s intellect. To be honest, on bad days I find reading hard due to a shaking head and restless fingers!

What I wrote here earlier was inane. I felt guilty about it/ and deleted it (see previous post) education is for all, irrespective of disability. In my exploration of the issue, I blundered, unthinkingly, the wrong way.

What I posted here earlier, in retrospect, was absurd. while i have kept the origional document, I relise it was not appropriate to publih it here. I hope no dammage was done. here, instead, is poetry.

I am not special;

Why should I be?

I have done nothing noteworthy

Not lead men in battle

Not climbed mountains.

Nor am I brave

I flee from danger

Wince at loud noises

In fact, I am a coward

Do not call me brave!

I simply have a condition

Nothing more. Just cerebral palsy.

I wobble, I drool, I talk through a machine;

Yet this does not make me special:

Simply different.

As different from anyone to anyone else,

And therefore it makes me simply human.

Neither brave nor special nor anything else

Just human.

So I am not special. Emphatically not.

I am not fucking special!

John cleese’s podcast site is to be found here. enjoy

It seems this morning we wake to some rather good news: in the US mid-terms, the democrats have given the republicans a bloody nose. Whether this will translate into a result in the presidential elections remains to be seen, but I hope this is a sign that the American electorate has woken up and smelt the coffee over conservatism. Hard-right conservatism seems very childish to me, driven by a very narrow view of the world. The problem is, Americans have been brought up thinking only their country matters, and it is the greatest place on the planet; it follows, then, that they would have a very Americano-centric, self-centred view of the world, and therefore align themselves politically on the right. It reminds me rather of children whose parents so adore and spoil them that, when they start school, they hog all the toys at break and refuse to share, for they are used to being the centre of attention at home and used to getting their way.

Thus America is very childlike; more specifically, its very much like a little boy who like playing with guns and toy soldiers, but has no concept of the true brutality of war, and therefore thinks that violence is thee key to solving all it’s problems. Of course, I’m drawing a caricature here – I’m not saying there aren’t some very clever people in the u.s. however, the result of spoiling kids is the playground bully, only answerable unto itself, ignoring the dinner ladies’ ruling.

Hopefully these mid-terms signal some much needed time on the naughty chair.

Ours is a time of great fear. Terrorism is rampant; Iraq is in chaos; the world order is crumbling. There is, however, one constant: one figure on whom you can depend…

him

I thought reading week was supposed to be a break. Today I’ve been so busy. Driving into uni with dad, having stayed home last night to watch the awesome planet earth, I was struck by an idea for my story. I had been stuck on it for several weeks, but this morning, I was able to write solidly for about three hours. It’s my first 1000 word day in ages. then, at lunch, I had a good meeting about a presentation I’m doing with Steve. This afternoon was devoted to looking up books, internet browsing / shopping (hey, I gotta have some fun too!) and replacing my ink cartridge. All told, a very good day.

I must say that I find it most extraordinary that no British MP appears to be condemning thee death sentence just handed down to saddam Hussein. I grant you the guy was repugnant: a mass murderer responsible for the deaths of thousands, and I grant you that the Iraqi people have a right to do things as they seem fit, but to pile murder upon murder is to commit yet more barbarism. The logic seems to be as follows:

Nobody should kill people. Therefore killers should be punished. Therefore as punishment we kill the killer.

It’s absurd, and dare I say it uncivilised. Surely we have progressed further than this. Why, then, do we not condemn this action? We stopped hanging convicts forty years or so ago.

[dad hands matt the Sunday times]

but then again, how can we judge the Iraqis for making this decision when we speak of ‘euthanasia’ for very small kids? Yes, they might be disabled. So what? We outlaw murder and we outlaw hanging, but somehow its okay to let small children die. How is that logical? Would they have let me die? Was I disabled enough? Where do you draw the line. It’s not logical.

These ‘doctors’ are supposed to be clever. They’re not. They’re no better than Hussein.

Today has been great fun. I’m at home with all the family. We went to the theatre earlier to see guys and dolls. After seeing so much ‘contemporary’ art at university (and mmu IS a university Luke!) it was nice to see a traditional performance. This evening, we went to Mr. Chan’s and came back home to explode things and set off nearby car alarms.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my beer is getting warm.

this was just sent to me by nicky. some ppl have way too much time on their hands.

I go home this weekend for the first time in four weeks. It’s probably the longest time I’ve been away, apart from Sunday. Surprisingly, I haven’t really missed home I think university has been too much fun to feel homesick.

Anyway, as wee all know Saturday is bonfire night. It’s a tradition in my house that everyone flocks home for fireworks, so (if memory serves) Luke and mark and kat are coming home this weekend. With any luck, Cyril will be there too. It will be great to see them – feels like ages. having said that, this term is flying by, to the extent that I’m concerned my third year will be over too quickly.

I can’t wait to see ginger and the sprog. With any luck, they might make some back yard chemistry [insert sinister laugh]. It’s fun when those two get together. Mind you, I’m finally starting to feel, after years of being the stupid one, that I’m on an intellectual par with them.

Life is very good indeed.

I want it recorded somewhere that I’m not a complete reductionist. Recently, I’ve been harping on about stuff like the neurological basis for scoppophilia, neuroaesthetics and so forth. This makes art seem like the mere byproduct of electrochemical reactions in the brain.

I have a major problem with this concept. Logically, I know that a thing can only be the sum of it’s parts, and therefore art can be paired down to mental processes, which can be studied ‘scientifically’. Yet where does that leave beauty? The wonder of a poem lies in it’s meaning, not in the words themselves. Yet this posits that something can indeed be more than the sum of it’s parts.

What a paradox! The only solution, I think, is to leave it well alone. I feel that all approaches to art are equally valid, so one need not weigh, say, the neuroaesthetic approach against the psychoanalytic one. Both are interesting in themselves, and do not cancel each other out. After all, in art, as increasingly in science, there is no right answer. The problem is, this has implications for creationism…

I’m in something of a celebratory mood. I had a meeting today with Alan about my MA prospects. I was expecting him to be more resistant than he was. He invited me into a quiet meeting room and we talked about my ideas on Metz, Barthes, and Ramachandran, and he was very encouraging. We did however, debate our contrasts in approaches to film – he is very Freudian, whereas, I am a Structuralist. However, we agreed that there is room for both approaches and said that I should proceed with my proposal, only advising me to consentrate on getting my degree before leaping into research. One must be able to walk before running.

It was thus a very good day, and I’ll start that proposal tomorrow!

My mum and dad are always telling me to put my heels down when I walk. A tight Achilles tendon often makes me walk on my toes. I think I should show them this, pointing out that, despite my penchant for dancewear, my heel does touch the floor more than hers at least!

It was, perhaps, with a stroke of foresight beyond that of regular humans that jenny Harris and Jane Higgins suggested I choose a uni not far from home. Don’t get me wrong, I love uni, and see myself as at least semi independent of my parents, but there are instances where I need the surety of my birthplace and the two brilliant people therein.

Last night I had difficulty plugging my chair in. I just could not do it. The plug just would not make contact. After an hour of trying,, I gave up, lest I damage the ‘pod’. I was concerned about it, so I emailed dad. Later on, I was doing some reading in the canteen, when who should come striding through the door but m father? He was, as it turns out, able to plug the chair in first time (making me feel very guilty).. nevertheless, he offered to take me home for Sunday lunch.

After subsiding on canteen food and pizza for three weeks, nothing tastes as good as mum’s roast beef, or passing a blissful afternoon in the conservatory reading the papers. The cultural reviews in the Sunday times may be superficial when compared to the heavy theory I’m used to these days, but they take me back to countless Sunday afternoons, and to simpler times. Home is where part of me will always belong; it is where I know I’ll always be welcome, and that knowledge makes the world even brighter.

I often refer to myself as special as a joke. When chatting to my friends, say, or when trying to justify why I should have that last piece of cake, I’ll say ‘because I’m special’. Of course, there’s nothing special about me – I’m just an average student who happens to have cerebral palsy; I’m not particularly bright or clever. What makes me special.

It’s an odd word, really. It has come to refer to people with ‘special needs’, and can be used as an insult. Like many such insults, however, it has been reclaimed by the crip community, and we use it to refer, jokingly, to ourselves.

However, yesterday afternoon, I saw a bloke walking around campus wearing a tee shirt with the words ‘I’m special’ and a picture of south park’s Timmy on it. This fellow didn’t appear to have any disabilities, and for some reason I felt instantly offended. Had he been a wheelchair user wearing it, I’d have had no problem, and would have found it highly amusing. It was kind of like he was making light of disability and the disabled community. I almost felt insulted – but why? I like jokes as much as anyone, and that’s what this tee shirt is.

I probably felt insulted because this man would have known nothing of disability; nothing of what it feels like to be on the outside of society. Yes, I refer to myself as special, but the irony of that is me and my friends know I’m not! The joke works because of this irony. To the chap wearing the tee shirt, the joke was not in the irony, but a glamorisation of disability. Disability isn’t always fun.

I am not, however, in the tee shirt police. I’m also probably being too anal about this. but why the hell does it get to me?

Short of anything better to say – it’s been a bit of a long day, and the weather is depressing – I’ll send you to this obscenity.

Eew!

I didn’t get round to posting anything yesterday because I was busy. In the morning, I went looking for an outfit for the Halloween disco, and got thoroughly soaked! In the end, I didn’t find anything which would fit me, and returned home empty handed. I decided to wear the fairy costume again – I’ve worn it before, but it’s still cute!

Anyway, driving about in Defiant gave me time to think. The ideas of Barthes concerning photographic punctum – the idea that one can be ‘pricked’ by a photo – are very reminiscent of synesthesia. Ramachandran and others have described how some images stand out. To my mind, there has to be a relationship between punctum and synesthesia.

I therefore rolled to the library. The link was obvious to me – so obvious others had made it. So I asked the librarian for academic literature on the subject, but to my great surprise there wasn’t any. This took me aback and I decided to take the librarian through my reasoning, to see if she agreed. She said she too could see a clear link – I wasn’t being stupid then.

After that I spent a merry afternoon going through camera Lucida and two or three papers over a cuppa tea in the wes, looking for correlations. Although I didn’t get too far – friends came to chat etc – I am now certain there’s a link. They might not be exactly the same phenomenon, but they must be closely related.

Thus, through Barthes, we can combine film studies and neuroscience to form a new field: filmic neuroaesthetics. This may even link with my ideas on filmic language, as I think filmic grammar may have a synaesthetic basis!

What great fun. Almost as fun as fairy costumes.

Tuesday mornings are a hurry. Home Help comes at 7; Esther comes at 8 (usually knocking on my window as I am fed breakfast) We have to get the taxi at 8.25 to be in Crewe for 9. It’s hectic and I am barely awake when Alan starts the lesson.

Things were going according to plan today. Home Help came on time, so Est didn’t have to see me in my night attire again. I ate breakfast and had got ready; we were on our way to Crewe and then…..

I have very few problems communicating with those who know me well I can talk to Esther no problem. However, I cannot communicate with people who do not know me well if I don’t have my LightWriter. If I try I get tense my arms rise into the moro position and my chest tightens. This happens especially with authority figures, so you can imagine my complete horror when half-way to Crewe we realised we had forgotten it.

It’s so silly, how can anyone forget ones voice? Nevertheless, I got into a panic. I suppose it’s rather like a security blanket in a way with it I know I can handle anything. I have access to the entire lexicon of language – the most powerful tool ever. Without it I am limited to a few monosyllabic words. For one who prises language this is scary.

We got home at about 1.30 and found my LightWriter still on charge. I almost hugged it – I felt whole again, able once more to prove my worth, ad vowing never to forget it again.

Call me Ishmael. [why should I call you Ishmael? Your name is matt] Some years ago — never mind how long precisely [one o’clock this afternoon] — having little or no money in my purse [twenty quid, having spent the rest already], and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. [err..no. you actually thought you would cadge a lift off Jim, who took you all the way to Congleton to get more money from nationwide. No water; no whales, and no silly quests for revenge. Just a very kind Jim, an afternoon off campus and a bit more money in my wallet.] If only mr. melville had heard of building societies…

I feel good. This weekend, I’ve finally knuckled down to work. I’ve read the whole of camera Lucida and have already nearly finished my essay on it. Oddly, I’m most comfortable writing essays – dealing with ‘facts’, arguing points. I even prefer it to writing fiction, although, according to Barthes, all writing is fiction because it can never correspond directly to reality. Either way, it’s nice to have been able to sit down, read, and type – to get lost in argument, thought, and language. Mind you, whether my essay is any good remains to be seen.

I aint passing any comment but just wishing this sprog a happy 3rd birthday.

shes a fighter

Yes yes, I know this isn’t the cloaking device I want it to be, but it’s still damn interesting. It seems scientists have started to create devices which bends em radiation round objects. So far, only microwaves can be distorted, but the prospect of a cloaking device which bends years in 5 or ten years has me squealing with excitement.

Quite a weird thing happened yesterday. I was walking over to Jim’s place last night. We had arranged to go out with Jim driving, so I didn’t need my chair – it would just have complicated matters. Jim lives in the houses along daisybank, at the back of campus, away from the hurly-burly of life in halls proper. From my little flat, its about 350 metres, but given that I’d arranged to meet Jim after he got out of a lecture at 8, and he’d not shown up, I’d decided to pop over to the theatres first. Earlier, I’d taken the lightwriter and bumbag off, for obvious reasons, expecting Jim to pick me up outside my flat.

He didn’t show, so, basically, there was I, walking along daisybank, trying not to drop my lightwriter or bumbag. Not easy. Then, four or five youths on bikes appeared in the distance.

I could hear them talking about me. Its odd they seemed scared. I was slightly scared myself.

Then: clunk. I dropped my stuff. Not hard, but the lightwriter fell out of it’s case. Now I was in trouble – I couldn’t put it back. I started to panic slightly.

Then suddenly, a kid started to approach. Now I was scared – he could easily have pushed me over. But then:

”Need a hand mate?’

”Y..yes please.”

”Here”

he helped me. I suppose he was both curious and scared of me – I’d heard them talking: ”whets wrong with him? Does he need help?” etc. of course, I hasten to add that if these kids had gone to school with kids with SEN, they might have been less apprehensive. We crips don’t bite. As it was, this ended well enough; I just wish I didn’t appear so much of a monster coming over the hill to them.

I freely admit that yesterday I was being stupid, but I reserve the right to recourse to self pity every now and again, just to recharge my emotional batteries – kind of a system reboot. In the end, I was ready for bed by about half seven, and spent a very enjoyable evening re-listening to the 2003 Reith lectures (to be found here), which, as you may recall, were given by VS Ramachandran on synesthesia. I listened to them all, hoping to gleam something from them.

As with all public lectures, they were very cursive, and didn’t go into much academic detail. I’m sure the fields of psychophysics and neuroscience are much more complex than professor Ramachandran made them seem. Nevertheless, they were thoroughly enjoyable to listen to, full of humour which is sometimes lacking in Dave or Alan’s lectures. Mind you, I must remember that the Reith lectures are for a wide public audience, and I’m sure neuroscience can sometimes be as dull and confusing as when Alan goes on and on about Lacan! Remind me to ask Cyril, a cousin who does neuroscience up at UMIST.

Jokes aside, listening to that lecture recharged my thirst for knowledge and liking for academia. I cant help wondering if synesthesia can be applied to film – I am convinced it forms the basis for language, but they’re two different kettles of fish. However, for the time being, I have more pertinent questions to explore. The copy of camera lucidia I ordered should be in the library today, and I have stories to write. Oh yeah, and a screenplay!

Life is good again!

It’s an odd thing really. I’m not sure if my cp is actually worse, or I’m just paranoid, but today seems a bad day. My shoulders and legs ache, I feel less co-ordinated, and typing is a little harder. I’m also prone to go into the moro-position more. I strongly suspect that this is because I have a cold, and I have had far too little sleep recently. I guess it’s that type of year too – kind of SAD meets CP. It doesn’t help that today’s culture seminar was about the impossibility of representing the holocaust. Bound to make you miserable.

Ho hum. I’ve had far worse. Every time I burn my mouth, my tounge cant stop twitching, so I’m perpetually tense. The last few times my biceps ached. As a disabled person, you aren’t supposed to complain (too medical model) but sometimes you just have to have a good old whinge.

Either way, tonight, I have decided, is bath night. A nice long soak in a hot bath relaxes anyone; I’ve even bought myself some aroma therapy stuff too. Besides, baths make shaving seem less of a chore. You know, I’ve never really liked baths, but now they remind me of the domestication of home as opposed to utilitarian showers before breakfast at uni. It’s enough to make me relax just thinking about it.

At time of writing, the university network is down and has been since Saturday evening. It’s a pain in the butt, as my main means of communication with me family is email, and I want to know if I’m in trouble. After I write this, I’ll go find the techies.

Anyway, something interesting has occurred. I was talking to Jim, a mature student, yesterday, about his plan to put me in a show. It’s about masks, and my part is about how society forces the mask of thee humble little retard onto me; about how people just see the disability, not the person.

I like this idea, for it is in line with my thinking. Most people, I fear, do not see us cripples for who we truly are, but just male assumptions based on who we are. I got talking to Jim about his show, and I felt I needed to tell him about disability culture; I also told him a bit about school, and about Wheetabix and foxy. I brought him back here to show him some of my writing on the subject, and, and as well as my more recent writing about 1voice etc, I kind of ended up showing him some of my older, more bitter stuff.

It is that I am worried about. He said he would like to make an exhibition off my work. This is very flattering, and does wonders for my ego, but I see two problems with it:

1.it is wholly too bleak and cynical. Yes, there are very dark aspects to disability – what can be more tragic than having two of your best mates succumb to MD, or knowing that there were and are kids like you still in long stay hospitals? – but there is also some very bright stuff too. With the right support, threes nothing I cannot do. I love my life, and think my cp makes it even cooler. Who else gets to zoom about campus in a wheelchair?

2.why me? I am not unique. There are three or four disabled people on campus, who must have similar recollections to mine. I do not stand for all disabled people, and this makes me very apprehensive about the whole idea; there are far better stories than mine to tell.

Yet part of me wants it to happen. There are some tales that need to be told. Very few people know what goes on behind the gates of a special school, and this could, perhaps, help reverse that. Yet I do not want to make disability into some wallowing festival of self pity. after all, I have no more to complain about than any other person, AB or crip. I am in two minds about the whole project.

the following was sent 2 me by my friend nicky:

The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington chemistry mid-term. The answer by one student was so profound that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well :

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle’s Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let’s look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle’s Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, “It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,” and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct……leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting “Oh my G**.”

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY “A”.

I am finally realizing something almost fatal to my world view – Marx is wrong. My culture lecture today was on his theory of historical materialism. It is now clear to me that his prediction of the Cultural Revolution is basically nothing more than a leap of faith. Christians believe in the Second Coming, Jews believe in the coming of the Messiah, Marxists believe in the overthrow of the Bourgeoisie. The way in which Marx describes history (thesis + antithesis = synthesis) also seems inaccurate, I find it more likely that the struggle between classes will have many bastard offspring. These will be random. After all, nobody can predict the future. Thus, history unravels along Darwinian lines. If one rejects religion for being illogical, one must also reject Marx for the same reason.

Yet mankind remains a social animal. All the higher primates live in groups. Thus, to think we can leave society open to the ‘free market’ and survival of the fittest would be a mistake, and I reject social Darwinism. We must value all members of society,, as we all have something to contribute; if we allow everything to run along the principals of the free market, only those with attributes like opportunism, ambition and greed do well. Those without those attributes are stymied, although they may have attributes just as important; social Darwinism is therefore wasteful. It is worth noting that Darwin was simply describing and drawing conclusions from natural phenomena, not producing a political manifesto. Thus, just as I reject Marx’s predictions, I cannot lurch to the other end of the political spectrum. Free market capitalism is just as flawed and baseless as Marx.

If you ask me, this exposes Cameron for what he truly is: bullshit. I frankly welcome anything ridiculing Cameron – the man irritates me Intensely by trying to appeal to the masses, be progressive, while if you actually look at what few solid policies he actually has, it’s the same old Tory tripe. that’s what conservatiism is by definition – rigidity and illiberalism.

I mean, case in point: inclusion. Cameron has promised to reverse inclusive education, actually building more special schools, thereby appealing to the masses who fear that teaching poor defenceless cripples alongside their able-bodied peers would be too much for them. Nevermind that segregated education is innately and incredibly damaging to children, and something the disabled community has fought against for years, if it’ll grab voters, Cameron will do it. Same applies to immigration, law and order, etc etc. same old Tories, new baseball cap.