In Two Minds

If I'd heard the Stones' latest single back in 1972 I'd have thought it brilliant - a stone-cold classic, if a little overly produced. I think much the same today, except the idea of a single as a 'classic' no longer applies, does it? And it sounds a bit too much like the 1970s Rolling Stones. I sort of want them to sound their age, even whilst admiring the fact they've still got plenty of fuel left in the engine.

But watching the video just takes me to another level of confusion. I vaguely admire the edginess of it all, but can't help think they're taking it a bit too far. And the AI generated aspects of it are just doing my head in - as young people used to say. I'm all for not going gently into that good night, but this doesn't seem a terribly dignified way to be raging against the dying of the light.

Out Of Time

It seems a lot's been happening of late regarding the sale of some Swatch watches. This on an international scale, in case you didn't know. This involving people in very long queues sometimes behaving badly. 

Let me tell you, I have no understanding of the phenomenon whatsoever. I'm told it involves someone or something named Audemars Piguet and I'm not proposing to find out who or what that is. Or isn't, for that matter.

A Bad Habit

I make it a habit to catch up on what is happening in the world by checking the headlines pretty much as soon as I wake up. And at weekends there's usually time to read a few stories before the day gets into gear.

But given the downbeat nature of every single item from this morning's news I think it might be time to wean myself away from any desire to find out what's going on and pretend none of it is really happening.

I don't recall things being quite this bad in the earlier decades of my life. But they probably were.  

Out Of Balance

Got to the gym just now for the first time in more than a week and a half. It isn't that I've felt reluctant to go. There simply hasn't been time, and that's not by way of a weak excuse. It reflects the unbending reality of the situation. Which strongly suggests that something's out of wack.

The session itself was uneventful. It started out tough, and stayed so, but I did the necessary. So the hiatus in my attendance hasn't been that much of a set-back. But at my time of life sustaining some basic level of fitness has to be a top priority, and it wasn't for a time. Which isn't good at all.

On The Outside

Sitting drinking a cup of tea in a very brief break from pressing concerns earlier today I suddenly thought of the writer Colin Wilson. As a young teenager I had a real 'thing' going with regard to his works, basically as a result of buying his big book on The Occult. I had an unhealthy interest, indeed fascination, with the subject matter, which I only really grew out of once I left school. Then it all began to seem more than a bit silly - which is somewhat reductive of me, but there it is. But back in 1971 I thought Wilson's chunky tome was wonderful and, looking back, I think I learned a lot from it in a slant-wise manner. And I certain broadened my very limited horizons with his more mainstream stuff after getting hold of a second hand copy of The Outsider.

But what struck me this morning was how true one of Wilson's key ideas is, his notion of Faculty X. It's a bit of a silly name for something that, it seems to me now, lies a bit too deep for words. And as I thought of this notion I was reminded of seeing Wilson on some tv programme of quite a popular nature, I think in the early 1980s, and realising as he presented that he wasn't in the slightest bit bothered about not being a respected 'academic' thinker but was genuinely interested in just being himself and communicating what he thought he knew to others.

And that's what his writing felt like: uncontrived, immediate, curious about the strangeness of it all. And not afraid to look foolish. A mindset worth aspiring to, I thought this morning. And still do at the end of the day.

Not Serious At All

There's always a place for mindless enthusiasm in the great scheme of things. Shouting loudly and pointlessly refreshes the spirit. As long as you don't take what you are enthusing over or enraged by too seriously.

Anyone who's ever been triggered by a bad (or good) VAR decision understands this essential truth.

A Positive Note

Present circumstances are such that it's dangerously easy to moan about my line of work. And moan at considerable length. But I don't think that really helps anyone, least of all me. Venting can be a way of letting off steam, but often it turns into a way of generating even more of the over-heated stuff. 

So I'm now deliberately thinking happy thoughts. And here's one. And it's surprisingly true.

It's very hard to think of someone I teach that I actively dislike, even mildly so, or find difficult to like. Pretty much all the students I come into contact with are pleasantly likable in an unforced way. Even the most irritating - and some do meet that description - make up for it by being funny and goofily good-natured. And endearingly fragile somehow.

All My Trials

All you bardolators out there already know that Will loved a pun on travail (a trouble) and travel (as in a journey.) The words would have had the same pronunciation back around 1600, I'm told, and I'm sure the lousily muddy roads between Stratford and the capital played some part in the conjoining of the terms in the great dramatist's (and sonneteer's) mind (there's a lot of this particular pun in the poems, I seem to recall.)

But this is just to say that had he been alive today and experienced the journey, as we did yesterday, from Alor Gajah, down the North-South highway, through the border crossing at Woodlands to this Far Place, he would have thought the same way. It was a travail and a half, I can tell you. And that's all I will say. For now. 

Togetherness

I was a tad reluctant to set off on our weekend jaunt to Melaka, to be honest. This had nothing to do with the nature of the event or the company it would involve, both of which were pull factors. Rather it concerned the sheer non-negotiable amount of work I'm dealing with at present and the lack of any reasonably 'free' time during the week, indeed, weeks ahead to get that done.

Now I'm here, I'm very glad I am. And I've managed to cope, just about, with what demanded to be done. Indeed, past experience suggests this is something of a pattern in my life, and a useful one to recall in moments of reluctance to participate in the flow of real, meaningful, rewarding, life.

Real Achievement

I'd been harbouring an uneasy feeling about Carol Rumens's excellent Poem of the Week feature since her regular posting of poems suddenly dried up in late February. So I wasn't entirely surprised when the news of her death and subsequent tributes were posted in the column this week. Astonishing to think how long she maintained what became my favourite regular feature from any online source. And, just think, it could be accessed for free.

It's an odd consolation in what is often a dark world that Ms Rumens achieved this on top of her own work as a writer. But sad that such an engaging and generous presence (even if mediated on-line) is with us no longer.