sieze the Carp, e-Diemboy

I earlier recorded my horror and revulsion at the arrival upon our supermarket shelves of ‘Squeezable’ Marmite.

I used some fairly trenchant language, but I didn’t actually use the product itself, and consequently fell into a trap of my own making, a trap that might justly be labelled ‘Snares that await those who adopt a grumpy-old-man attitude.
It is therefore with a measure of humbleness that I have to print this retraction.

For all men were by nature foolish who were in ignorance of God, and who from the good things seen did not succeed in knowing him who is, and from studying the works did not discern the artisan;
But either fire, or wind, or the swift air, or the circuit of the stars, or the mighty water, or the luminaries of heaven, the governors of the world, they considered gods.
Now if out of joy in their beauty they thought them gods, let them know how far more excellent is the Lord than these; for the original source of beauty fashioned them.
Or if they were struck by their might and energy, let them from these things realize how much more powerful is he who made them.
For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen.
But yet, for these the blame is less; For they indeed have gone astray perhaps, though they seek God and wish to find him.
For they search busily among his works, but are distracted by what they see, because the things seen are fair.
But again, not even these are pardonable.
For if they so far succeeded in knowledge that they could speculate about the world, how did they not more quickly find its LORD?

Went out last night for a curry with some of the staff from the Institution where I work. One of them had brought along a houseguest, Mohammed, a Muslim. Just as I do when I’m with my Mohammed I felt a sense of shame and embarrassment. Here was a young man from another culture exposed to a group of so called ‘professionals’ who in theory represent the upper percentile of British society. This quiet lad was exposed to swearing, cussing, jokish remarks about child abuse and sodomy and was reputedly urged to “Go on, have a glass of wine, and go on.”
I hope I’m not being too prudish but looking at our group, or our society from his viewpoint it seemed that we as a society are irreligious, profane and eventually doomed to choke on our own moral filth.
There.
That’s how I feel.

And now a few words on the bookends project.<br>

Things , ideas or projects often just seem to happen! Liv and I were wandering aimlessly through town and passed the Party Shop in Church Lane and saw that the windows were full of Halloween Stuff. I don’t go a whole bundle on Halloween, it raises a raft of issues to do with my Faith that I’d rather not address thank you very much, but the stuff in the shop has a fair proportion of skeleton related stuff. <br>

I like skeletons, in a purely artistic sense that is. I’ve no interest in actual skeletons and my fascination with the Gothic doesn’t extend to having real cadavers as Objets D’art in my house. <br>

Amongst the skeleton related items offered to the Halloween Public were a two-foot semi-articulated Skelton and what for want of a better word I’d call Garlands of skeletons. <br>

Each garland has eight to ten 1/12th scale skeletons whose composition is such that the judicious application of a fag-lighter to the joints enables their limbs to be posed. <br> Hooray<br>

If got one Skeletal Dude rising from the pot-o-sand that joss sticks get poked into. He’s smoking a ‘fat one’ and pointing a tiny little remote control towards the Telly<br>

Skeledude No2 is sitting atop the Mushroom of Illumination., one hand on his noble tortured brow whilst reading from an as yet unmade book. Not sure what the book will be. If anyone actually reads this I’d be grateful for suggestions. <br>

All these things went well and I was moved to try something bigger, but what? <br>

Inspiration struck and I’m almost finished the Skeletal Bookends. One of the pair is Sisyphus (condemned forever to roll a stone up-hill, only to have it plummet to the bottom of the slope), the other is Prometheus, having his liver torn out by A Neagle…. Oops, an Eagle

Skeledude No2 is sitting atop the Mushroom of Illumination., one hand on his noble tortured brow whilst reading from an as yet unmade book. Not sure what the book will be. If anyone actually reads this I’d be grateful for suggestions. <br>

All these things went well and I was moved to try something bigger, but what? <br>

Inspiration struck and I’m almost finished the Skeletal Bookends. One of the pair is Sisyphus (condemned forever to roll a stone up-hill, only to have it plummet to the bottom of the slope), the other is Prometheus, having his liver torn out by A Neagle….oops an Eagle <br>

Photos Follow ( dio volente)

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Photos Follow ( dio volente)

this kinda sums up the whole collapsed marriage thing for me. I quoted it to Helen when she was telling me that my days as a spouse were numbered.



Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

I just decided something. The something I decided was that although I posted a misrablist thing yonks ago about the futility of non-genius level peeps posting their thoughts on any range of subjects, I shouldn’t worry and should post piccies, articles and fragments I’d gleaned of the internet in the hope that people might be led to them by, for instance Google, and that their whole consciousness might be raised thereby. Additonally it’ll be an interesting record of the things that amuse, interest or distract me.

Time then for me to take up my fingers ant type a new entry to this, the most under-rated blog on the World Wide Web.
I’ve thought long and hard about what this contribution should be and I’m led inescapably back to the queue for the concert at St Martin’s In the Field on Saturday. I was in this queue, heading into the Vestibule behind a youngish lad who was wearing a Parka and a baseball cap His dress was to say the least, casual.
‘I hope he takes the cap off’ I thought to myself, with an underlying thought, barely formed about how concerts these days are not the elitist celebrations of middle-classishness that once they used to be.
His girlfriend must have muttered something about removal of headwear because the fragments of dialogue I strained to overhear suggested that he had no intention of removing the hat.
“I’m not religious”
“………Don’t believe in all this rubbish”
“……….Might as well go home now”
And so forth.
I really, really wanted to tap him lightly on the shoulder and say without any kind of intonation“ Dude, loose the hat”, but the queue separated and he went on elsewhere.
What a prat, I thought and then went on to ruminate. Did this stupid insensitive halfwit realise that he could well stand up for what he believed were his rights as a rugged individual and wear his silly hat all through the concert. People would be a little offended, but what the hey, he was really sticking it to the man. People would have looked at him in all his Baseball Capped splendour and thought, “Wow, there’s a guy who’s really prepared to go to bat for his principals, even though it means causing mild annoyance to a lot of people” No-one would have thought him boorish or a lout. Not.

Then of course, reason kicked in and it occurred to me that he might well have been feeling intimidated by the thought of attending a Choral recital in the Capital and was looking for a get out clause.
Ho-hum

This week I have been studying mostly how to get bored, and I have to announce that I’ve been reasonably successful.
I put a lot of this down to correct career decisions, but fate has also stepped in and lent a hand.
In the area of Achieving Mind Numbing Boredom, I feel that nature gave me a headstart by equipping me with
A personality that seems at this late stage to be unable to engage with anything interesting without realising sharpish and quick-time that there is so much stuff that has been done that it’s statistically more than likely that anything I do, anything I think or anything I say has already been done.
Not only has it been done, but usually it’s been done far better and more professionally than I could hope to do it
Accordingly, I feel its unlikely that the Waiting World will ever collectively let its breath out and sigh with relief that I’ve finally got round to writing my radical reassessment of the Paintings of Edward Hopper.
My ‘Bench-themed’ website goes unvisited by me or anyone else
My dream of Lebowski-ing up my blog has foundered on the twin rocks of apathy and indifference.
In fact I only occasionally visit my blog and post to it less often.
When I do visit it I usually check a random selection of other bloggers and to be honest im not interested in yet another Middle Class Housewife with too much time on her hands letting the Waiting World know about how she is coping with the Ironing

In the episode Evolution of the Daleks the sole remaining Dalek, Dalek Caan initiates an emergency temporal shift to escape.
The last time we witnessed a Dalek use this method of escape was in the episode Doomsday, which introduced the Cult of Skaro and which saw Dalek Sec and the other Cult member Daleks shift from roughly contemporary London to Thirties New York. This is a short journey, both spatially and temporally, presumably because of the vast amount of energy such a process uses. Is it possible that Dalek Sec used his superior power to use his Shift Filed to take the other three cult members to the thirties, thus weakening himself to such an extent that his judgment became skewed and he began the ill received human-Dalek hybrid project.
Dalek Caan has the ability to time-shift but as a comparatively low caste, and therefore low spec. Dalek he can only shift a few years and a few thousand miles on the surface of the planet. This leads to the idea that the one place on Earth in the first half of the 20th century most suited to the Dalek philosophy is Germany under Hitlesr and National Socialism and leads me to a chilling vision in black and red with chromium and steel accessories… the Nazi Dalek

So theres this idea that The Big Lebowski is a bowling movie. Sure, there’s a lot of bowling related stuff in it, and some of the more seminal lines of dialogue take place in a bowling alley
Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man

Has the whole world gone crazy? Am I the only one around here who gives a shit about the rules? Mark it zero!
et al.

However I would arge that as we don’t actually see the two main characters actually roll until almost the last scene, that bowling is more of a metaphorical signifier on the movie. It cant be marketed a practical bowling tuition DVD.
So the question remains, If bowling in The Big Lebowski is a metaphor, what is it a metaphor for?

Life in General?

The Artists Struggle?

The Unbearable lightness of Being?

Hoonoze