Thursday, 6 October 2016
_ _ _ _ Facial hermeneutics _ _ _ _
In the space between
your glance
and my take on its
meaning
there is a fog of
need-hope/
hope-need:
the source of all texts.
Wednesday, 21 September 2016
Skidding
Do you remember when
the puddles froze over and
with your grip-worn school shoes
you launched yourself upon that tiny rink?
Skidding, sailing, blurring.
Gliding above the asphalt,
your step smearing into infinity.
And when you first controlled
the wobbling wheel of your bike
and your balance came good
pedalling down the driveway triumphant.
Steering, turning, rolling.
Crunching down the gravel,
your momentum gathering pace.
What about when you first took off
careering down a wave?
You felt the board surge beneath you
and a new rush soared within.
Dropping, bursting, cruising.
Elation in the sea,
your heart pounding with victory.
the puddles froze over and
with your grip-worn school shoes
you launched yourself upon that tiny rink?
Skidding, sailing, blurring.
Gliding above the asphalt,
your step smearing into infinity.
And when you first controlled
the wobbling wheel of your bike
and your balance came good
pedalling down the driveway triumphant.
Steering, turning, rolling.
Crunching down the gravel,
your momentum gathering pace.
What about when you first took off
careering down a wave?
You felt the board surge beneath you
and a new rush soared within.
Dropping, bursting, cruising.
Elation in the sea,
your heart pounding with victory.
Douglas Carswell: Two Kinds of Ignorant
A lot of people have been jumping on Douglas Carswell's latest display of ignorance on twitter. Business Insider called the argument 'bizarre', and also published some of the many witty online responses. My thoughts are that as an educator, what concerns me isn't someone not knowing something, (even something that might seem to be fairly basic science). We all have gaps in our knowledge and probably we all have a quite substantial number of incorrect beliefs. In this case, though we may be surprised he doesn't know about the moon's effect on tides, I think those who are berating him for being 'stupid' are missing the point. This isn't his area of expertise. (I don't know what is, but I'd hazard a guess that his specialist subject on Mastermind would be 'The many flaws of Europeans'). For me, the real issue is not that he didn't know, it's his continued insistence on being right even when his error was pointed out, saying that he was 'surprised' that a 'head of science research at a university' would refute his belief.
This isn't directly a post about the theological notions of vincible and invincible ignorance, but about the problem of this kind of 'reinforced' ignorance. Though the Google dictionary defines ignorance as a 'lack of knowledge', there is another modern usage of the word, which may be non-standard, but has become quite widespread, which means, roughly speaking, 'the act of not listening, of ignoring'. (I've heard a number of people call someone 'ignorant', apparently because they were angry at being ignored rather than because they got something wrong). This makes it a particularly vicious kind of character flaw. I call it 'reinforced' ignorance, because the possession of this trait means that not only is someone likely to have many inaccurate beliefs, but they are less likely to be able to change them when presented with new evidence or testimony. In Buddhist philosophy, ignorance (moha) is one of the three kleshas, or 'root poisons' which cloud the mind and lead us to suffering. According to Nyanatiloka Mahathera, it's basically the worst thing in the world: "all evil things, and all evil destiny, are really rooted in greed, hate and ignorance; and of these three things ignorance or delusion (moha, avijja) is the chief root and the primary cause of all evil and misery in the world. If there is no more ignorance, there will be no more greed and hatred, no more rebirth, no more suffering."
Whilst that all might seem a bit over the top with respect to this case, I should re-emphasise that it doesn't concern me that Carswell was wrong about some aspect of science. It concerns me that he had the arrogance to question the scientist rather than accepting his mistake. It concerns me that the paranoid attitude of a number of UKIP types who are disparaging about the advice of 'experts seems to be becoming more widespread, along with the rise of conspiracy theories in general. I've always liked that quote from Edith Sitwell: "I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it". In a similar way, I can be patient with Carswell's ignorance, but not his reinforced ignorance. I feel the same way when I encounter students who simply won't learn because of their attitude, not because of any lack of intelligence.
Monday, 23 February 2015
Fear, terrorism, whistleblowing, patriotism, authority.
Loyalty to your country can take different forms. It interests me when people say that our grandparents fought the war and lost their lives in service in order to achieve x. This x is variously reckoned to be some notion of freedom (e.g. civil liberties, or freedom of speech), British Values (generally undefined), or the overthrow of fascism. Alternatively, of course, this kind of argument might even be used to argue that the x our grandparents would really have wanted was a world of equality and smiling happy faces.
I think we can most of us agree that political freedom is mostly a very good thing, fascism is mostly a very bad thing, and that equality and joyous smiles are definitely worth digging a trench for. I do not think these arguments are entirely invalid, and I am sure that a good number of those who enlisted to fight against Hitler and Mussolini found their political style highly distasteful. I do wonder, though, whether some of those people fought for less fashionable reasons. Simple social peer pressure, perhaps? Xenophobia, peut-etre? Powerful political propaganda that convinced them that the enemy was immoral and irreligious and that their wives and daughters and cultural values would be at risk, maybe? Possibly an inspiring image of an idyllic green and pleasant land, the land of Keats and Wordsworth and charming country villages and rolling hills. Perhaps many men fought with a sense of pride or even arrogance, confidently striding out to defend what was formerly the largest empire in history and the land of the world leaders of 19th century innovation and progress. The land of Brunel, Watt and Darby.
Inculcating a sense of pride in one's own country is seen as an important part of education all over the world. Western liberals, however, have increasingly questioned the traditional narratives of our own history, and those on the left, in particular, have sought to expose the evils within, rather than uniting the country against an external enemy. Nowadays, our children are allowed to learn that actually, you know, maybe the empire wasn't entirely a wonderful idea from the perspective of those millions and millions of people who were subjugated, sold into slavery, or whose resources were commandeered for the emerging global market. The industrial revolution can be evaluated by students, and their teachers are allowed to suggest that perhaps it wasn't so wonderful for the children upon whose labour it (perhaps) depended. They can read sources and discuss whether the 'Tolpuddle Martyrs' were terrorists, or heroes, and perhaps they might learn of the terrible conditions for those who faced 'transportation' to Australia for 'political crimes' such as trade unionism.
There are some who feel that this kind of liberal claptrap is doing us no good. It's undermining the national spirit, by jove! They may not wish to defend these particular aspects of our past, I suppose, but they will perhaps argue that there is too much focus on these things, or that the history has become skewed the other way - all too ready to put ourselves down, we British have allowed the curriculum to work against us. The vital gel of patriotism has been lost, and our communities no longer will grow up with the determination to be strong, to be great, to be the best, to be happy. It was much better when everyone agreed that we were brilliant, and that people born elsewhere weren't as good. If we can all agree that German Nazis, or the spread of Soviet communism, or Islamic fundamentalists or secretive international financiers pose us a most immediate threat, then there is a certain sense of purpose and meaning gained in working together to destroy the threat. Nationalism thrives in such a context and along with it a tendency towards a distorted idea of those humans defined as opposed to us, and a willing ignorance about our own flaws.
The key here is that it was the threat that provided the path to a simplistic ideology of a purposeful and driven people. An analogy can be drawn with the effects of adrenaline on the human body: the hormone shuts down unnecessary processes and becomes an efficient machine for a fight or flight response - primed to deal with aggression, and to respond with aggression.
The thing about this kind of patriotism, is that as a system of thought, it doesn't easily tolerate criticism. As a matter of pragmatism, once the fear's adrenaline-like effects are established, the truth of the claims become unimportant. Maintaining the narrative becomes imperative. If people show that they don't wholeheartedly believe in our country, they are a threat. Once the balloon of national pride is inflated, dissenting voices become needles that need to be blunted for the sake of the hot air.
Governments, of course, have appropriated this mechanism for their ends. The USA, most obviously, with its flag-waving, fireworks on independence day, pledge of allegiance, and gun-toting survivalists. Manifest destiny, McCarthyism, reactions to 9/11 ... the religious right packages it all up nicely with your duty to God to boot.
The UK has done so, though perhaps in a more tempered way: our love of the underdog is at odds with it. Even if some faults in our past are accepted, the wonderful traits we have, and our ability to produce Shakespeare, the NHS and Tim Berners-Lee is held to outweigh the apparent genius we possessed for sailing big boats into new harbours and then trading on the misery of other tribes who we patronised and indentured.
In cases such as Watergate, Profumo, Enron, etc., leaks have widely been seen as good. The free press are feted for exposing corruption. In the internet age, we can openly dissent and find a wealth of resources promoting counter-cultural or anarchistic ideas, breaking taboos, and challenging established 'truths' in science and religion.
But we also now live in an age where our governments have tolerated the concentration camp at Guantanamo Bay. Where we allow these governments to track our every move. Furthermore Assange, Manning, and Snowden, are treated as enemies and traitors, not honourable and brave servants of their country. This, I believe, is a mistake caused by the nationalistic reflex reaction against anything which is said to go against our country's interest. Yet, I wish to argue, what is truly in our country's interest is to maintain the freedom to publish information which challenges the ills within our political and economic system. If you really want to be loyal to your country, you should fight corruption, injustice and dishonesty within it, and not just engage in wars against the perceived evils of other lands.
I think we can most of us agree that political freedom is mostly a very good thing, fascism is mostly a very bad thing, and that equality and joyous smiles are definitely worth digging a trench for. I do not think these arguments are entirely invalid, and I am sure that a good number of those who enlisted to fight against Hitler and Mussolini found their political style highly distasteful. I do wonder, though, whether some of those people fought for less fashionable reasons. Simple social peer pressure, perhaps? Xenophobia, peut-etre? Powerful political propaganda that convinced them that the enemy was immoral and irreligious and that their wives and daughters and cultural values would be at risk, maybe? Possibly an inspiring image of an idyllic green and pleasant land, the land of Keats and Wordsworth and charming country villages and rolling hills. Perhaps many men fought with a sense of pride or even arrogance, confidently striding out to defend what was formerly the largest empire in history and the land of the world leaders of 19th century innovation and progress. The land of Brunel, Watt and Darby.
Inculcating a sense of pride in one's own country is seen as an important part of education all over the world. Western liberals, however, have increasingly questioned the traditional narratives of our own history, and those on the left, in particular, have sought to expose the evils within, rather than uniting the country against an external enemy. Nowadays, our children are allowed to learn that actually, you know, maybe the empire wasn't entirely a wonderful idea from the perspective of those millions and millions of people who were subjugated, sold into slavery, or whose resources were commandeered for the emerging global market. The industrial revolution can be evaluated by students, and their teachers are allowed to suggest that perhaps it wasn't so wonderful for the children upon whose labour it (perhaps) depended. They can read sources and discuss whether the 'Tolpuddle Martyrs' were terrorists, or heroes, and perhaps they might learn of the terrible conditions for those who faced 'transportation' to Australia for 'political crimes' such as trade unionism.
There are some who feel that this kind of liberal claptrap is doing us no good. It's undermining the national spirit, by jove! They may not wish to defend these particular aspects of our past, I suppose, but they will perhaps argue that there is too much focus on these things, or that the history has become skewed the other way - all too ready to put ourselves down, we British have allowed the curriculum to work against us. The vital gel of patriotism has been lost, and our communities no longer will grow up with the determination to be strong, to be great, to be the best, to be happy. It was much better when everyone agreed that we were brilliant, and that people born elsewhere weren't as good. If we can all agree that German Nazis, or the spread of Soviet communism, or Islamic fundamentalists or secretive international financiers pose us a most immediate threat, then there is a certain sense of purpose and meaning gained in working together to destroy the threat. Nationalism thrives in such a context and along with it a tendency towards a distorted idea of those humans defined as opposed to us, and a willing ignorance about our own flaws.
The key here is that it was the threat that provided the path to a simplistic ideology of a purposeful and driven people. An analogy can be drawn with the effects of adrenaline on the human body: the hormone shuts down unnecessary processes and becomes an efficient machine for a fight or flight response - primed to deal with aggression, and to respond with aggression.
The thing about this kind of patriotism, is that as a system of thought, it doesn't easily tolerate criticism. As a matter of pragmatism, once the fear's adrenaline-like effects are established, the truth of the claims become unimportant. Maintaining the narrative becomes imperative. If people show that they don't wholeheartedly believe in our country, they are a threat. Once the balloon of national pride is inflated, dissenting voices become needles that need to be blunted for the sake of the hot air.
Governments, of course, have appropriated this mechanism for their ends. The USA, most obviously, with its flag-waving, fireworks on independence day, pledge of allegiance, and gun-toting survivalists. Manifest destiny, McCarthyism, reactions to 9/11 ... the religious right packages it all up nicely with your duty to God to boot.
The UK has done so, though perhaps in a more tempered way: our love of the underdog is at odds with it. Even if some faults in our past are accepted, the wonderful traits we have, and our ability to produce Shakespeare, the NHS and Tim Berners-Lee is held to outweigh the apparent genius we possessed for sailing big boats into new harbours and then trading on the misery of other tribes who we patronised and indentured.
In cases such as Watergate, Profumo, Enron, etc., leaks have widely been seen as good. The free press are feted for exposing corruption. In the internet age, we can openly dissent and find a wealth of resources promoting counter-cultural or anarchistic ideas, breaking taboos, and challenging established 'truths' in science and religion.
But we also now live in an age where our governments have tolerated the concentration camp at Guantanamo Bay. Where we allow these governments to track our every move. Furthermore Assange, Manning, and Snowden, are treated as enemies and traitors, not honourable and brave servants of their country. This, I believe, is a mistake caused by the nationalistic reflex reaction against anything which is said to go against our country's interest. Yet, I wish to argue, what is truly in our country's interest is to maintain the freedom to publish information which challenges the ills within our political and economic system. If you really want to be loyal to your country, you should fight corruption, injustice and dishonesty within it, and not just engage in wars against the perceived evils of other lands.
El Olvido y el Polvo (A poem inspired by 2 plays and a documentary)
Some kind of national Alzheimer's.
It's not so much the astronomical lies,
But the subtle erosion of the facts.
What remains?
Repeat.
Yet the arid mentality preserves everything.
And recent souvenirs gather dust.
Could we sweep the desert with those telescopes?
Under the carpet
Don't remind us, you're holding us back.
Don't pick at those scabs, the doctor said to the patient.
Don't stir things up, said the sour cream to the spilt milk.
When you walk along the same streets as your torturers,
And women still search for fragments of their sons -
buried hastily like pre-hispanic traditions.
Native arts and human rights hidden away in museums
along with memory itself.
Skeletons of white stardust interred below our sight.
We're busy papering over cracks, hiding from the stargaze.
They're gravedigging for truth.
like cords that hold your hands behind your back.
Haunted to the bone by history.
What might turn up, what might turn out?
In the midden of Pisagua.
Can such wounds be reconciled? Demanding justice, can we forgive?
Witnesses soon will pass away,
and perception itself is as ephemeral as a passing wave.
Will the past ever rest in peace?
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
En el norte de Ñuñoa (my first draft of my first poem in Spanish)
En el norte de Ñuñoa,
camino por las calles calladas.
Cada día conociendo más los detalles tranquilos,
conociendo el calor de las esquinas verdes,
y convirtiéndome en las aceras mismas.
Estoy cambiando, paso por paso.
Pisoteo el perfume de las floraciones caídas
inhalando las explosiones añiles de las jacarandas.
Aspiro nuevas tonalidades, una bocanada de pinturas.
En las mañanas me uno al flujo ascendente.
Nos elevamos a los nacimientos del día,
a las fuentes de la corriente diaria,
hacia la cordillera que forma el nido ciudadano.
Aunque entrecierro, mantengo mi cabeza en alto
cuando se libera el cautivo nocturno de su cama montañosa.
En el descenso facil de la tarde,
fuera de la agresión ruidosa de Vespucio,
escucho los regadores siseando,
rociando una canción de cuna pacificante.
El el norte de Ñuñoa
tenemos nuestro propio mundo
perturbados solo por el sistema de alerta
del equipo de perros
aullando al Universo.
camino por las calles calladas.
Cada día conociendo más los detalles tranquilos,
conociendo el calor de las esquinas verdes,
y convirtiéndome en las aceras mismas.
Estoy cambiando, paso por paso.
Pisoteo el perfume de las floraciones caídas
inhalando las explosiones añiles de las jacarandas.
Aspiro nuevas tonalidades, una bocanada de pinturas.
En las mañanas me uno al flujo ascendente.
Nos elevamos a los nacimientos del día,
a las fuentes de la corriente diaria,
hacia la cordillera que forma el nido ciudadano.
Aunque entrecierro, mantengo mi cabeza en alto
cuando se libera el cautivo nocturno de su cama montañosa.
Ojos desnudos, con iris abiertos,
me deleito del baño pajizo.
En el descenso facil de la tarde,
fuera de la agresión ruidosa de Vespucio,
escucho los regadores siseando,
rociando una canción de cuna pacificante.
El el norte de Ñuñoa
tenemos nuestro propio mundo
perturbados solo por el sistema de alerta
del equipo de perros
aullando al Universo.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Santiago, Chile
The brimming heart of this strip of earth
beats so softly, the flow is thick
and its lungs are starved
it strains to grow
and live.
It owes its all to the care of the range
bright strong looming mountains
make a soothing presence
a motherly nest
of grace.
beats so softly, the flow is thick
and its lungs are starved
it strains to grow
and live.
It owes its all to the care of the range
bright strong looming mountains
make a soothing presence
a motherly nest
of grace.
Wednesday, 22 January 2014
Moral primer
When I think of
politics and views of
value in my eye,
The question is:
Who are you competing with?
And why?
politics and views of
value in my eye,
The question is:
Who are you competing with?
And why?
We swim in deeper rivers now
You walked past my wave,
And then turned at my touch.
You dropped your things; nervous, on edge.
"You're the same", I thought, and smiled,
As I watched your flustering shame,
As I took in your eyes once again.
The air was dull and cold, a winter's day.
We hugged; you felt familiar,
So slight and yet so real.
Warm, beloved, delicate, I pulled you close.
How has it been so long?
With instant growing feeling, we set off together,
Catching threads of life between us,
Cascades of joy undammed.
So much to say, we talked at pace
Without fear of silence.
Different journeys of the heart,
The distance we had to cover,
Yet conversation flows like milk.
Nothing is small talk, nothing hidden.
We cleared up hazy memories,
Reeling in the years gone by.
A night in London somewhere.
The subject turns to old letters kept, and we
Check the bonds have been preserved.
A stable pact, our common mischief.
We laugh at old Blur lyrics, sing some Frank Black.
Eddies of feeling stir with new vigour.
We soon decide to drink all day.
Our eyes start to linger, I swim in your gaze.
You tell me not to leave,
But you know I could never do that,
Not for any duty.
An old hook, a new line.
Once we paddled upstream, not quite innocent,
But so much river has flowed since then.
Now we play in stronger currents.
The elation surges, now I feel it again
This fervent spring stoppled for too long.
"So, what about that desert island, huh?"
**
But no, we can't. We have to stop.
Things aren't the same. We need to think.
Look away or I'll look back.
If you moan like that I won't forget it.
I'll tell you how.
Not here, not now. Another world.
But this is it. The present chance.
This the absolute, the realest thing,
Undiluted by time.
The mind swirling through sensual motion
And raging ardour, pulsing fast.
**
Suddenly, the spell was broken,
The tractor beam switched off.
My mind tried to collect itself,
From where it had been floating, triumphant.
The pangs begin.
You're not mine.
"You're the same", I thought, and wondered,
as I watched your flustering shame,
as I took in your eyes once again.
And then turned at my touch.
You dropped your things; nervous, on edge.
"You're the same", I thought, and smiled,
As I watched your flustering shame,
As I took in your eyes once again.
The air was dull and cold, a winter's day.
We hugged; you felt familiar,
So slight and yet so real.
Warm, beloved, delicate, I pulled you close.
How has it been so long?
With instant growing feeling, we set off together,
Catching threads of life between us,
Cascades of joy undammed.
So much to say, we talked at pace
Without fear of silence.
Different journeys of the heart,
The distance we had to cover,
Yet conversation flows like milk.
Nothing is small talk, nothing hidden.
We cleared up hazy memories,
Reeling in the years gone by.
A night in London somewhere.
The subject turns to old letters kept, and we
Check the bonds have been preserved.
A stable pact, our common mischief.
We laugh at old Blur lyrics, sing some Frank Black.
Eddies of feeling stir with new vigour.
We soon decide to drink all day.
Our eyes start to linger, I swim in your gaze.
You tell me not to leave,
But you know I could never do that,
Not for any duty.
An old hook, a new line.
Once we paddled upstream, not quite innocent,
But so much river has flowed since then.
Now we play in stronger currents.
The elation surges, now I feel it again
This fervent spring stoppled for too long.
"So, what about that desert island, huh?"
**
But no, we can't. We have to stop.
Things aren't the same. We need to think.
Look away or I'll look back.
If you moan like that I won't forget it.
I'll tell you how.
Not here, not now. Another world.
But this is it. The present chance.
This the absolute, the realest thing,
Undiluted by time.
The mind swirling through sensual motion
And raging ardour, pulsing fast.
**
Suddenly, the spell was broken,
The tractor beam switched off.
My mind tried to collect itself,
From where it had been floating, triumphant.
The pangs begin.
You're not mine.
"You're the same", I thought, and wondered,
as I watched your flustering shame,
as I took in your eyes once again.
Sunday, 10 November 2013
Wars & Just Cause. What would you kill or die for?
PART ONE: reflections on hard-won liberties.
They say they died for freedom,and if that is really true,
then they always will be heroes,
and we should pay our dues.
Such bravery and trust they showed,
like lions to the slaughter,
and year on year they volunteer,
their grandsons and granddaughters.
Noblemen once went to war,
with workers side by side;
in olden days we hear of kings
who fought for England's pride.
Those in charge today no doubt
would like some glory too,
but do you think this government
would die for me or you?
Now it seems, for us at least,
that wars are far away;
other lands can be the stage,
where they don't have a say.
They started it, it wasn't us,
We didn't want to fight,
We're stepping in to help,
you see, we're on the side of right.
We're lucky, we're the winners,
though we lost much along the way,
at least we're free, well, more or less,
and must be grateful every day.
All those young men gave precious lives,
to fight against oppression,
but how can bombs and drone strikes
be the way to end aggression?
It's right to fight for justice,
for the whole human race,
but war is not the way to
make the world a better place.
PART TWO: what are we killing for?
I wouldn't kill for Britain,NATO or the EU.
I wouldn't kill for glory,
or a Western point of view.
I wouldn't kill for money,
how ever much they offer.
I wouldn't kill for corporations,
to help to fill their coffers.
I wouldn't kill for history,
the past is in the past.
I wouldn't kill for vengeance,
a grudge should never last.
I wouldn't kill a criminal,
however gross his crime.
I wouldn't kill for leisure,
or just to pass the time.
I wouldn't kill for anger,
for hate or thoughtless rage,
Tantrums are for tiny kids,
I've learned to act my age.
I wouldn't kill for property,
Not mine or yours or ours.
I wouldn't kill for an easy life,
for duvets or hot showers.
I wouldn't kill for politics,
economics or for oil.
Not even for the landscape,
though I love this blessed soil.
I wouldn't kill for Jesus,
though they say he died for me.
The only true religion,
is to love humanity.
I wouldn't kill for knowledge,
to be infinitely wise.
I wouldn't kill for honour,
in anybody's eyes.
I wouldn't even kill for truth,
and never for a lie.
I wouldn't choose who gets to live,
and who deserves to die.
I've thought about just cause,
and what counts as decent grounds.
I wouldn't kill for any idea,
however smart it sounds.
I wouldn't kill for animals,
though I feel for them a lot.
They may be close to us indeed,
but humans they are not.
I would only kill to save a life
of my fellow human souls.
To protect is not to murder,
they're entirely different goals.
I'd kill to save my family,
my loved ones and my friends.
I'd kill to save my own life,
but not as means to ends.
I'd kill to save an innocent,
from this country or another.
For every life is special,
and all men are my brothers.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
For Rosasharn - A poem inspired by Steinbeck
A poem inspired by one of my favourite books: The Grapes of Wrath and by the work of Woody Guthrie and Bruce Springsteen
Scratching over dry land
Driven directly by dreams of dignity
Leaving trails of bitter dust
Some roots just won't pull up
and Grandpa had to lay down
It's too far over the blood-red mesas
The dimming sun is looking tired
The highway's only half alive
Punctured souls are heading back
The promised land is a mirage
Now who knows which way to turn
The machine of change is grinding fast
Store prices far from labour's fruit
And now the insult of fallow land
New power thrives when men compete
The preacher finds a calling true
Authentic lives of soil and growth
But guns and money won't stand down
So he founds a life of standing up
Where dreams of hope are dying cold
Children cry and men fight for food
Tom Joad's ghost is always there
In the purer power of hands turned to help another
Or the sharing of a mother's milk
Woody Guthrie's "Ballad of Tom Joad"
Bruce Springsteen's "Ghost of Tom Joad" feat. Tom Morello
For Rosasharn
Wheels tumbling WestScratching over dry land
Driven directly by dreams of dignity
Leaving trails of bitter dust
Some roots just won't pull up
and Grandpa had to lay down
It's too far over the blood-red mesas
The dimming sun is looking tired
The highway's only half alive
Punctured souls are heading back
The promised land is a mirage
Now who knows which way to turn
The machine of change is grinding fast
Store prices far from labour's fruit
And now the insult of fallow land
New power thrives when men compete
The preacher finds a calling true
Authentic lives of soil and growth
But guns and money won't stand down
So he founds a life of standing up
Where dreams of hope are dying cold
Children cry and men fight for food
Tom Joad's ghost is always there
In the purer power of hands turned to help another
Or the sharing of a mother's milk
Woody Guthrie's "Ballad of Tom Joad"
Bruce Springsteen's "Ghost of Tom Joad" feat. Tom Morello
Time's Arrow - by Martin Amis. Mini-review
I bought this because I read an essay in which someone referred to it, and when looking up the origin of the reference, it struck me as an premise for a book. It turns out that the book works as an interesting thought experiment, and an exercise in highly impressive technical writing but it is not a work of beauty.
The basic premise of the book is that it is narrated by an observer (an entity of some kind of spiritual/mental nature) who accompanies a person throughout his life, but the observer experiences time backwards rather than forwards. The observer can see through the person's eyes, and hear things (conversations are related backwards, but thankfully each line is written forwards - nonetheless, it isn't very easy to read as a result). The observer is also aware of the person's moods.
So, the story starts with the death of the person, which is experienced as a birth by the observer.
The rest of the story basically involves going through a life backwards. That's about it.
It is quite an interesting life, I suppose... (I won't say what the character did when he was younger).
And it was actually worth reading, just because the writing must have involved a lot of thought, and was thus able to offer up a new perspective on human actions. Ethically, for example, being a doctor looks strange when you observe it backwards: it appears that all these healthy people are gradually disassembled and made unwell by the doctor.
This worked again and again for different aspects of human experience. It was intellectually stimulating purely on that front. But still, it was not a pleasant read, and I would definitely not recommend it for enjoyment.
The basic premise of the book is that it is narrated by an observer (an entity of some kind of spiritual/mental nature) who accompanies a person throughout his life, but the observer experiences time backwards rather than forwards. The observer can see through the person's eyes, and hear things (conversations are related backwards, but thankfully each line is written forwards - nonetheless, it isn't very easy to read as a result). The observer is also aware of the person's moods.
So, the story starts with the death of the person, which is experienced as a birth by the observer.
The rest of the story basically involves going through a life backwards. That's about it.
It is quite an interesting life, I suppose... (I won't say what the character did when he was younger).
And it was actually worth reading, just because the writing must have involved a lot of thought, and was thus able to offer up a new perspective on human actions. Ethically, for example, being a doctor looks strange when you observe it backwards: it appears that all these healthy people are gradually disassembled and made unwell by the doctor.
This worked again and again for different aspects of human experience. It was intellectually stimulating purely on that front. But still, it was not a pleasant read, and I would definitely not recommend it for enjoyment.
Two novels by Ann Patchett. Mini-review.
I read State of Wonder last year, and Run not long after, and enjoyed both books, but wasn't left with a great desire to read much more by Ann Patchett. I could well imagine State of Wonder being made into a film -and if they did I'd watch it- but I felt the latter book was lacking in punch and interest.
State of Wonder has an Amazonian setting which her writing makes the star of the show in some ways. A sense of the mysterious and the impenetrable, as well as the treasure of these great rainforests is pervasive. I never quite liked Marina, the protagonist, but I found myself rooting for her nonetheless, as you often do with the main character. Patchett is good at sketching characters, particularly strong women, though other than the stubborn and single-minded Dr Swenson, few of them really mattered to me as I read. I think the main reason why I felt this book was a hit, whilst Run was not, is due to Run not having such interesting subject matter. The ethical scandal at the heart of State of Wonder is original enough and morally intriguing enough to justify the gradual reveal of the plot. The book also explores the themes of bravery, stupidity, and recklessness in a perceptive and enlightening way.
In Run we meet the Doyle family, where the main character again is an academic interested in nature / biological science. Again, as with Marina, I didn't find Tip (that's his name) particularly likeable. This time, however, rather than strong females being at the heart of the book, the story explores the lack of females. Or rather, the lack of one wonderful woman, Tip and Teddy's mother. Her loss is the centrepoint around which the story manoeuvres and pivots, a sense which is only enhanced by the use of Catholic Marian imagery. Tip & Teddy are brothers, and whilst I generally enjoy stories involving brothers, in this case I felt the contrast between the two of them was rather blatant and obvious, and didn't make for any interesting tension. The way in which their family became intertwined with a young girl called Kenya was the central drama, but still this did not work for me. Oh, did I mention that this was also a story about race? Oh yes, Tip and Teddy are black and adopted by a white family. That's all fine, but the story just felt tame, and there was nothing of any great interest to report.
I've heard Bel Canto is her best book. I'd definitely read that. However, I won't be rushing to read all her works, as on the evidence of these two, they will be of variable quality.
State of Wonder has an Amazonian setting which her writing makes the star of the show in some ways. A sense of the mysterious and the impenetrable, as well as the treasure of these great rainforests is pervasive. I never quite liked Marina, the protagonist, but I found myself rooting for her nonetheless, as you often do with the main character. Patchett is good at sketching characters, particularly strong women, though other than the stubborn and single-minded Dr Swenson, few of them really mattered to me as I read. I think the main reason why I felt this book was a hit, whilst Run was not, is due to Run not having such interesting subject matter. The ethical scandal at the heart of State of Wonder is original enough and morally intriguing enough to justify the gradual reveal of the plot. The book also explores the themes of bravery, stupidity, and recklessness in a perceptive and enlightening way.
In Run we meet the Doyle family, where the main character again is an academic interested in nature / biological science. Again, as with Marina, I didn't find Tip (that's his name) particularly likeable. This time, however, rather than strong females being at the heart of the book, the story explores the lack of females. Or rather, the lack of one wonderful woman, Tip and Teddy's mother. Her loss is the centrepoint around which the story manoeuvres and pivots, a sense which is only enhanced by the use of Catholic Marian imagery. Tip & Teddy are brothers, and whilst I generally enjoy stories involving brothers, in this case I felt the contrast between the two of them was rather blatant and obvious, and didn't make for any interesting tension. The way in which their family became intertwined with a young girl called Kenya was the central drama, but still this did not work for me. Oh, did I mention that this was also a story about race? Oh yes, Tip and Teddy are black and adopted by a white family. That's all fine, but the story just felt tame, and there was nothing of any great interest to report.
I've heard Bel Canto is her best book. I'd definitely read that. However, I won't be rushing to read all her works, as on the evidence of these two, they will be of variable quality.
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
Cheltenham Spa - Alternative Therapy
I've been working through some ideas for a new money-spinner. Seeing as it's Race Week here in Cheltenham, I thought I could advertise this on Paddy Power's website or something.
COME TO CHELTENHAM SPA'S NEW ALTERNATIVE THERAPY CENTRE.
By alternative, I mean alternative.
It'd be a work-from-home type venture.
I was thinking of warming up some stones in a microwave from a nearby rockery to put on people's backs.
I'll get some real mud in a wheelbarrow for a mudpack-type thing.
Toothpaste-based mask on people's faces and I could find a cucumber in Aldi for people's eyes.
I'll get some tealights from Poundland to do some waxing. Not sure how to do it though, so I might see if I can hire a Brazilian as an employee.
And I'm sure I could find some way to rig up a little pressure hose in my bath to act as a jacuzzi. I don't think I'll advertise colonic irrigation though. That sounds messy.
COME TO CHELTENHAM SPA'S NEW ALTERNATIVE THERAPY CENTRE.
By alternative, I mean alternative.
It'd be a work-from-home type venture.
I was thinking of warming up some stones in a microwave from a nearby rockery to put on people's backs.
I'll get some real mud in a wheelbarrow for a mudpack-type thing.
Toothpaste-based mask on people's faces and I could find a cucumber in Aldi for people's eyes.
I'll get some tealights from Poundland to do some waxing. Not sure how to do it though, so I might see if I can hire a Brazilian as an employee.
And I'm sure I could find some way to rig up a little pressure hose in my bath to act as a jacuzzi. I don't think I'll advertise colonic irrigation though. That sounds messy.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
My first Murakami novel: mini-review
I read 'Hard-Boiled Wonderland & The End of the World' earlier this year. I hadn't heard of Haruki Murakami until last year, and then it seemed like all of a sudden he was being mentioned everywhere. I heard enough about his style to be interested, even though I don't normally read fantasy-type novels.
I really enjoyed it. The alternating chapters skip between a world where the protagonist gets drawn into strange events in the Tokyo underground and a strange isolated walled city where nothing quite seems right. Murakami gradually reveals more about how these worlds are related with little drips of information from time to time throughout the book, and by the end you come to find out how they fit together. All very satisfying. The chapter titles themselves are fun too.
The thing that stands out most, perhaps, is the vast cultural intelligence Murakami displays. He drops references to western culture liberally around the pages, in a way that impresses rather than annoys. It seems to be relevant, and the references link in to themes in the book, such as music and the flow of consciousness. The other notable feature is his apparent taste for the bizarre. Unicorns, strange subterranean creatures, and jazz albums are prolific here. There is a blur between extraordinary but scientific reveries and occasional dips into more mysterious concepts. In particular, a major theme is the brain. Without wanting to give too much away, the book pivots around the idea that a professor has managed to wire new circuitry into some people's heads, and that this affects their subconscious in various predictable and unpredictable ways.
A gripe: it annoyed me the way he referred to one character continually as 'the chubby girl', even though this was a major character throughout the book. It just seemed a bit off.
However, there were so many things to like in this novel, it was definitely a winner. My favourite passage was the following: [SLIGHT SPOILER ALERT]
"Next thing I did was t'read your black box into the computer pre-programmed with those patterns, and out came an amazin' graphic renderin' of what went on in your core consciousness. Naturally, the images were jumbled and fragmentary and didn't mean much in themselves. They needed editin'. Cuttin' and pastin', tossin' out some parts, resequencin', exactly like film editin'. Rearrangin' everything into a story."
"A story?"
"That shouldn't be so strange," said the Professor. "The best musicians transpose consciousness into sound; painters do the same for colour and shape. Mental phenomena are the stuff writers make into novels. It's the same basic logic. Of course, as encephalodigital conversion, it doesn't represent an accurate mappin'...."
Overall, I would definitely read more Murakami, and I would recommend him too.
I really enjoyed it. The alternating chapters skip between a world where the protagonist gets drawn into strange events in the Tokyo underground and a strange isolated walled city where nothing quite seems right. Murakami gradually reveals more about how these worlds are related with little drips of information from time to time throughout the book, and by the end you come to find out how they fit together. All very satisfying. The chapter titles themselves are fun too.
The thing that stands out most, perhaps, is the vast cultural intelligence Murakami displays. He drops references to western culture liberally around the pages, in a way that impresses rather than annoys. It seems to be relevant, and the references link in to themes in the book, such as music and the flow of consciousness. The other notable feature is his apparent taste for the bizarre. Unicorns, strange subterranean creatures, and jazz albums are prolific here. There is a blur between extraordinary but scientific reveries and occasional dips into more mysterious concepts. In particular, a major theme is the brain. Without wanting to give too much away, the book pivots around the idea that a professor has managed to wire new circuitry into some people's heads, and that this affects their subconscious in various predictable and unpredictable ways.
A gripe: it annoyed me the way he referred to one character continually as 'the chubby girl', even though this was a major character throughout the book. It just seemed a bit off.
However, there were so many things to like in this novel, it was definitely a winner. My favourite passage was the following: [SLIGHT SPOILER ALERT]
"Next thing I did was t'read your black box into the computer pre-programmed with those patterns, and out came an amazin' graphic renderin' of what went on in your core consciousness. Naturally, the images were jumbled and fragmentary and didn't mean much in themselves. They needed editin'. Cuttin' and pastin', tossin' out some parts, resequencin', exactly like film editin'. Rearrangin' everything into a story."
"A story?"
"That shouldn't be so strange," said the Professor. "The best musicians transpose consciousness into sound; painters do the same for colour and shape. Mental phenomena are the stuff writers make into novels. It's the same basic logic. Of course, as encephalodigital conversion, it doesn't represent an accurate mappin'...."
Overall, I would definitely read more Murakami, and I would recommend him too.
On travel: Purpose and Ethics
Whenever I visit somewhere new, I find myself opening my eyes and ears more. I am on alert, sensitive to new sights, smells, and voices. I am acutely aware of difference, of the unfamiliar, and this makes me more aware of me, who I am, what I am, what defines me as different. Encountering things with which I don't identify challenges me, and poses questions of me: 'do you disagree? - if so, why?' This leads me to examine my root assumptions; to explore my own philosophical foundations from a fresh perspective.
I try under these circumstances to be open to new ideas, to learn from others. I strive to take the best wisdom from these people and cultures.
I also aim to represent my own culture in a good light.
So it is important to me to leave the place better than I found it...
I try under these circumstances to be open to new ideas, to learn from others. I strive to take the best wisdom from these people and cultures.
I also aim to represent my own culture in a good light.
So it is important to me to leave the place better than I found it...
'Godless Morality' by Richard Holloway - a comment
What interested me about Richard Holloway's book was the notion of 'ethical jazz'. The idea of treating morality as something that could be taught in a different way. It's a common idea amongst humanists and atheists of a certain ilk to consider either a good moral philosophical education, or a new kind of scientific approach (a la Sam Harris) to be the way to teach morality to a new generation of youngsters who don't accept the old religious texts as a ground for ethics. Richard Holloway's idea seems to be that it's a different kind of skill. I suspect MacIntyre might approve.
Roger Scruton - 'The Face of God' - mini review
Reading The Face Of God, I was not sure what to expect - reactionary justifications or bourgeois cliches. There was some of that, but actually he is a capable philosopher and there is lots of valuable writing and plenty of food for thought.
I agreed with many aspects of what he says about subjectivity not being reducible, and about the way in which the face has 'spiritual' qualities. However, I'm not sure I would share his notion of what spirituality means. I have written an essay on the concept of spirituality, but intend to clarify my writing further at some point soon.
He has interesting things to say about kisses, in particular, and as you'd expect, some reasonable passages about free will and other more typical philosophical material. However, I feel he is wrong about animals. He seems to protest too much the difference between us and animals. He accepts evolution, but won't allow that animals share any of the subjectivity of humans. Animal tears, are not, by his definitions, real tears. Hmm.
Also, interesting writing on the burqa, but it seemed to be at conflict with the positive things said about Venetian masks?
Finally, I thought there was some really good writing on the metaethics of rape, which he describes for example as an "existential assault"; an "annihilation of the subject".
I agreed with many aspects of what he says about subjectivity not being reducible, and about the way in which the face has 'spiritual' qualities. However, I'm not sure I would share his notion of what spirituality means. I have written an essay on the concept of spirituality, but intend to clarify my writing further at some point soon.
He has interesting things to say about kisses, in particular, and as you'd expect, some reasonable passages about free will and other more typical philosophical material. However, I feel he is wrong about animals. He seems to protest too much the difference between us and animals. He accepts evolution, but won't allow that animals share any of the subjectivity of humans. Animal tears, are not, by his definitions, real tears. Hmm.
Also, interesting writing on the burqa, but it seemed to be at conflict with the positive things said about Venetian masks?
Finally, I thought there was some really good writing on the metaethics of rape, which he describes for example as an "existential assault"; an "annihilation of the subject".
I sometimes think I should be a film director...
...based on the quality of the dreams I have.
Sometimes, I wake up impressed by the depth and convincing nature of the characters. I even sometimes do the casting job, picking a good actor to play a part. Last night, featured one such face, I think it was Sean Bean, who played a guy who had become rich through a dodgy company called 'Teleclaims'. Furthermore, I am sometimes able to dream up superb locations: realistic and evocative. It is not my ability to get carried along by these dreams that surprises me. After all, it is in the nature of dreams to be an emotional journey, that connect with a person in a deep way, and I think everyone experiences high levels of emotion in their dreams sometimes.
No, what impresses me more on these occasions when my dreams seem so inspired is the little details. Attention to the wardrobe department, local accents, interesting names, great vocabulary in an engaging and thought-provoking dialogue, a complex, layered and yet apparently satisfying plot... that sort of thing.
Of course, by the time I am sufficiently awake to type these things down, the precision of my dream recall diminishes completely. Soon afterwards, the new consciousness of the waking room will wash away the film script in my mind.
And yet at other times I have the most blatantly obvious and unimaginative dreams. To the point where anyone with a merit in BTEC pop-psychology, (or anyone who once picked up a badly-written, female-marketed magazine article that oversimplifies Jungian conceptual theory), would be able to analyze the entirety of the dream in a split-second.
For example, a common recurring dream I have involves swimming across a long stretch of open water to an island that is populated by.... (wait for it!)...
... a woman I am highly attracted to.
So, what happens in these dreams?
Well, to put it simply, (because they are simple dreams) - sometimes I get there and sometimes I don't!
That's it.
Sometimes, I wake up impressed by the depth and convincing nature of the characters. I even sometimes do the casting job, picking a good actor to play a part. Last night, featured one such face, I think it was Sean Bean, who played a guy who had become rich through a dodgy company called 'Teleclaims'. Furthermore, I am sometimes able to dream up superb locations: realistic and evocative. It is not my ability to get carried along by these dreams that surprises me. After all, it is in the nature of dreams to be an emotional journey, that connect with a person in a deep way, and I think everyone experiences high levels of emotion in their dreams sometimes.
No, what impresses me more on these occasions when my dreams seem so inspired is the little details. Attention to the wardrobe department, local accents, interesting names, great vocabulary in an engaging and thought-provoking dialogue, a complex, layered and yet apparently satisfying plot... that sort of thing.
Of course, by the time I am sufficiently awake to type these things down, the precision of my dream recall diminishes completely. Soon afterwards, the new consciousness of the waking room will wash away the film script in my mind.
And yet at other times I have the most blatantly obvious and unimaginative dreams. To the point where anyone with a merit in BTEC pop-psychology, (or anyone who once picked up a badly-written, female-marketed magazine article that oversimplifies Jungian conceptual theory), would be able to analyze the entirety of the dream in a split-second.
For example, a common recurring dream I have involves swimming across a long stretch of open water to an island that is populated by.... (wait for it!)...
... a woman I am highly attracted to.
So, what happens in these dreams?
Well, to put it simply, (because they are simple dreams) - sometimes I get there and sometimes I don't!
That's it.
Notes on Raymond Tallis' book 'In Defence of Wonder'
Plato: "Philosophy begins in wonder" (Theaetetus)
G.K. Chesterton: “The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.”
Ray Tallis seems a lovely chap. Look at him! See:
(I saw him at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, Tuesday 9th October, 2012 and bought the book after.)
He describes himself as an 'optimistic atheist and humanist'.
His theme in the book is 'articulate wonder' and from there the importance of philosophy today.
He identifies some mysteries to wonder about fairly early on:
*'Why is there something rather than nothing?' (often attributed to Leibniz)
*The fundamental stuff of the world (goes back to the earliest Greek philosophers from Thales onwards).
*The nature of living matter.
*The unity and multiplicity of consciousness
*Past, present and future
*Karl Popper said that knowledge is the 'greatest miracle of the universe'.
*The 'million-petalled flower of being here'. (Philip Larkin)
*Mathematics: "the enormous usefulness of mathematics in the natural sciences is something bordering on the mysterious and that there is no rational explanation for it." - (Eugene Wigner)
He attacks what he calls the simplistic naturalism of 'Darwinitis', though I need to read more on this part, to see how he substantiates this critique.
He talks of how some people focus on only certain kinds of thing as mysterious because they are of dubious status in our knowledge. For example, ESP. Tallis argues that ESP, even if it exists, is no more amazing than SP (i.e. ordinary sensory perception).
Why the need to write about wonder?
Because in our life there are many 'enemies of wonder', and one needs to learn to combat these.
Generally the main enemies of wonder are:
Elation
Boredom
Fear
Despair
Some are inescapable:
(certain circumstances, such as being a POW, might make wonder frivolous.)
Some honourable:
(e.g. being too busy helping others)
Some are due to the choices we make
(e.g. spending too much time online or too much time working - Tallis refers to "the habit of rush" and the "treadmill of pastimes".)
On the other hand, there are several 'friends of wonder':
Philosophy
Art
Science
Philosophy has had a hard time of it lately. What with scientists such as Lawrence Krauss and Stephen Hawking questioning its social utility, there's no WONDER (sorry) that Tallis is concerned to establish the importance of all those mysteries above. What he needs to do further is to argue how important philosophy is, rather than science, in dealing with them. I am inclined to think that those in the 'experimental philosophy' movement are not fully grasping the value that philosophy has in delineating such things as what can not be known. 'Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent' (Wittgenstein).
Thankfully, art speaks for itself, in all those thousands of words. So on to science. Tallis doesn't respond in kind by attacking science, but rather praises it, but with a slight sense of caution about its omniscience and total magisterial dominance.
Thomas Carlyle talks of "That progress of Science, which is to destroy Wonder, and in its stead substitute Mensuration and Numeration", A lot of people today still see science in that way: as somehow opposed to awe and worshipful attitudes. I am enthusiastic about promoting the social value of science, i.e. its personal benefits, and not just the way it is a method for gaining more reliable information. Scientific methodology puts us in a certain relationship with the world, which teaches us a lot of things. In the practice of science there are ethical values and virtues. Within this methodology you learn to share ideas, to work together, to respect what nature does, to pay attention to details, to be persistent, and to think laterally and creatively.
I think this aspect of Dawkins' writing is much overlooked by the general populace who don't actually read his work. When he is at his most polemic talking about atheism, you can forget that Dawkins actually has a sensitive and intelligent grasp of what science really is, and isn't merely a positivist with a hatred of metaphysics. He is at his best when he elucidates a modern biological discovery and waxes lyrical about it. Those who have lost a love of learning - perhaps in their teenage years in the drudgery of school - can be encouraged to regain their curiosity if they are taken out of their intellectual comfort zone, or if they are made aware of the frailty of their most basic presuppositions. A good scientific explanation can also do this.
"There is an anaesthetic of familiarity, a sedative of ordinariness which dulls the senses and hides the wonder of existence. For those of us not gifted in poetry, it is at least worth while from time to time making an effort to shake off the anaesthetic. What is the best way of countering the sluggish habituation brought about by our gradual crawl from babyhood? We can't actually fly to another planet. But we can recapture that sense of having just tumbled out to life on a new world by looking at our own world in unfamiliar ways."
"The feeling of awed wonder that science can give us is one of the highest experiences of which the human psyche is capable. It is a deep aesthetic passion to rank with the finest that music and poetry can deliver."
— Richard Dawkins (Unweaving the Rainbow: Science, Delusion and the Appetite for Wonder)
I do thoroughly agree, although the way he writes that last paragraph, I also question whether he protests too much? After all much of the practice of science is tedious, repetitive, and frustrating. Years and years may be spent working on a misguided hypothesis, only for another to show the experiments were flawed or had already been established. A lot of science is also highly abstract and mathematical, and some goes beyond the intellect of the large part of humanity. As something of a digression, I am also reminded of his lack of 'success' with Michael Persinger's 'God Helmet' and the nagging question I was left with after reading about his findings. Which was: 'What if our different minds are simply differently constructed (either by nature or nurture or more likely both) so that some people 'get' religion and some people don't. For example, there may be some kind of difference in our temporal lobes that affects our ability to understand aspects of reality. Thus something such as spiritual experience or religious faith might be something that comes naturally to some but is a foreign mystery to others.
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