Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
I learned from reading the entry for potpourri in Wikipedia that, "(w)hen mixed, you need to enclose the mixture in a bottle or jar, and let it sit for a few weeks. Towards the middle of the weeks, the soon to be potpourri may smell rotten. If you wait a little while longer, it will start to smell better, so don't get discouraged or disappointed." (I particularly relish, and appreciate, the encouragement to fend off the ravages of clinical depression.)
And so it goes that necrotic pots and gentrified stinkiness head up this blog entry -- the result of my search for an excuse that might unify my disjointed thoughts.
There is this notion in linguistics and lit crit -- about the process of voiding words, terms, implications, insinuations. It is recuperative, the voiding of terms, the emptying of cloying traditional meanings. (This is how, according to the insightful inhabitants of the Ivory Tower, the signifier nigger is being... reclaimed and rehabilitated. Isn't all this pseudo-intellectual crap grand?)
I am going to take a break -- now that I have obliterated the notion of tastefully deployed, pretty and soothing potpourri, this message square becomes clean space for the odds-and-ends of my poor brain and its pitiful, pitiable expressions (of life).
If you knew me? You'd be laughing, too. As it is, you probably have shivers and goosebumps. Anyway... I am going to wash up, change my antibiotic i.v. bottle, and maybe try to sleep some. After, I will be potpourri-ing all over the damned place.
Early experiments showed that untrained humans were able to tolerate 17 g eyeballs-in (compared to 12 g eyeballs-out) for several minutes without loss of consciousness or apparent long-term harm.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Believe it or not -- and, likely, you do not, given my latest postings -- I don't think that videos and photos are sufficient to a blog.
Fred sent me a link to this YouTube video last night. Neither one of us can figure why we had never heard of this... event -- before. Late to the party and irrelevant, I nonetheless found myself belatedly typing away as if something might depend on it beyond my own sanity, outrage, and sadness.
This is a remarkable piece of footage that chills the soul. Knee-jerk leftist-leaning liberal that I am -- because real socialism is not available in a ready mix formula here in the states -- I respect the authority of police and believe, à la Anne Frank, that "(d)espite everything... people are really good at heart."
Usually, tossing in a laden quote from such a heavy source as Anne Frank translates as nothing short of cheesy -- and mightily lazy.
But I think I can pull it off here. The "ceremon(ies) of innocence" are so well documented, by the diary, by surveillance film, that assignations of guilt and innocence should be rote and incontestable.
Thesaurus.com claims these synonyms for incontestable: hard, inarguable, incontrovertible, indisputable, indubitable, irrefutable, positive, sure, unassailable, undeniable, unquestionable.
And yet, in both cases, all we really know is that the principles are dead -- and only in rereading do I see the double entendre, that ethical rigor is as much absent to these situations as mercy or justice, individuated or girded by systemic approbation.
Oh, big words, grand thoughts.
In this video, Michael Pleasance is murdered by police officer Alvin Weems.
When I read about the ensuing cover up, scary in its extent and practiced nature, I found myself humming Dylan's Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll. (Really! Not a song I normally reference, it had been recently in mind due to the title of my post about Evan Tanner.) Most of the lyrics, I remembered, but not the all important last strophe wherein William Zantzinger faces the judge and is sentenced to six months for Carroll's murder.
When so much has gone so wrong, we all would like to be able to isolate the blame and forget that an ultimate necessitates a penultimate. When so much has gone so wrong, we forget that no event is discrete.
You who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face,
For now's the time for your tears.