when in doubt, turn to him.
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Sonnet 24, William Shakespeare
dinosaurs on the window sill.
i like summer. even though it is only a semblance of summer in aberdeen, i like it.
i want to spend it with you. what did they say in that film? you make me want to be a better person.
neil smith. geographer.
sometimes i think that geographers are the courageous anthropologists. they are not afraid of generalisations, and yet they are rigorous enough not to shy away from making statements that are of particular relevance in the contemporary world.
i went to a great lecture today by professor neil smith who just got a sixth century chair at aberdeen university, but he is based at the centre for place, culture and politics in new york.
this flavour of academia i like…. hmmmm… if i could find my niche with activists…
*back to thesis*
tee-hee.
The Romantic notion of love involved profound thoughts on the balance to be struck between symbiosis with the other person and an unconditional willingness to recognise the otherness of the other person.
(Joas 1996: 185)
Moiré.
just remembered that today. overlay of perspectives creates depth.
In physics, a moiré pattern (pronounced /mwɑːˈreɪ/ or /ˈmɔəreɪ/ in English; [mwaˈʁe] in French) is an interference pattern created, for example, when two grids are overlaid at an angle, or when they have slightly different mesh sizes.
In textiles, a moire (pronounced /mwɑː/) is a fabric with a wavy (watered) appearance, caused by varying the tension in the warp and weft of the weave.
see wikipedia and bateson.
hopefully it will help re-write chapter 4.
memory.
my body is pierced with pain down my the right side of my spine. i feel like my memory is gone, i live in the groundhogday again. i fleed for a while, but now that i am back the summer has not come yet. still the thesis, the smell of the office, the sound of the rain, the words, endless strings of theoretical concepts, more talking.
too much. everything is slightly too much. i want to write other things, not this miscegenation. i have been a bipolar nutshell for a long time, wearing those kinds of blinkers that cannot make me see the jazz that is life, neither wholly sad nor happy, but something deeply melancholy and at the same time, rejoicing. i see but absolutejoy or deepdespair.
and i can’t answer your question. despite all the words inside me, i become silent. everything else impinges on my senses. the most irrelevant of things impose themselves. i am deeply aware of my inadequacy. i think of the breeze, the time that small mole on your neck, the way the triangle between your eyebrows relaxes just before you break into a smile, and i cannot recapture, in my memory all the times i cried from joy.
ech weess mengen hänn kee rot.
daily work.
refine gratefulness.
foster attentiveness.
sing affirmations.
practice meditation.
enjoy movement.
show kindness to yourself and others.
remain open for possibility.
reinforce your learning.
express love.
work hard.
Augusto Boal. Nachruf.
It is with great sadness that I learn of the passing on of the author of ‘Theatre of the Oppressed’ (inspired by Paulo Freire) and father of a movement of radical theatre, and an activist concerned with positive social change. Obituary here.
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