Guess what? This is my 500th post!
Have you been reading this blog since 2007? Stuck by me all these years? Happy to have done so? Despondent?
I will stubbornly write on. And on. And on. Whether you like it or not. If you do enjoy dropping by, I will write for your delectation.
Many ideas bubbling in my head. I know what my next 5 books will be (3 novels, 1 memoir, 1 essay collection). In the past I would have these wild fantasies - 'oh boy, I'm going to write all these books - I'll get them published, too.' I have a pretty good idea of where I am going with these, though. I won't get too down if they don't get them published, either. (I have to be realistic - they probably won't.)
Most of these posts are lapidary in character, granted. Usually toss them off quickly. The idea for the essay collection is: revisit all the topics I've covered here, flesh them out and give them the kind of effort/attention I would to one of the essays I write for uni.
Stick around, my friend. Now, let's clink glasses, down the champagne and celebrate!
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
Sunday, 8 March 2015
Crumb
Crumb (1994) is a documentary about the underground cartoonist Robert Crumb. A highly eccentric character, he is open and candid as the director here, Terry Zwigoff, was a close friend. Like his highly revealing autobiographical comics, Crumb really bears his soul. His comics are openly misogynistic, racist and twisted - as such, it is easy to hold a grudge against him for any of these things. Crumb caught onto the hippie zeitgeist - with characters involving mystic charlatans, drug-addled weirdos and sex-starved bimbos - and he became a renowned countercultural figure. Yet his work is at its most compelling when he is his own subject. The reason why this film is so great - and so moving - is that it follows the same prerogative: an unflinchingly honest portrayal of its subject, warts and all.
What becomes clear is that Robert Crumb suffers a great deal. He says 'If I don't draw, I feel suicidal. But, then, I sometimes feel suicidal when I draw too.' It is clear that his comics have therapeutic function - to exorcise demons. (This can be taken literally. Many of his comics involve sexual fantasies about strange Goya-like bird creatures.) In this process, he does not censor himself in the slightest. He has a predilection for robust women with long legs. These are legion in his comics and more often than not they are submissive to fragile, neurotic men.
All this was borne out of years of frustration and alienation. Rejected by women throughout his teens, he withdrew into his sexual fantasies. One of his comics chronicling this is detailed in the film: how a girl he was infatuated with went off with some stud. Robert's misogyny is borne out of a deep-rooted rejection and alienation from other women. Alongside fervent admirers, a few critics of Crumb's work appear in the film. They contend that, whatever the therapeutic value of the comics, that is dangerous to put them out in the public domain.
Crumb came from a broken family. His father beat all three of his sons on a regular basis. We meet his two brothers, who are even stranger (and more disturbed) than Robert. His brother Charles, who introduced Robert to comic books when they were both young children, is so sedated by his medication that he drawls and has several teeth missing. He still lives with his mother. His brother Maxon, also an artist, lives in a ramshackle hotel. He begs for money on the streets whilst sitting on a bed of nails.
The reason why the film is so moving is that the abuse inflicted by their father clearly disturbed Charles and Maxon to such an extent that they became maladjusted. Like Robert, they have unusual sexual fetishes, except that they are stranger. Maxon gropes women in the streets. Charles, we learn, has homosexual pedophilic tendencies. He managed to suppressed them and he remained a virgin. Yet he was tormented his entire life and was terrified that his mother might find out. Following the film's completion, we learn, he committed suicide. Despite the way both Maxon and Charles turned out, Robert became a success.
In many ways, this film is an image of an inverted American dream. Their father was a marine in the Second World War. He wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps - become a marine, be virile, manly, responsible and punctilious. He wrote a book entitled 'Training People Effectively.' The family grew in 50s suburbia and in the ferment of sexual repression and rigid social mores. Following the horrors of the Second World War, youngsters were subjected to a tawdry image of American suburban happiness and conformity. This partly led to the rebellion of the sixties and the psychosis of Robert's art. And Crumb's father was horrified when he saw how his children turned out: shy, nerdy, maladjusted and strange.
Another issue raised about the films is: is Robert's work art or porn? Several talking heads are featured and they take divergent views. The most notorious is the art critic Robert Hughes, who bombastically compares Crumb to Brughel and Goya. Other voices reject the racism, the nastiness and the misogyny. One dissenter mentions an overwhelmingly disturbing cartoon involving incest. It features a 1950s nuclear family. It has all the qualities of satire but, the critic argues, Crumb is getting off on his material and ended up producing porn. What they all agree on is that he is very technically gifted.
They interview Crumb's wife, who says 'he draws his id.' We should take Crumb as a portal to the dark side of its subject and accept that what we encounter isn't always savoury. It is a masterful study of a broken home, a tormented artist, the vagaries of sex and porn and the therapeutic function of art.
What becomes clear is that Robert Crumb suffers a great deal. He says 'If I don't draw, I feel suicidal. But, then, I sometimes feel suicidal when I draw too.' It is clear that his comics have therapeutic function - to exorcise demons. (This can be taken literally. Many of his comics involve sexual fantasies about strange Goya-like bird creatures.) In this process, he does not censor himself in the slightest. He has a predilection for robust women with long legs. These are legion in his comics and more often than not they are submissive to fragile, neurotic men.
All this was borne out of years of frustration and alienation. Rejected by women throughout his teens, he withdrew into his sexual fantasies. One of his comics chronicling this is detailed in the film: how a girl he was infatuated with went off with some stud. Robert's misogyny is borne out of a deep-rooted rejection and alienation from other women. Alongside fervent admirers, a few critics of Crumb's work appear in the film. They contend that, whatever the therapeutic value of the comics, that is dangerous to put them out in the public domain.
Crumb came from a broken family. His father beat all three of his sons on a regular basis. We meet his two brothers, who are even stranger (and more disturbed) than Robert. His brother Charles, who introduced Robert to comic books when they were both young children, is so sedated by his medication that he drawls and has several teeth missing. He still lives with his mother. His brother Maxon, also an artist, lives in a ramshackle hotel. He begs for money on the streets whilst sitting on a bed of nails.
The reason why the film is so moving is that the abuse inflicted by their father clearly disturbed Charles and Maxon to such an extent that they became maladjusted. Like Robert, they have unusual sexual fetishes, except that they are stranger. Maxon gropes women in the streets. Charles, we learn, has homosexual pedophilic tendencies. He managed to suppressed them and he remained a virgin. Yet he was tormented his entire life and was terrified that his mother might find out. Following the film's completion, we learn, he committed suicide. Despite the way both Maxon and Charles turned out, Robert became a success.
In many ways, this film is an image of an inverted American dream. Their father was a marine in the Second World War. He wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps - become a marine, be virile, manly, responsible and punctilious. He wrote a book entitled 'Training People Effectively.' The family grew in 50s suburbia and in the ferment of sexual repression and rigid social mores. Following the horrors of the Second World War, youngsters were subjected to a tawdry image of American suburban happiness and conformity. This partly led to the rebellion of the sixties and the psychosis of Robert's art. And Crumb's father was horrified when he saw how his children turned out: shy, nerdy, maladjusted and strange.
Another issue raised about the films is: is Robert's work art or porn? Several talking heads are featured and they take divergent views. The most notorious is the art critic Robert Hughes, who bombastically compares Crumb to Brughel and Goya. Other voices reject the racism, the nastiness and the misogyny. One dissenter mentions an overwhelmingly disturbing cartoon involving incest. It features a 1950s nuclear family. It has all the qualities of satire but, the critic argues, Crumb is getting off on his material and ended up producing porn. What they all agree on is that he is very technically gifted.
They interview Crumb's wife, who says 'he draws his id.' We should take Crumb as a portal to the dark side of its subject and accept that what we encounter isn't always savoury. It is a masterful study of a broken home, a tormented artist, the vagaries of sex and porn and the therapeutic function of art.
Monday, 23 February 2015
Causal narratives
The outlook of a classicist aesthete is that all events in a work of literature must be causally determined. They would also argue further by saying that literature must also follow the same spatial and temporal laws as the real world. Any divagation from these spatial, temporal and causal laws is a divagation from literature itself. You have not produced a novel or a story in the true sense of the word - you have produced a Frankenstein monster.
Should this really be the case? First of all, we don't even perceive reality in a logical way. We are, in the Kantian sense, limited by our 'possible experience.' We have to limit ourselves to what we know. If a writer were to depict 'the thing in itself' - i.e. direct experience - he is actually being disingenuous. All exercises in naturalism are failures. You cannot methodically recreate the entire of reality. As thinking subjects, we experience bits and pieces of reality. Our impression (or 'phenomenon') of reality is coloured by our idiosyncrasies and our own personality. When I perceive reality, I don't see all causal changes in space taking place. Literature should therefore focus on the subjective perception of reality - the individual perceiving space in time. Even efforts at naturalism end up producing the same thing as it is impossible to recreate a total impression of reality or even society.
Literature, then, should not follow this classical assumption. It can assiduously break these assumptions. Works of literature can even follow different spatial, temporal and casual laws of the real world. Objects can move randomly across different points in space; there can be temporal ellipses; events can occur without being causally determined.
Dreams aren't narratives. They are just random images which we later later construe as narratives once we are awake and lucid. Can't novels replicate the kind of irrational processes experienced in dreams? In dreams, all of these classicist laws are broken. Dreams have always appealed to writers since antiquity. Whilst in texts from antiquity dreams appear to be divine interventions, in modernist literature they heighten the sense of subjective consciousness and 'apperception' ('individual experience').
There can be other frameworks. For instance, in Juan Rulfo's Pedro Páramo, all the characters in the novel are dead. As a result, a universal clock which determines time is lost. All we have are vestiges of memory which appear. These aren't causally determined - events from different epochs appear at different points of the narrative. The novel is like wandering through the ghost town of the book - as you roam about, different ghosts seize you and divulge their past experiences.
The novel I have started (and which I really hope to dig my teeth into once term is over), Planet Zhelanie, also has a different framework. All spatial and temporal laws are determined by the consciousness and memories of the individual. Moments which appear evanescent in fact last for millennia. Events are either sequential or circular. They are rooted in time rather than space. It is a vindication of Berkelian idealism.
Causal narratives, then, should be rejected. The most stimulating thing about literature - especially novels - is that anything is possible and that anything can happen.
Should this really be the case? First of all, we don't even perceive reality in a logical way. We are, in the Kantian sense, limited by our 'possible experience.' We have to limit ourselves to what we know. If a writer were to depict 'the thing in itself' - i.e. direct experience - he is actually being disingenuous. All exercises in naturalism are failures. You cannot methodically recreate the entire of reality. As thinking subjects, we experience bits and pieces of reality. Our impression (or 'phenomenon') of reality is coloured by our idiosyncrasies and our own personality. When I perceive reality, I don't see all causal changes in space taking place. Literature should therefore focus on the subjective perception of reality - the individual perceiving space in time. Even efforts at naturalism end up producing the same thing as it is impossible to recreate a total impression of reality or even society.
Literature, then, should not follow this classical assumption. It can assiduously break these assumptions. Works of literature can even follow different spatial, temporal and casual laws of the real world. Objects can move randomly across different points in space; there can be temporal ellipses; events can occur without being causally determined.
Dreams aren't narratives. They are just random images which we later later construe as narratives once we are awake and lucid. Can't novels replicate the kind of irrational processes experienced in dreams? In dreams, all of these classicist laws are broken. Dreams have always appealed to writers since antiquity. Whilst in texts from antiquity dreams appear to be divine interventions, in modernist literature they heighten the sense of subjective consciousness and 'apperception' ('individual experience').
There can be other frameworks. For instance, in Juan Rulfo's Pedro Páramo, all the characters in the novel are dead. As a result, a universal clock which determines time is lost. All we have are vestiges of memory which appear. These aren't causally determined - events from different epochs appear at different points of the narrative. The novel is like wandering through the ghost town of the book - as you roam about, different ghosts seize you and divulge their past experiences.
The novel I have started (and which I really hope to dig my teeth into once term is over), Planet Zhelanie, also has a different framework. All spatial and temporal laws are determined by the consciousness and memories of the individual. Moments which appear evanescent in fact last for millennia. Events are either sequential or circular. They are rooted in time rather than space. It is a vindication of Berkelian idealism.
Causal narratives, then, should be rejected. The most stimulating thing about literature - especially novels - is that anything is possible and that anything can happen.
Monday, 16 February 2015
Business fundamentalists
Business is the bed-rock of any economy. I grant that, by all means. However, what we find now is a certain type of what I call business fundamentalist who goes further. A business fundamentalist would say that business dictates the economy. The role of the state should be minimised to its most basic core - to restore law/order, policing and to protect the country from foreign attack. States do not determine anything. On the contrary, markets control the economy.
What we are increasingly finding with this creed is that they want to apply business strategies to all practices and discourses. Now, I understand that if you have a company you might want to use strategies to sell clocks, furniture, food, etc. etc. What I think should not happen is what currently takes place - the marketisation of public services. In addition to this, many public services (the railways, the postal services) get privatised and become another competitor in the market.
Although the NHS is a public institution, it does very much feel like a private enterprise. If I want to book an appointment (I seldom do because I have a chronic fear of doctors, but that's beside the point), I have to ring up before 9am in the morning and no later. A public service like the NHS should be open at all times to take on all inquiries. Although it is a public service, it very much feel like it works under free market lines. Although it is free, the way appointments are scheduled and the way rotas work, it is organised like a business.
The same applies to education. Students are taught to pass exams so as to boost the rankings of the school. Teachers are encouraged to follow the curriculum and to divagate as little as possible from it. Higher education is in an even sorrier state. Universities are effectively shopping centres. They charge astronomical fees - the current fee is £9,000 - and is now effectively private. Despite these fees, they often deliver courses that are substandard. They seem to have clubs and dance halls than libraries stocking books. (To be honest, I find it mind-boggling why a university needs a club or a dance hall - try to telling that to the next guy you see here.) Universities should be imparting wisdom and knowledge. Instead in their little course descriptions, they write about all these 'skills' you will acquire for the workplace. A presentation in a seminar is less about the creative inquiry and discussion than a grooming for your next pep talk at your first business. There are more and more business courses at universities - I would insist that they have no place on a university campus. Instead of teaching classics and grounding you in critical thinking, universities principally drill you with all these business strategies and 'skills'.
The 'business fundamentalist' is getting away with a lot and he knows it. I am not an admirer of Miliband, but I think he has every right to take on vested interests. It's mind-boggling when Miliband castigates corporations for dodging tax that the Labour is branded as 'anti-business.' Since when have the Labour party taken such a stand? It is not acceptable for business conglomerates to base their premises in Luxemborg and not to pay tax. It is even less acceptable for Conservative politicians like Lord Fink, and other protegees surrounding Cameron, to keep bank accounts in Switzerland and avoid tax. Miliband has every right to take on these vested interests. By doing so, he is not being 'anti-business.' He is only labelled as such because papers like The Times and The Daily Telegraph support the Conservatives. It sounds like its heresy when he is pointing out the obvious. It is mind-boggling how everyone bears the brunt of austerity whilst major corporations and major politicians open up these Swiss bank accounts to avoid tax.
As I said before, a thriving business is the bed-rock of any economy. It should stop there. Business surreptitiously poisons anything else. I find that the marketisation of the arts is also having a malign effect. (Compare this with publicly funded art and see where the difference lies.) A businessman knows nothing about engineering, so why should he pontificate to an engineer about the design of something. It is almost as the businessman thinks that everything is within his means. Everything is being debased for the contemptible need to amass more and more capital.
What we are increasingly finding with this creed is that they want to apply business strategies to all practices and discourses. Now, I understand that if you have a company you might want to use strategies to sell clocks, furniture, food, etc. etc. What I think should not happen is what currently takes place - the marketisation of public services. In addition to this, many public services (the railways, the postal services) get privatised and become another competitor in the market.
Although the NHS is a public institution, it does very much feel like a private enterprise. If I want to book an appointment (I seldom do because I have a chronic fear of doctors, but that's beside the point), I have to ring up before 9am in the morning and no later. A public service like the NHS should be open at all times to take on all inquiries. Although it is a public service, it very much feel like it works under free market lines. Although it is free, the way appointments are scheduled and the way rotas work, it is organised like a business.
The same applies to education. Students are taught to pass exams so as to boost the rankings of the school. Teachers are encouraged to follow the curriculum and to divagate as little as possible from it. Higher education is in an even sorrier state. Universities are effectively shopping centres. They charge astronomical fees - the current fee is £9,000 - and is now effectively private. Despite these fees, they often deliver courses that are substandard. They seem to have clubs and dance halls than libraries stocking books. (To be honest, I find it mind-boggling why a university needs a club or a dance hall - try to telling that to the next guy you see here.) Universities should be imparting wisdom and knowledge. Instead in their little course descriptions, they write about all these 'skills' you will acquire for the workplace. A presentation in a seminar is less about the creative inquiry and discussion than a grooming for your next pep talk at your first business. There are more and more business courses at universities - I would insist that they have no place on a university campus. Instead of teaching classics and grounding you in critical thinking, universities principally drill you with all these business strategies and 'skills'.
The 'business fundamentalist' is getting away with a lot and he knows it. I am not an admirer of Miliband, but I think he has every right to take on vested interests. It's mind-boggling when Miliband castigates corporations for dodging tax that the Labour is branded as 'anti-business.' Since when have the Labour party taken such a stand? It is not acceptable for business conglomerates to base their premises in Luxemborg and not to pay tax. It is even less acceptable for Conservative politicians like Lord Fink, and other protegees surrounding Cameron, to keep bank accounts in Switzerland and avoid tax. Miliband has every right to take on these vested interests. By doing so, he is not being 'anti-business.' He is only labelled as such because papers like The Times and The Daily Telegraph support the Conservatives. It sounds like its heresy when he is pointing out the obvious. It is mind-boggling how everyone bears the brunt of austerity whilst major corporations and major politicians open up these Swiss bank accounts to avoid tax.
As I said before, a thriving business is the bed-rock of any economy. It should stop there. Business surreptitiously poisons anything else. I find that the marketisation of the arts is also having a malign effect. (Compare this with publicly funded art and see where the difference lies.) A businessman knows nothing about engineering, so why should he pontificate to an engineer about the design of something. It is almost as the businessman thinks that everything is within his means. Everything is being debased for the contemptible need to amass more and more capital.
Sunday, 8 February 2015
Delta blues
I love razor-sharp, rough-hewn blues. I especially like Delta blues. It often has tinges of gospel and country. A lot of astonishing music emerged in the 1920/30s black America. Jazz became a recognised musical form. What I find especially touching and stimulating about the blues musicians of this era is that it is totally sincere. They were burdened economically, spurned by a racist and bigoted society and they were pariahs. When they sing about being rejected by a woman or not been able to eat, they really mean it. This is completely opposed to the later stylings of blithe white rock. These people come from privileged backgrounds. When they sing about love and loss, it sounds insincere. The blues singers were idiosyncratic. They had their own style on the guitar - they ranged from the rudimentary to the virtuosic - and their voices were gravelly and rough. This is so because they weren't making music so as to sell it and make money. They made music because they had to, or to entertain their community. They often killed people to survive. They really experienced a lot of catharsis. This is totally unlike mainstream rock music (especially the hideous subgenre called 'indie') , who are from middle-class backgrounds and are who are not even steeped in any literature or introspection. The burgeoning underground rap/grime scenes have a lot more vitality than a lot of mainstream rock for the same reason that the delta players had vitality.
Spoonful Blues - Charley Patton
Patton apparently was the progenitor of slide guitar, when he decided to slide his knife over the fretboards. His songs are about fistfights, murders and abuse. This song is apparently about cocaine. It brims with passion!
Death Letter Blues - Son House
Son House was the pastor of a church. There is often a sense of being communal in his songs (i.e. songs like 'Grinnin' on your Face'). His songs were often sang a capella. His style on the guitar is unique - it is very rhythmic and he uses his hands to tap on it. His voice is unique.
Jesus Make up my Dying Bed - Blind Willie Johnson
Blind Willie Johnson has become one of my favourite musicans - from any genre. He was blinded after his mother threw acid at his face aged seven. Out of these four players, he is the most accomplished on the guitar, dexterously sliding from note to note, chord to chord.. He sang gospel songs. He was always tormented by guilt and regretted not being a committed believer. When NASA sent a satellite containing a record of music on earth, they included BWJ song (alongside Bach, Beethoven, etc.). When the sun burns out and this planet is no more, I find it incredibly comforting that his song 'Dark was the Night' will still be orbiting the galaxies.
Gallis Pole - Leadbelly
This song is about the fear of being hanged. Leadbelly cries out about being 'hanged on the gallows pole.' These were every day realities for many impoverished blacks. Leadbelly strums on his guitar and produces a gnarled knot of notes. Leadbelly's songs are often closer to country. It was subsequently ripped off by Led Zeppelin
Spoonful Blues - Charley Patton
Patton apparently was the progenitor of slide guitar, when he decided to slide his knife over the fretboards. His songs are about fistfights, murders and abuse. This song is apparently about cocaine. It brims with passion!
Death Letter Blues - Son House
Son House was the pastor of a church. There is often a sense of being communal in his songs (i.e. songs like 'Grinnin' on your Face'). His songs were often sang a capella. His style on the guitar is unique - it is very rhythmic and he uses his hands to tap on it. His voice is unique.
Jesus Make up my Dying Bed - Blind Willie Johnson
Blind Willie Johnson has become one of my favourite musicans - from any genre. He was blinded after his mother threw acid at his face aged seven. Out of these four players, he is the most accomplished on the guitar, dexterously sliding from note to note, chord to chord.. He sang gospel songs. He was always tormented by guilt and regretted not being a committed believer. When NASA sent a satellite containing a record of music on earth, they included BWJ song (alongside Bach, Beethoven, etc.). When the sun burns out and this planet is no more, I find it incredibly comforting that his song 'Dark was the Night' will still be orbiting the galaxies.
Gallis Pole - Leadbelly
This song is about the fear of being hanged. Leadbelly cries out about being 'hanged on the gallows pole.' These were every day realities for many impoverished blacks. Leadbelly strums on his guitar and produces a gnarled knot of notes. Leadbelly's songs are often closer to country. It was subsequently ripped off by Led Zeppelin
Sunday, 25 January 2015
Astral Weeks
Astral Weeks by Van Morrison is one of the few albums constantly hailed as 'the best of all time' which thoroughly deserves the adulation. It sold little upon its release, but has since outsold most of what was on the charts at the time. It is a timeless record and, unlike a lot of rock music, has longevity.
It would still be a stretch to solely call this album 'rock.' It feels more like an amalgamation of Celtic soul, folk and jazz, Van Morrison's lyrics flow like milk, as does the music. The lyrics are suffused with recurring imagery and verbiage. The music ebbs with panache. Van Morrison sings about 'if I ventured in the slipstream, beneath the viaducts of your dreams' which alludes to idea of movement. Musically, motifs reappear throughout the album. The album is so holistic because of the way it fluidly modulates and the way in which it is self-referential. It is not a wad of songs bundled into a nifty little package, which is what a lot of rock records essentially are. Nor is it, as was fashionable upon its release, a gimmicky concept record. In many ways, it is a perfect artefact which reveals more to you the more you hear it.
Many of the songs are narratives. They recount the stories of a transvestite in 'Madame George,' Morrison's infatuation with a woman in 'Ballerina,' a stroll through Belfast in 'Cyprus Avenue.' Morrison called it 'a kind of opera,' yet that still feels perfunctory. The lyrics are poetry, articulated with cadences and musical accompaniment which enhance the sense of awe Morrison experiences. The movement of the music and lyrics are stated appositely by Morrison at one point: 'from bumber to bumber, stepping lightly.'
The session musicians were drawn from jazz groups as well as rock. Van Morrison hardly addressed them and brooded in the corner of the studio. But they really caught onto his songwriting. There are also a number of arrangements which complement the songs beautifully. The addition of the harpsichord adds a sense of wistfulness to Morrison's narration in 'Cyprus Avenue.' The string arrangements add a sense of buoyancy to the lugubrious tones of the bass and the strumming guitar. It is all harmonised, and gells so seamlessly, that it boggles the mind how it was recorded so swiftly. But then, a lot of the best jazz records are recorded quickly. For instance, all the tracks in Miles Davis' Kind of Blue were recorded in one take. Yet the playing and the symmetry, as in Astral Weeks, is so immaculate that one has the impression that there must have been some kind of telepathy involved.
Lester Bangs wrote the following about the record: 'Astral Weeks, insofar as it can be pinned down, is a record about people stunned by life, completely overwhelmed, stalled in their skins, their ages and selves, paralyzed by the enormity of what in one moment of vision they can comprehend.' This is an excellent description of the record. Morrison is expressing a series of epiphanies, or numinous moments which are difficult to explicate in any way other than poetry. In this sense, Van Morrison is very much the J S. Bach of rock. He writes music that consecrates the sacred. Through the non-representative medium of music, and the abstractions of poetry, he expresses a sense of transcendence and awe.
Friday, 9 January 2015
New year's resolution
Come the new year, I told myself that I would write a daily rant on Facebook. It didn't quite work out that way, but I did write a few rants. I wrote 6 of 'em and I have supplemented them with some ramblings/babblings/insights/what-have-you I wrote a few weeks prior.
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