Every so often I'm in the middle of doing something in my room when suddenly I stop and leave the room, and I come back in like a ghost. I pretend I'm a stranger and I'm not allowed to touch anything, but I'm afforded a rare glimpse of somebody else's life - I see a whole soul encoded in its material arrangement - the clothes on the floor, the books on the shelf, the posters on the wall, the clutter on the desk.
And I love it. I'm so happy for all the dust and the patterns and the possessions and the thoughtfulness and the thoughtlessness that is still me even beyond my flesh and bones.
There's lots of red and black and white. That's my favourite colour scheme. That's the colour of the poster and the DVDs and the bed, and three delightful new juggling clubs in the corner. They are still in their wrappers - to preserve their newborn status - but they have already been used, and already the red one has a scratch on it. I am sure it is the sign of much fruitful use to come. On the shelf above my desk is the Frederic Chopin boxset and book an grammar that form my attempt at intellectualism, and my Shaun of the Dead DVD and Guitar Hero games that don't.
The whole place is littered with important looking books that try to make me seem a brainbox on subjects from quantum mechanics to meteorology. Even so, here on my desk is an old report I did where I've said something misleading, if not just wrong, about the Brillouin function. There are quite a lot of chocolate wrappers here and there. I should probably tidy up. There's a guitar in the corner that excuses have forbidden me from touching. There are some old grapes in here too, that I've been trying not to admit to for a while.
Amongst the failures are also the successes. In a corner of the room sits another report I wrote, with the most stunningly amazing mark on it I have ever received. My juggling balls are looking pretty tattered. I can do some amazing tricks now I couldn't do a year ago. Shoes, worn and comfortable, are resting on the floor in wait until the next time they have to take me out. A big, heavy book on life, the universe and everything has had an impressive two thirds of it safely partitioned from the unseen part by a beautiful shiny bookmark.
The best part of being a ghost in my own room is the fresh perspective it brings. As I regard the things around me I realise I understand more about them than any stranger could. I realise I've extended my soul into the space around me. I like my room. It's pretty cool.
Saturday 9 February 2008
Saturday 2 February 2008
Friday 1 February 2008
A bit of the ol' ultraviolence
It was due to a combination of weariness at hearing “I’ll never hear that song in the same way again” and a £3 bargain that I purchased and watched a copy of Reservoir Dogs.
It was a good film.
I always find there is a particularly strange dichotomy in my attitude towards violence. On the one hand, my moral philosophy is to act with the biggest amount of kindness possible, which should afford the greatest peace, considering that violence is abhorrent. On the other hand, I have never necessarily shied away from a bloody film or a good first person shooter. From my point of view, for me as a singular, a bit of violence in the media is good. Not too much. Just enough to curb my own psychopathic tendencies, as it were, to let the bad blood. I’m by no means heartless, but to deny that any human being contains the full spectrum, sinner to saint, child to mother, is unhealthy. An understanding and acceptance of our dark sides allows our virtuous selves to flourish. And yes, I know, “it’s all very well to say that’s why violence in the media is okay, but what about the copycats?” What about the people who gorge themselves sick on this violence and let it spill into their own conduct? Well, all I can say is that they’re not approaching it in a balanced way. I can’t say that that’s the conclusion to the problem, only that I recognise the immense difficulties in this area.
However, for the sake of all the balanced people and considering the output from the skill of someone such as Quentin Tarantino, isn’t it beautiful? All the thought and the richness tied up in it has had me thinking about layer after layer of elements of the story. For me, the theme here has been fallibility: errors of judgement, loyalty and betrayal, mortality, stupidity, bad luck, suspicion.
I got invited to see Saw IV tonight, but I’m afraid I felt no urge to accept after this film. Reservoir Dogs is to a fine, ripe Brie de Meaux as Saw IV must be to that “squezee cheese” that comes in an aerosol can. And by the way, the scene in question with “that song” wasn’t as bad as I believe people have made it out to be. I probably will think of it in the same way because I always did like it. It is a good song.
It was a good film.
I always find there is a particularly strange dichotomy in my attitude towards violence. On the one hand, my moral philosophy is to act with the biggest amount of kindness possible, which should afford the greatest peace, considering that violence is abhorrent. On the other hand, I have never necessarily shied away from a bloody film or a good first person shooter. From my point of view, for me as a singular, a bit of violence in the media is good. Not too much. Just enough to curb my own psychopathic tendencies, as it were, to let the bad blood. I’m by no means heartless, but to deny that any human being contains the full spectrum, sinner to saint, child to mother, is unhealthy. An understanding and acceptance of our dark sides allows our virtuous selves to flourish. And yes, I know, “it’s all very well to say that’s why violence in the media is okay, but what about the copycats?” What about the people who gorge themselves sick on this violence and let it spill into their own conduct? Well, all I can say is that they’re not approaching it in a balanced way. I can’t say that that’s the conclusion to the problem, only that I recognise the immense difficulties in this area.
However, for the sake of all the balanced people and considering the output from the skill of someone such as Quentin Tarantino, isn’t it beautiful? All the thought and the richness tied up in it has had me thinking about layer after layer of elements of the story. For me, the theme here has been fallibility: errors of judgement, loyalty and betrayal, mortality, stupidity, bad luck, suspicion.
I got invited to see Saw IV tonight, but I’m afraid I felt no urge to accept after this film. Reservoir Dogs is to a fine, ripe Brie de Meaux as Saw IV must be to that “squezee cheese” that comes in an aerosol can. And by the way, the scene in question with “that song” wasn’t as bad as I believe people have made it out to be. I probably will think of it in the same way because I always did like it. It is a good song.
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