Violence!

Eye-catching title, eh? To be fair, I won't be spending a whole lot of time discussing violence today. I finished reading some works by Stendhal recently, and while I found 'Armance' to be quite the frustration, Stendhal's shorter works were something different. I enjoyed 'The abbess of Castro' and 'The Cenci', which were shorter stories full of violence and heartbreak. I also found I was mistaken concerning why I wanted to read Stendhal's works. He says little to nothing about class structure, and I was grateful for that. I found at times that he was a little abrupt with his endings at times, especially where 'Armance' was concerned. Just when I was starting to warm up to the story, it ends with a dull clap and you don't get much of an ending. 'The Cenci' gets a special nod for its amazing portrayal of a commanding mafioso (admit it, that's what he was!) dude who ruled his family and his community with an iron fist.
Ever since I first heard about 'Walden Two', I've been trying to get my mitts on some B.F. Skinner. A known fellow among the psychological community, I've also heard of his deadly 'Skinner Box'. A man of many mysteries, eh? I started into 'Reflections on behaviourism and society' yesterday, and it's going a little slow right now. On the other hand, I already have a quote I want to eventually add to my meagre collection. Kind of funny, as he mentions acedia, and I was just reading about that not long ago. Some sort of sign that I'm on the right path? I don't think I'll be able to find 'Walden Two', though I will look a little harder soon enough. For now, I'm going to get through this book and then take a nice break with Tennyson. I fear that this entry is pretty short, but I have to check on supper and other things.
BYE!

Nice times (at last)

Friday was frustrating, with chill winds and enough rain to be depressing. Some of my lunch regulars didn't help matters any, which decreased my mood even more. And then my ankle decided to rebel, which reduced me to a whimpering mass of librarian. That last one was more my fault than anything else, as I spent much of the morning and afternoon running after students to get their books back. Adolescents can be incredibly annoying, especially when they get demanding. Okay, I've spent much of this weekend harping inwardly about this, and Monday is just around the corner. At least this group of regulars will be on their way at the close of June (YAY!) Anyway, the weekend has lifted my spirits quite a bit, with good weather and no adolescents to drive me up the wall. My Dad's B-day is next week, so we treated him to dinner on Saturday. Next year will be a milestone birthday for both Mom and him, and I already have to wonder what Nat and I will get him. Of course, there's Nat's B-day still to come, but not until this summer.
Speaking of summer, the plan's afoot and Mom and I have gotten everything worked out for our upcoming trip to B.C. The flight's been booked, the hotel's been booked, and the rental car has been booked. It still does not feel real, though I suspect that it will the closer it gets to July. I probably will not do much in the way of posting anything during the trip itself, but rest assured there will be pictures and the like once I've returned. I should decide pretty soon as to the books I wish to bring with me. Speaking of books, I'm wading back into French matters with a study of Stendhal, followed by a half dozen of his shorter pieces. I cannot recall why I so very much wanted to read up on this guy, but I think it has something to do with the Bourgeoisie vs. the Proletariat (of which I was reading a lot about several months ago). I'm a Prole, as far as I know, and I do not think there's any way I could be a Bourgeois. Not in this day and age.
Anyway, I've come to the end of this entry. Thanks and have a great day.

10 years ago #3

May 4, 2001, morning
No dreams to report on this lovely spring morning. However, I do have something to say. First of all, I finished reading this **** book by Robertson Davies the other day. It was a wonderful and enlightening peak into a very distant past. Long-forgotten ancestors caught on film. It’s true that my ancestors lived and had thoughts just as I do. This fascinating book, “Murther & Walking Spirits”, opened up my eyes rather nicely. Robertson Davies was quite a remarkable author. Blessed Presence, ensure for an eternity that Davies is kept safe wherever he may be. Amen. Of course, Robertson Davies is not only thing on my mind. Since January, my nightly practice has been to read the works of Lord Byron. Since January, I have also looked for quotes from his works. I have four at presence. The quotes may not be that moralistic, but I wasn’t looking for morals. Anything that I found to be interesting. Lord Byron could really write. Here is a description of a beautiful woman. Bear in mind that I have trimmed this a little “…seen her long locks that fail the painter’s power; her fairy form with more than female grace…” Somehow, that description grabbed me. Here’s another quote I liked. Again I have trimmed this one. “…to teach man what he might be or he ought: If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught.” A condemnation of Humanity. Well, I’ve rambled on enough. I will close for now. SYS.

The Davies love lives on. I really should read more by Byron. Thanks for your time.

On the Literary Front #8

I thought at first to pen a tender farewell letter, laden with wistful meanderings and softly bitter laments o'er unrequited love against my cruelly manipulative beast of a Muse. My core is neither soft nor innocent enough to have such leanings, however, and I'm not as heartbroken as I expected to be. Nothing lasts forever, and there may come a time when I will find myself again wrapped warmly in the Muse's powerful embrace and enchanting smiles. For now, I stand on the outside, journal and pen in hand, catching what pitiful scraps I may and doing what little scribbling that I can. Wow, I'm tearing up already. No, not really. Actually, driving home from dinner with the Parentals, I had a few thoughts about my ties to the Muse and how the ties were pretty much gone. I have spoken quite a bit in the past that I am a slave to the written word. Since the summer, I have pretty much given up on writing. All literary projects are stopped for the time being, since Inspiration and I are not in sync at all. Several false starts have gone nowhere, and I gave them up.
These literary projects. I have been in thrall to them since I was 13. Perhaps the Muse was just getting tired of guiding me through this or that story, knowing I have little talent or courage for follow through. This is a new theory, however, and I need time to examine it. Actually, I had another theory that came to mind the other night. Care to hear it? I could possibly be a mimic of some sort where writing is concerned. Throughout my childhood and my teens I read mostly Fantasy. A trilogy of novels (or novellas? Hard to say.) was born from these experiences. Then I started branching out, venturing into Mysteries and books on matters spiritual, as well as scores of classics. From this exploration came a Mystery story that might've gone well if I had not listened to the writer-in-residence for that year. For the last few years, I have been pretty deep in Philosophy and Spirituality, which kindled in me to write some sort of story. This has resulted in numerous false starts (a first draft of the first book is somewhere on my computer, I think) and frustration to spare.
The only literary project I have made much headway on is my Journal Project, where I have been typing my journals out and saving them to file. Someday I will not be able to read my handwriting, so it makes sense. This year or the next I'll be working on transcribing one of my journals from the early 00's. But I digress. I have come to understand that I may not have a whole lot of something inspired, but I can mimic very well. But a snag has risen. I have been reading a variety of genres these days, but nothing I can concentrate upon beyond musings in my diary, so there's little chance for mimicry. I have nothing as a result. This has been my piece on being a mimic and my final thoughts on the Muse. This is not to say that I am done with writing altogether. I still have blogging and my ongoing scribbles in this or that journal. And there may come a time when I have something original and inspired to say. Things happen in cycles, right? Thank you for your time.