He also was mad...

Today I learnt that in order to have a great, a new or revolutionary thought you also have to be mad. I learnt this at university, in a Cultural Studies class, so it has to be true.
This is a great shame because I've always wanted to be an inspirational and revolutionary kind of person.

(I've not really thought about how I would actually go about that, but meh, details)

It is also a little scary because when i was in my teens and early twenties I had this rather odd desire to be labelled clinically insane, because "it would explain alot"

(I dont think I ever really thought that one through either)

... moving right along ...
We were looking at Avant-Gardism. Yes, Avant-Gardism, its very, very cool, to just stick "ism" on the end of things in order to avoid a slightly more complicated sentence, such as: We were looking at aspects of the Avant-Garde movement in art and literature.
(As a side note, yesterday, when discussing Avant-Garde literature, linguistics and metafiction with my mother - and no, we aren't nerds at all! - she came up with the term "Hornyism", which I find highly amusing)

Anyway, we were looking at Avant-Gardism, and it turns out that every influencial Avant-Gardist (thats my word), was also mad.

First to be put on the list was Ezra Pound, "the contraversial American poet because he was a fascist .. and also insane."

Next we skipped back to de Sade, as a Forerunner of Avant-Gardism (an Avant-Garde Avant-Gardist?), we were given this introduction:
"What can we say about him? He was a late 18th century aristocrat who was also a bit of lunatic"

and then there was Nietzsche who was "hostile to the church and morality [and] he also went mad"

I actually felt kind of let down when Freud, who was the next person referred to, didn't have his sanity called into question. But that is ok, I already knew he was a madman.

I knew this moment would come...

I knew this moment would come and that I would cave in and post a poem or other piece of my creative writing. It isn't new, I wrote it last November, and it is already posted on Facebook. But I suddenly remembered it the other day, and then remembered how much I liked it, so I why not bring it out again!

Infidelity

The taste in my mouth
Is pure filth.
It creeps up along
The back of my throat,
Coats
The roof of my mouth.
This thickness cover me,
I feel like my tongue
Is swelling.
Why did I persist
And endure two thirds
Of this dirty flirtation.
Why did I not listen,
To the infinitely wise
To the voice inside me.
I should not have done this.
Not been so weak,
Not here. Curse you,
London, Paddington.

I knew
It would be like this.
I knew
I didn’t want it.
Just habit,
Just something to do.
Should have said no.
Then there would be
No dry mouth.
No creeping, crawling
Remorse.
No scratchiness, no bitterness.
Should have known
It would be a let down.
Should have waited
Till tomorrow
Waited to be satisfied
With real coffee in Soho.

9:29am, Wednesday
4th November 2009

On the 9:00 train from Paddington to Bristol Temple Meads,
Somewhere near West Drayton.

These last few days I've been thinking over the concept of forgiveness. Yesterday I was walking home from the hairdresser and I just knew that when I got home I had to read Hosea. I had this overwhelming feeling that there were things I needed to be reminded of and lessons I needed to relearn and that Hosea would be the starting point.
I've been struck once again at just how vast, and amazing the love and forgiveness of God is, and of how much I want to emulate those characteristics.
That is all.

from Hosea 11...

When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. The more they were called, the more they went way; they kept sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took them up in my arms, but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of kindness, with bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them.
They shall not return to the land of Egypt, but Assyria shall be their king, because they have refused to return to me.
The sword shall rage against their cities, consume the bars of their gates, and devour them because of their own counsels.
My people are bent on turning away from me, and though they call out to the Most High, he shall not raise them up at all.
How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my burning anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and not a man, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.

you'll find there are many who'll wed for a penny...

...who'll wed for a penny, there are lots of good fish in the sea, there are lots of good fish in the sea...

repeat, one time with feeling and with chorus: you'll find there are many... etc
repeat in the sea, in the sea, in the sea (ad nausem).

Oh no, more G&S, and direct quoting at that, and its only post 3. This is terrible, truly terrible. Somebody let those men out of my head.

But seriously, tonight I come home from Mikado rehearsals (and singing the above lines)and find myself ranting about the economics of weddings. There was no real need for this. I was sitting down calmly eating a corn thin covered with butter AND peanut butter and drinking a small glass of Muscat (actually quite a good combination), and something was said that was somehow connected to weddings and who should foot the bill, and well... that just got everything going.

Its a curious feminist double standard that even the most forward thinking girls expect their parents to pay for the wedding. Do we expect parents to pay when their son gets married? And what if one lot of parents think they should pay 50-50 regardless of if its their girl or boy child getting married, but the other lot don't want to pay a cent? And lets, for a moment, consider if the couple in question are not 21, but are in their late twenties, or their thirties and have jobs, and perhaps earn more than their parents, do mum and dad still pay? Goodness, so much theorising could be done...

I of course launched into plans for my hypothetical wedding, and I am very good at planning hypothetical events, I am well on the way to holding a degree in Hypothetical Event Creation, thanks to MQ (no, i'm not bitter).
I explained how my hypthetical wedding would not fall victim to ridiculous wedding politics, but would be low-level fuss at low-level cost, (somebody quote me on this if I ever have to plan said hypothetical wedding) not only because this seems the most rational option, it also seems to be the option least likely to prevent post-wedding-depression.

However, as it is, i do not have to do any such planning, and so have no need to worry about crazy diets and fitting into multi-thousand dollar dresses, so I caved into my overwhelming desire to eat fatty food and loaded up another corn thin with an even thicker lyer of butter and peanut butter than before, and all was well with the world.

G&S jeans

27 years ago I was on stage in The Mikado before I was born.
(the woman in question -naturally- was Pitti-Sing and the man was Ko-Ko... )

20 years ago my brother was on stage in The Mikado before he was born.
(He again was Ko-Ko, She was now Yum-Yum...)

9 years ago, this pattern changed, as my mother embodied the miracle of lovliness that is Katisha and I made a less-than-memorable (except for my act 2 pigtails/antennae) appearance as Peep-Bo.

[ there were no babies. ]

and now after a rather diverse selection of outfits last year, from the red floosey heels of Hedy LaRou, to a 1960s Sicilian who has never heard of sleepwalking, to a rather angry Helena in pink tights and a short denim (authentically Essex) skirt, its time to get back into my G&S jeans (perhaps my G&S genes?).

Although, i'm thinking that perhaps as Pitti-Sing, I should probably trade in the jeans for the denim skirt... the Essex girl skirt. I think She'd like that sort of look.