Although today I did not do half the reading I would have liked – okay, I didn’t do any because I felt lazy – I am becoming increasingly keen on the idea that fiction can hold vast quantities of data beneath it’s surface. I now feel quite certain that fiction has as much to tell us about the human condition as empirical science. The case in point is Heimat: reading up on it these last few days has given me vast insights into German culture and history; in turn, through reflection, this also gives me some insight into my own too.

With this in mind, I want to test my theory: can any piece of narrative fiction supply us, through interpretation or directly, with insight into the realm of the human condition? Let us, for the sake of argument, take several short texts previously thought remote from the ‘truth’, and subject them briefly to analysis.

Firstly, the dirty Hungarian phrase book on the surface looks frivolous, but I think it quite likely that the writers of this sketch were familiar with the work of de Sasseur. It is a play on the arbitrary nature of language itself. Given that the sketch was written at the height of the cold war, the concerns about inaccurate translations in a simple phrase book may also indicate concerns about similar problems at the UN. Given the cold war was largely fought using semantics, worries over mistranslation would seem reasonable.

Something similar could be said of the two Ronnie’s sketch ‘Four candles’. Again, this draws attention to the highly ethereal nature of language, and the arbitrary relationship between sign and signified. The growing frustration of the shop keeper, while extremely comic, reflects exactly why this is so dangerous. Moreover, philosophical points could be made when we read language as an extension of the mind.

Schizophrenia is most definitely alluded to in the parrot sketch. Here two directly opposing versions of reality are made apparent: one holds that the bird is dead, the other that it is resting. The shop keeper’s insistence that the parrot is simply pining for the fjords is interesting; it suggests the bird longs for it’s homeland, giving it an aspect of death. This brings to mind Genesis, and the banishment of man from Eden and the advent of his mortality. That we have two separate versions of reality no doubt reflects the inachievability of objective truth, and when we apply this to our biblical hypothesis may be a reflection on how scripture is open to interpretation. Thus two men arguing over the status of a parrot may become two men arguing over the meaning of scripture. The ultimately mad-cap nature of this sketch in turn reflects the absurdity of such arguments and hence all religion.

Thus I have shown how three quite absurdist texts can be read as reflections of reality. This is, by and large, a statement of the obvious: any text is open to interpretation, from eastenders to postman pat. There is, however, one exception, the intellectual equivalent of a blank screen:

BIG BROTHER

we all heard that there was a huge fire at pinewood studios yesterday. part of me worried that this might signal the end of bond films.

but, as it says in the end credits james bond will return

A few weeks ago I managed to pick up the theoretical reading for next years culture module. It’s on the German series heimat. We were in London this weekend, and I had taken it to dip into in case I got bored, or simply as a show of making the effort to study. I found, however, that I couldn’t put it down.

It would be futile for me to try to condense a 300+ page collection of essays into a simple blog entry. Needless to say, the German idea / conception of heimat, when read alongside freuds 1919 easy ‘das unheimliche’ gives one valuable insight into German culture. It is as if the second world war made the comforting concept of heimat, with its overtones of home and warmth, unheimlich in the same way that to a neurotic, what was once familiar becomes uncanny due to the oedipal complex.

Of course, this is a gross oversimplification. I need to read lots more, think on it too. Ultimately, however, one cannot help but feel sorry for the German people – the German idea of heimat seemed to go to the very core of German society, and was what they used to feel good about themselves. But heimat was the very thing which saw fascism rise to power. It seems this gave rise to a sort of ambiguity in German culture which needs to be exorcised.

I may have misunderstood it, which is why I need to read more. It seems to me, however, that the Americans may have a similar positionality these days with their fervent patriotism; are they too in for a similar fate?

Although I must point out that home help isn’t as bad as she thinks – they’re very useful when I’m at uni, and they beat institutionalisation any day imho – this ouch article by liz car is very accurate. Mind you, I found it rather pessimistic too, as it seemed nothing could quite suit miss carr’s needs. She seemed to be quite the pedant, or maybe I just give up fighting my case too easily.

The overall impression she gives though is that personal assistants are the best solution for the day to day needs of disabled people, and I must say I agree with her entirely.

On Monday dad and Julia came up with the grand idea that I should learn how to do my own washing, as then I could be more independent. Apparently, clothes don’t clean themselves after all – I had always been lead to believe that, if you threw them into the bag in the corner of the room, a few days later they would be transported back into the wardrobe, cleaned and folded mid-flow.

I was wrong, as this morning dad showed me a big white box in the garage with knobs on the top. At first I thought it was a primitive computer, but then turned two of the knobs and opened the lid: there wasn’t a circuit board in sight, but a big bowl with a spindle in the middle. Into this dad put some odd-smelling powder, and then asked me to put all the clothes from my bag into it too.

This was very boring work and meant a lot of lifting and dropping. I am not designed for such things – I was meant for more scholarly stuff, not the lifting and dropping of clothes into big white boxes! This is what one has a slave – sorry, PA for. Its silly. I’m an artist, not a clothes crane.

I prefer my idea of transporters! There are no silly powders or liquids in that – and how do they expect me to handle those anyway? I can barely control toothpaste. Mind you, I did get to poke the clothes with a stick, which was cool.

Washing machines indeed. Humbug. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have Freud’s 1917 treatise on the uncanny to finish reading.

I’m still trying to figure it out. I’ve been trying to organise an advert for a new p.a in the local press, so recently I have been swapping quite a few emails, making sure everything was organised. All normal; just part of a crip’s life.

However, this morning I got an email from the editor: the local paper now wants to run a story on me. This is very odd indeed: apparently me wanting a PA is a newsworthy event. I couldn’t really say no – I suspect it will vastly heighten my chances of getting a PA.

Today being rather hot, I decided to go into town this afternoon to sort this out in person. Anyway, the ad needed paying for and I’d rather not d that via email in case I push the wrong button. So I rolled up to the chronicle office and asked to see someone about the advert. However, they knew exactly who I was and acted as though I was expected.

I first paid for the advert on my visa, which wasn’t a problem. They then introduced me to a young journalist – presumably a trainee – who, once we had found a quieter space, asked me questions like where I was from, what I studied and so on. I even managed to mention my work with Onevoice, simply as a point of pride – I think those guys ought to be ‘bigged up’ more.

Anyway the interview over, I went on my way, highly amused at the truly weird course of events.

after reading this from the site of a right-wing fool, i jotted the following, and decided thereafter to post it here, as it follows from what i wrote yesterday

Who is this idiot and what fool allowed him his own radio show? What he says is illogical and conceived of base hatred and lack of understanding for the Muslim people. The caller was merely trying to defend his faith in a calm peaceable manner, but this Bortz was only interested in painting Islam as an evil religion. You will note he drowned out any counter-argument the caller might have; ergo Bortz is only interested in his own point of view. Such people never listen to reason or logic.

However, bortz asks where the Muslim condemnation of terrorism is: if you look it is there. Maybe due to the repressive structures of countries in the middle east mass protests cannot be organised, but the vast majority of Muslims are appalled at terrorism. The protests borts wants to see are impossible for various reasons does he want a million Muslims to march down the mall shouting ‘we condemn terrorism’? why, that would be akin to, say, Catholics marching in protest of the inquisition. It would be asinine and humiliating.

Yet the truth is bortz would rather this not happen: he likes having his enemy. He does not want to listen to any argument other than Muslims are evil because that’s what he wants to believe; it means he does not have to look at his own country for thee root of the problem, but can comfortably deflect any blame away from himself. Never mind the fact that America is partly to blame for this whole mess due to its involvement in Saudi Arabia (can we say hypocrisy?) the problem is that Muslims are evil.

How can a faith be evil? All humans need shelter, food and love. An evil, warlike faith would, in the long term, deny it’s adherents this, so eventually nobody would follow that faith. Therefore Islam cannot be evil, and it is illogical to say otherwise.

Thus this extract is nought but the watering of some crass fool, full of self importance but proving himself a base idiot.

In war there can be no just party. All hands get dirty somehow. Therefore I do not wholly blame the Israelis for the current crisis in the middle east. It is true that Hezbollah is a terrorist organisation with no reservations about sending child suicide bombers to their deaths – an act abhorrent.

Yet Israel acts by firing a scud missile at the ant that bit it, killing many innocent people in the process. Now, Israel is a fact; I isn’t going anywhere. As I see all religious books being equally silly, it has just as much right to that tract of land as anyone. It also has a right to defend itself. Yet, by and large, I see the current state of affairs as being largely Israel’s fault: it has occupied and repressed the Palestinian people to the point where they want to blow themselves up.

The Americans are no better in their blind support of Israel. Together they seem to be keeping the Arabic peoples of the peninsula divided, for were they to join forces, Israel would have no chance. Thus they are acting as if they are an empire repressing a colony..

Of course, tell this to an American, and they accuse you of communism; tell this to an Israeli, and they accuse you of anti-Semitism. As a person with a good understanding of Marx and a good few Jewish friends, I assure you I am neither, but try telling that to those who believe that Islam is a religion of hate and should be wiped from the map.

It is they who are the root problem.They refuse to realise that, given the relationship between sign and signified is arbitrary, all texts, religious or otherwise, are open to interpretation. They blame Islam but Islam is not the problem. If the Koran teaches hate, so do the torah and bible. By no means do I acquit terrorists of blame after all they have choice; rather, I am saying that, as the dominant power, we in the west should first look to ourselves before denouncing others. No party is blameless.

Most of my time recently has been spent pondering filmic linguistics. I don’t know why, but I seem to have become obsessed. I have decided, and am convinced, that using natural language as a paradigm for film is a dead end – the two are just too different. Words are both simple in their composition and highly complex in their combination. Metz was right when he said that shots were more akin to sentences than words.

Yet I think the truth – even from this highly reductive perspective – is even more complex than that. Shots are not still, but move – the camera moves. This gives the director an extra dimension with which he can make meaning. Of course, unlike writers, directors have an infinite lexicon, so all the shots available cannot be bound in a simple dictionary, but the question is, can we catalogue all the available techniques.

I have observed that two films on similar themes may employ the same style. Last weekend, Luke and I were channel hopping: on one channel, there was a batman film, on the next was a Spiderman film. Both superhero movies used the same kind of triuphalist music, the same cinematography, etc. in other words, they were using precisely the same set of signs: ergo language, but not as we know it.

Pinning it’s exact nature down is a huge task, but it intrigues me as the question appears to have many paradoxes. for example, does film have a basic unit, and if so, what is it.

I need to read, think, write and – above all – watch lots of films.

According to my father, I don’t say enough on my blog about being disabled. I think this is a very good issue to write about, as it raises a few important issues, like how far should I be focussed on my disability? Given what I like to call my unique perspective, should I only bee writing about disability-related issues here?

Maybe, but I refuse to let my disability govern my life. I am not the sum of the two letters, CP, but much more. Yes, I have ccerebral ppalsy, and yes I am proud of it, but if I write too much on that side of my life, things would get dull. Moreover, I think it important to illustrate how all us toids and crips are not just two-dimensional beings, but go out and grab life. Thus I like to write about university – both academically and socially – politics – I haven’t taken a swipe at David Cameron in ages though – and the many other things which take my interest. When the subject arises, of course I’ll write about disability, but in the meantime I’ll just jot stuff down about the stuff I find on the net, news, etc.

Nnote: a comment on the current situation in the middle east will be posted soon.

It’s official. It was just announced on bbc news 24 that today is the hottest july day since 1906. I feel lethargic and achey. Now, far be it for me to tell anyone what to do, but I understand that my site might be read by parents with kids with cp. If so, I should point out that it may be hard for your child to say if he or she is uncomfortable. When I was little, I disliked complaining about such things.

It is easy for me to escape the heat and ask for drinks. For some – say kids who use special wheelchairs with adapted seats (which are prone to get hot) – it might not be s easy. I’m sure such parents know all this already, but I thought I should point it out. Please be aware of these factors.

I hope we are all enjoying the heat. As usual on days like these, I like to get out of the house and have a razz about in the Defiant on days like these and so today I headed off towards the park. I think I have described Congleton park here before: it is still very pretty with its Victorian flower beds and paths.

However, today I noticed a difference: the pavilion has been renovated. Now, I have been acquainted with that pavilion since before I can remember – mum uses to take me to playgroup there when I was three or four. I remember being taken there to ‘paint’ (I use that term loosely) and play with toys. The building itself is Victorian, and I remember it’s dusty wooden floor and the faint smell of damp.

The place was subject to a arson attack two or three years ago, and for a while it’s future was doubtful. Today, however, the distinct smell of coffee wafts from it’s windows; the wooden floor is polished; there are a dozen or so dark black tables surrounded by chairs apalstered in leather. Opposite the double doors which overlook the park, there is a bar.

I found the ramp round the side and rolled in. it was cool and shady – I took to it instantly. Unfolding my lightwriter, I ordered an extra sweet espresso: the guy serving seemed to know instantly what was required off him, getting my purse from by bum bag, as instructed, and showing me exactly what he was doing. He even helped me drink.

Granted, the place is on the expensive side – £1.40 for my espresso – but, all in all, I think I have found a new watering hole.

wooo. bushbaby swored! what a naughty little moron redneck go read. mind you, i wish he would stop doing his shit too.

It’s odd how fast things ccan change. tonight, i managed to make amends and settle my grievences with bill, and Kate assures me thaat she is not angry with me, although I still deeply reggret letting 1voicce down. thhat is to say, my absence seems not to have caused too much trouble (I hope not anyway). my woorld again seems peaceful, and no permanent damage seems to be done; mind you,, I shouldnt have been such a humbug all weekend. I just wish things in the middle east could be settled equally swiftly

I have been forced to let down the organisation i feel most passiionately for – at the last moment, my p.a said he could not take me to the onevoice evemt. right nw, despite the facct my brothers are here, I feel sadder and angrier than I have ever felt.

tamsin, kate and katie – I’m so ssorry.

The bibliophiles among us may be interested in this article, telling of the sale of an early edition of the first folio. In my opinion, £2.8m sounds cheap when you consider this book is, in terms of culture, more valuable than the mona Lisa, for in Shakespeare we find all of humanity.

I suppose these last few days I’ve been feeling down. I’ve been worrying about leaving home; concerns about my car; there has been friction between myself, my parents and a good friend of mine, which I utterly loathe; and so on. Yet, on the reverse side of it all, I have, possibly for the first time in my life, the feeling that I can deal with it all. I know what I have to do to solve these problems, and know I can do them.

Of course, this is helped by the news that I got a first for my Classical Hollywood cinema essay. I popped over to Crewe yesterday, and bumped into my film tutor. We got chatting – I told him of my intentions to do a PhD in film there, and he seems to think it was a great idea. I’m still intrigued by the question of filmic linguistics: how, exactly, does film work at the level of the shot? What ‘drives’ meaning from one shot to the next? Is it the principals of ‘montage or bust’, as Eisenstein had it? Is it through sheer necessity, rather than anything bore complex? Or – and this is the part which fascinates me – does synesthesia play a role? Further, the other day I was pondering visual / pectoral languages, and it occurred to me that I could potentially draw lessons from minspeak, for there pictures are used to make meaning, but because the minspeak user often selects two buttons (thereby modifying the selection made to make a third meaning) the relationship between sign and signified is more arbitrary in the sesseurean sense. Now, I may be completely barking up the wrong tree, but the question is could film be functioning in a similar way, albeit unconsciously? Could the juxtaposition of two shots be combining to make a third meaning, slightly arbitrarily? As I say I am fascinated by the whole plethora of questions this (admittedly reductivist) approach to film gives rise to, and I am eagerly looking into it.

In the meantime, I am eagerly looking forward to this weekend. With luck, I’ll be able to get more acquainted with Minspeak, perhaps enough to work out if it is of any theoretical use in my film work. If it is, and something similar to minspeak is operating within film (thereby bypassing Metz’ major reservation over whether film constitutes a language) I’ll be very excited. Either way, I can’t wait to see the 1voice kids this weekend – if last year was anything to go by, it’ll be one hell of a weekend. I just hope I don’t bore them too much.

Dontchya just love taking the piss out of crips? It’s just so funny! the best thing is, they can’t fight back. The problem is, they’ve started doing it themselves: they’re taking the pee out of themselves. It’s not fair.

Listen to this. the ouch podcast is both interesting and very funny. On the face of it, the presenters just sound like they’re mucking about, but they do indeed raise some important issues. Go listen.

On the local news today, it was reported that the city council of Liverpool plans to rename several streets named after slave traders. This, I must say, raises my eyebrow, for while I can see why they are doing this, we can never forget our ties with our past. Those streets were called so for a reason: deeply regrettable though it may be, slavery is part of our heritage. Forget it and we risk repeating it.

Happily, however, the streets will be now named after prominent abolitionists.

I am a trekkie, and I come from a family of scientists, so this news of today’s spacewalk is naturally of great interest. needless to say, I’d love to go into space wouldn’t we all? if space does represent the future of humanity, at least some progress towards the final frontier is still being made.

Today, as you all know, is the first anniversary of one of the most terrible terrorist attacks ever to occur in this country. It was tragic, and my heart goes out to all the victim’s families. Yet, just as every action has a reaction, everything has a cause, and no doubt our involvement in the war on terror lead to this country being attacked.

The abject stupidity of the war still reils me: how can we fight ‘terror’? our very actions in Iraq and Afghanistan are causing more and more people to resort to terrorism, so it’s counter-productive. Why can’t Blair and bush see this obvious truth? How can they fail to see it?

Nevertheless, life goes on. The fact that Londoners simply returned to work thee next day showed their true grit: my heart goes out to them today, and I salute their courage.

I’m tired; not just physically but emotionally. I’ve began, in the last few days, to think about leaving home. It’s high time I severed the links with childhood; it’s time I became independent of my parents. University has taught me how great life can be, and how great having nobody around nagging you is. Yet to me as a crip this raises all sorts of questions: where shall I live, and how do I cope? 1001 little problems go through my head from ‘how do I get a flat with a key I can use’ to ‘how can I withdraw money?’ for all my life I have had the certainty of my parents as back up, organising things, making sure everything’s ok. While I’m sure my parents would continue this unction if I asked, I must do stuff by myself. Questions then arise about who I can trust, who is trying to screw me, and whether or not someone might one day turn around and say, in a condescending tone, ‘wouldn’t you be better in a home?’

As a crip this problem has always scared me, but I know I must do it. As soon as I get settled into my own place, perhaps with a live-in p.a, I know I’ll be happy. Hell, I was like this before I went to university, and look what happened then! It’s time to take the next logical step.

Illogical though it may be, I suspect this anxiety arises, in part, because I worry that, for some reason, I won’t be able to communicate my wishes. I worry that, as a VOCA user, others will assume they know best and start talking for me. I will not, must not, let this happen, but this does not stop this nagging fear which right now I cannot shake. I know that, with my lightwriter firmly attached to my waist, I can achieve almost anything, yet….

Oh well, I suppose it’ a big step for anyone. I’ll just need to take it slowly, looking forward to the great adventures I am about to have while taking comfort in the thought that my parents, brothers and friends will always be there for me, and making sure my lightwriter is fully charged.

I think the oppressive heat, combined with the losses in tennis and football, has caused the whole country to become miserable, long in the face. It did me. But when your chewing on life’s gristle, you should go here.

Didn’t manage to post yesterday because absolutely nothing happened. Had a rather relaxing day in front of the box – it was too hot t do much else, and I was feeling lethargic. Watched alt of ‘a Natural history of Britain’ on UKTV History, and read some Metz.

It’s all very depressing: we are out of the world cup; we lost the cricket too; one year on from live 8, hardly any progress has been made; both Iraq and Afghanistan seem to be going to hell…;etc

Hmm. Che sirrah, sirrah, I suppose. Although it unfortunately clashes with the coming of mark, the Onevoice weekend is soon, so I can look forward to that: helping those kids seems to always cheer me up, and sort of gives me a refreshed sense of worth. The only downside is that it occurs on THAT weekend. Typical, isn’t it?

This, combined with various other decisions I have made, I am kind of glum, in a way; yet I know I can handle all this, so I’m also quite cheerful. It is a challenge life that is – and one I can meet.

Oh well, have a good day everyone.

Must admit I came up here to thrash at my keyboard about how portugal is an upstart nation which never contribbuted anything to the world. None of it would be true, and I’d regret it in the morning. so I’ll just say that i’m dissapointed, but relieved that I do not have to get het up over the football any more. nevertheless, I need a beer.

Artscool, it must be said, was a huge success. It was also shattering. There were kids of all ages coming onto campus from throughout the Crewe area this week, and I was part of the squad of students who looked after them! I have never seen so many sprogs: they were all over the place.

I’m quite tired now, so I won’t write much. I’ll just say this week was a true credit to joss west-burnham, kerri tomkinson, and everyone involved.

now, though, I need my bed!

Okay, I freely admit I’m an extrovert. Or rather, I’m a damn fool: something in me wants to show off, regardless to potential cost to life and limb. Whenever there’s an opportunity to make an arse of myself, you bet I will.

I better explain. Every night this week there has been a performance at art school of some description. Local school kids come onto campus and perform either dance or drama or whatever. At the end of this evening, there was a little time left over, so a couple of my fellow MMU students went on stage and started to rap. I was sat by the ramp up to the stage, and suddenly the urge took me. I flew up the ramp; the defiant went up on her back wheels, I stopped on stage, dropped my lightwriter, picked it up, turned my hazard lights on and danced my head off!

Apparently, everyone loved it. I was cheered! My two rapping mates said I should do it again tomorrow, and told me not to apologise. It was fun, either way. Being an extrovert rules.

Today, I took it easy, having exhausted myself lugging chairs yesterday. It was, I think, a quieter day at art school, with fewer kids, so there was less to do. I spent most of the day at the stage, watching proceedings, or on the help desk, or zooming about campus offering help to people. Tomorrow, I’m due to be a student helpertype for Springfield school, who are coming in to perform. Springfield is a local special school – one must raise an eyebrow at the choice of yours truly as liaison for that particular school though.

I better not get political with them: they man not like me explaining away their schools right to existence.

Another long, tiring day it’s been. this afternoon we had to lay out 500 chairs on grass, which meant carrying (or dragging) them about 40 metres from their pile. I’m shattered: we cripple writers aren’t built for manual labour. it was fun though. must get to bed. for the reason why being a crip rules (or one of them) go here.

I’m out and about every day this week; believe it or not, I have a job (kinda). It’s at uni helping to look after kids in art school. They do performances, artwork etc, and we ‘student ambassadors’ just help out running and fetching. Today we had about ninety kids on campus; tomorrow there will be 400.

I need my rest. It’s going to be a long day! However, I promise to post a nice long rant here sometime soon – my blogs been crap recently.

ok, so what the feck is this?

had to be posted

David Cameron, I note was on Jonathon Ross’s show last night. To be honest, he came across as quite a decent guy. The interview made me re-think my attitude towards him – he seems genuine and I think he told the truth. Too much of politics is reduced to childish bickering, whereas it should be about adult discussion, and I think mr. Cameron made that point. I shouldn’t have called him names.

He has the air of a PM in waiting, just as Blair had. After that interview I am a little more comfortable with this, and less inclined to decry it as a facade. Yet the fact remains he is anti-inclusion: for this reason, I cannot support him. The simple fact is that special education ruins kids prospects in life, and inclusion, despite the claims of condescending parents who I frankly doubt understand the issue, is the best way forward. It is vital, of course, we implement it properly, but I genuinely believe it is the best option. I therefore cannot fully endorse Cameron, but the prospect of having him as PM seems, this morning, a lot less abhorrent.

Mind you, Ross was right when he pointed out that there isn’t a lot of difference between the two main parties these days. When Cameron is elected, it’ll just be Blair mark 2.

It has been a long day, and tomorrow will probably be even fuller. I’ve got a job helping kids do art, although i’m not sure I’m much help. Since i’m not very enthusiastic tonight, I’ll send you somewhere quite interesting instead

Blimey! I have never seen so many chavs!

I went to the pub with my neighbour, Mark, to watch the match last night. It was the first England game I had ever seen in a pub and it was quite5 an experience. The place was packed; I mean, chock full. Most people there were wearing red England shirts and odd trousers which were white and too short.

Here be chavs!

Truth be told, it was ok. Steve and jen turned up for the first half, and we talked for a bit, but then went: I think the place was too crowded. Me and mark were seated, so we could barely see any of the numerous screens dotted around the establishment – there were too many heads in the way. Mid you, we didn’t miss much, although the sheer intensity of the roar when England scored was something to experience.. amazing!

The match was not the best, but at least we are through.

I love my independence; these last two years at university have granted me more freedom than ever. The freedom to come and go as I please; to scoot over to the library; to go to the pub with my mates ad win the pub quiz; to stay up till nigh on midnight reading; to go to Chester to see my friends band (if your reading this, charlotte, when should I come again?); to go to discos dressed as a fairy; to hang around campus in a skirt; to do a billion things I previously thought impossible.

Yet while I love all this, I also feel the need to go home. I am, now , my own man, with agency, but I am also a son and a brother. In short I feel the need to collect the Diaspora of the goodsells: I want to sit again around the kitchen table drinking proper beer while both my brothers take the piss out of me and the I call physics a waste of time! I want to hug mum and dad. I want my father to read to me again.

It’s quite a coincidence that a week after I finish a book which focuses on whaling (as allegory or otherwise), it is reported that pro-waling countries have moved one step closer to lifting the ban. Frankly, I do not see the point. We have plenty of meat and no longer need spermaceti to fuel our lights. Why do they need to hunt the graceful leviathan once more? I hope one rams them!

Don’t they know they’re dangerous?

Further to my posting yesterday, here’s a link to a site which has the text of what appear to be most of the classics – anything from Aesop to sophocles, all free! amazing, this interweb thing, innit?

I was hanging around the pc rooms with steve this mornig, surfing randomly. We were on you tube, and look what I found. this clip – the first contact scene where picard quotes Moby Dick – I reguard as one of the finest sequences in all of cinema. Its finely written and masterfully acted. I love it, I cant reaklly explain why though.

Steve rules!

Although I love to actually own books – the physical objects themselves seeming to be possessed of a metaphysical aura – I recently found this site. It’s a huge collection of books re-printed online, and what is wonderful is it is free to access! Here , for instance, is moby dick; here is heart of darkness; and here is the u.s declaration of independence.

Go read.

Moby-dick got me thinking. In literature we have the plethora of humanity itself: books – indeed, all art – has the capacity to show us what it means to be human. It can illuminate the world, be it prose, play, poem, opera, painting or dance.

Thus, on Wednesday, I came to the conclusion that I should try as many of these art forms as possible. Not only should I read as many books as possible, but go to as many plays, galleries, operas etc as I can. Basically to see what the authors, through their various media, have to tell me.

It goes without saying that this extends to film and TV. Leaving aside contemporary work – for there there is no author – the exception to this is reality TV. This can say nothing to us, but simply is crass voyeurism and lust for celebrity. Thus, thinks I, how can I run away from this?

Thus on Wednesday I came to the conclusion that I needed to ground myself in the classics. In a way, Greek tragedy is about as far from big brother, culturally speaking, as is humanly possible. And besides, how can I call myself a homme du monde without reading the classics.

And that’s what I am doing: I went to the library and collected four books of plays. They’re only short, so I can whiz through one in a morning. Yesterday I read king Oedipus by Sophocles.

Only problem is, its dry and miserable stuff! Shakespeare could sometimes be humorous (think the porter scene in Macbeth; a few of caliban’s lines in the tempest); Melville had his funny lines too. Most writers, no matter how serious their subject matter, add at least some touches of humour to there work. Not so the Greeks! In Oedipus, the main character pokes his eyes out! They really should lighten up, and I hope they get more cheerful.