Today I have had a sort of bum day. I've tired myself out with doing too much and having a really rubbishy cough. So I missed all my seminars today and went to the doctors, and they gave me amoxicillin (500mg- one capsule to be taken 3 times a day for a week). So hopefully I will get better. I went to the St John's Ambulance weekly training session at the University and handed in my 4000 word essay, which were the only productive things to come out of today. Oh, except washing my underwear- I was down to my last pair.
So hopefully the red and orange capsules of magic will make me all better. I'm now just going to watch youtube videos and laze around.
Hopefully I'll post an interesting, thought provoking, insightful entry soon. My brother is way up on that score at the moment.
Monday, 24 November 2008
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Breathe
Phew! With only 26 hours until this week's end I nearly failed my target before I had begun. I'd also like to point out that I almost wrote I will write a blog every week until 2010, but realised my typo and decided it too ambitious given my track record.
I have just returned from a Creative Writing and Art exhibition, of which I helped organise, set up and host. I also submitted three pieces of poetry. My favourite one, which I wrote today is here.
Bibliotheca
Between the lines of words on pages
Captured between the leaves
That brown with age yet do not drop
Except into obscurity,
Are lives and faces Giuseppe Arcimboldo
And Melvil Dewey caught,
Made of paper and ribbons.
All are equal there, pressed and penned-
Bataille, Caroll, and Proust-
By bibliothecal desires, until a hand
Reaches up and is pulled in,
And in a sudden plume of dust
The Word becomes flesh.
So it has been a very busy week, I wrote a 4000 word essay, organised this exhibition, wrote three poems and I still have a lot of work to do.
I nearly had a disaster earlier. I was ironing my synthetic pin-striped trousers, and went to turn the iron down, but I turned it up instead. Yes, they got ruined. But I had a spare pair.
But I am tired, which leads to the logical response of sleep. (S-->R and all that)
Thomas
I have just returned from a Creative Writing and Art exhibition, of which I helped organise, set up and host. I also submitted three pieces of poetry. My favourite one, which I wrote today is here.
Bibliotheca
Between the lines of words on pages
Captured between the leaves
That brown with age yet do not drop
Except into obscurity,
Are lives and faces Giuseppe Arcimboldo
And Melvil Dewey caught,
Made of paper and ribbons.
All are equal there, pressed and penned-
Bataille, Caroll, and Proust-
By bibliothecal desires, until a hand
Reaches up and is pulled in,
And in a sudden plume of dust
The Word becomes flesh.
So it has been a very busy week, I wrote a 4000 word essay, organised this exhibition, wrote three poems and I still have a lot of work to do.
I nearly had a disaster earlier. I was ironing my synthetic pin-striped trousers, and went to turn the iron down, but I turned it up instead. Yes, they got ruined. But I had a spare pair.
But I am tired, which leads to the logical response of sleep. (S-->R and all that)
Thomas
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Trains and Tribulations
Once again I have not been good at updating this confounded blog. I have resolved to do at least one a week until 2009. So here, I hope, is to the first of many.
On Tuesday I had to survive the six-hour journey to Aberystwyth from Southampton. It may not seem tough, but it was. Every four stops or so, until Birmingham Newstreet, I had to listen to the less than enthusiastic announcement of ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the shop is open. We serve a range of hot drinks: tea, coffee, cappuccino coffee, Americano coffee, mocha coffee, late coffee, decaf coffee, and hot chocolate; as well as soft drinks and alcoholic drinks; hot bacon rolls; and snacks and sandwiches. I look forward to serving you.’ By some child-catcher after twenty years on cigarettes and Bourbon, the adults are lulled by—not cherry pie and lollipops—the promise of caffeine to keep us going through the many hardships endured while sitting on a train. If the coffee (crap coffee, crap and froth coffee, crap and froth and chocolate sprinkles coffee) wasn’t enough, then the booze will take the edge off. Heaven knows, then, as to why they sell decaf coffee.
Before anyone wishes to commence a train journey they should go through a stringent health check to see whether they’re up to it. First you have the frotteur, who is inevitably a man wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses and is standing next to where you are sitting. He lets others pass him by leaning against you and rubbing his groin against your shoulder. Then there is the excessive-elbow-man, again wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses, but this time of a rather larger build. You have been quite comfortably sitting in the window seat until this man throws his large bulk against you and appropriates the armrest from you. He then proceeds to read a newspaper (usually a Daily Mail, anyone who reads a Daily Mail on the train is a likely offender), ruffling it in your face and digging his elbows into your side. There are a multitude of train related sins and trials the everyday traveller has to put up with. From the loud chatty women, the annoying ring-tone that just keeps ringing, and the pretentious reader (someone was reading Foucault on my train. Mind you, I was reading Virginia Woolf), to name a few more. And, of course, there are a lot of men wearing suits, blue shirts and glasses.
On Tuesday I had to survive the six-hour journey to Aberystwyth from Southampton. It may not seem tough, but it was. Every four stops or so, until Birmingham Newstreet, I had to listen to the less than enthusiastic announcement of ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the shop is open. We serve a range of hot drinks: tea, coffee, cappuccino coffee, Americano coffee, mocha coffee, late coffee, decaf coffee, and hot chocolate; as well as soft drinks and alcoholic drinks; hot bacon rolls; and snacks and sandwiches. I look forward to serving you.’ By some child-catcher after twenty years on cigarettes and Bourbon, the adults are lulled by—not cherry pie and lollipops—the promise of caffeine to keep us going through the many hardships endured while sitting on a train. If the coffee (crap coffee, crap and froth coffee, crap and froth and chocolate sprinkles coffee) wasn’t enough, then the booze will take the edge off. Heaven knows, then, as to why they sell decaf coffee.
Before anyone wishes to commence a train journey they should go through a stringent health check to see whether they’re up to it. First you have the frotteur, who is inevitably a man wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses and is standing next to where you are sitting. He lets others pass him by leaning against you and rubbing his groin against your shoulder. Then there is the excessive-elbow-man, again wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses, but this time of a rather larger build. You have been quite comfortably sitting in the window seat until this man throws his large bulk against you and appropriates the armrest from you. He then proceeds to read a newspaper (usually a Daily Mail, anyone who reads a Daily Mail on the train is a likely offender), ruffling it in your face and digging his elbows into your side. There are a multitude of train related sins and trials the everyday traveller has to put up with. From the loud chatty women, the annoying ring-tone that just keeps ringing, and the pretentious reader (someone was reading Foucault on my train. Mind you, I was reading Virginia Woolf), to name a few more. And, of course, there are a lot of men wearing suits, blue shirts and glasses.
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