Big day

Dear All,

Today was the first day of winter and the weather disported itself splendidly, delighting residents of Bristol with a couple of inches of powdery snow. Mister Luke and I went to meet some friends for brunch in a cafe (that's what twentysomethings do to have fun). We had navigated the very slippery and steep path in Horfield Common (the park by our house) and Luke did his best not to laugh when I fell on my bottom - I was distracted by watching dogs and toddlers. We took lots of photos as it was so pretty.



After the social engagements were fulfilled and we had seen all there was to see on Gloucester Rd., we walked home singing Christmas songs and the love-medley from Moulin Rouge. Luke was disappointed that we didn't walk thro' the Common on the way home, so I brought him into the field by our house. You have to climb through a (sizeable) hole in the fence to get in, and then once you're through the patch of trees, there's wide open space and snow. I skipped on in, singing Winter Wonderland very tunelessly. When I turned around to chide Luke for not joining in, he was down on one knee.



There were black trees forming an arcade around him, with all the snow still outlining them. He has very blue eyes (and was wearing a blue scarf and hat) and was holding out a dusky blue box. He told me to come over, and then said, "Elizabeth Cahill, will you marry me?". I can't remember whether I said "yes" first, or kissed him first. We stood around for ages staring at the ring and grinning like loons, until we remembered we were supposed to put it on! 'Tis our first time, after all.



It's not a surprise that he asked, I knew that he had asked my parents for their blessing already, and we've had some chats with them about marriage, but I certainly wasn't expecting it then and there... Hadn't even washed my hair etc., etc. We told Patrick first, as he was home. He gave us big hugs and told Luke that it was alright with him. The rest of the family were equally pleasant and Dad made us a champagne toast. I spoke to Rick on the phone earlier and he said that he can remember when I was born and it got me thinking about what a big day this is. And that it isn't... To explain: I'd already made the decision to say yes, but now this telling everyone and special celebration makes me realise that this is a day I'll remember for a long time. With most things you don't realise that til afterward, so its funny just to be living in a 'memorable day'.

Women in the Renaissance

The Renaissance is a term used to describe the developments of European societies from the 14th to the 17th century. The word Renaissance denotes a rebirth of culture, which in this case means a return to the artistic and philosophical styles of the Greeks and Romans. It took place in a continent that was living in the Middle (or ‘dark’) Ages, characterized by gothic art, Catholicism, feudalism and a lack of education.
The era has positive connotations, but in this essay I will consider whether this period improved the lot of women, by considering if women were free to fulfill the culture’s ideal of a good life.

The Renaissance movement prized a Humanist curriculum - ‘grammar, rhetoric, moral philosophy, poetry and history’. Greco-Roman studies were ongoing through the middle ages but the Renaissance was a shift to considering their philosophies, discourses and artwork, rather than their scientific method. The assimilation of Classical theology led to reconsideration of the man-god relationship, which accompanied the protestant reformation.
Intellectual attainment was replacing righteousness and salvation, and more than one church body was represented in Europe. This dispersal of power lessened the control of religion as a whole – a scientist might be as venerated as a bishop. This new freedom paved the way for syncretism of Greco-roman and pagan reliefs in Christian beliefs, as well as the Neo-Platonist attitude seen in art.
Creative works show the return of contrapposto and natural, emotional depictions of the face and body. They feature everyday life, mythical creatures and gods; in contrast to the flattened, cartoonish, didactic and overtly religious images of middle ages art.

For people in the Renaissance, the humanist curriculum and a love of knowledge meant that the ideal life was one which incorporated studying in many fields. The term Renaissance Men has come to mean polymathics – people with many gifts, who excel in multiple fields. A human should be musically and artistically talented, speak Greek and Latin as well as their mother tongue, and be scientifically minded. Athleticism was also prized, and thought to be part of a well rounded life. Whilst being intelligent and talented, a gentleman was supposed to behave with ‘Sprezzatura’, a humility and detachment from his gifts.
The classic example of a Renaissance man is Leonardo da Vinci for excellence in scientific invention, bio-medical understanding and artistic skill.

Women in the Renaissance were not thought to be a match for the rigours of study, presumed lacking in the type of intelligence needed for higher learning, and without the male capacity for rational thought. This ideology has not been an uncommon one throughout history, and was at this point tangled up with Christian doctrine – the patriarchy and female inferiority was supported by St. Paul’s teaching on marriage and church order.
Women were not educated, and as such, if they worked it was manual labour. However for the most part, women lived at home from the resources of their parents until they married and then become the fiscal responsibility of their husband. A woman ought to possess chastity, modesty, humility, piety, patience, and kindness. The implication of these values was condemnation of women who became famous for skill or intelligence, or who took on political power.

It is unsurprising then that there are no famed Renaissance women. However, in recent years some have claimed Catherine de Medici and Isabella d’Este – either as an example of women succeeding despite the odds, or to suggest that the Renaissance was not as gender-biased as it appears.

As queen consort of King Henry II of France, Catherine de Medici’s patronage of the arts and political power make her an influential figure in this period. She is credited with creation of the ballet through her organization of court productions. In addition she commissioned portraits from artists of the time and took an active role in planning architecture. After the death of her husband, her young sons became the monarchs and she was responsible for deciding whether to negotiate with or persecute the protestant reformers. De Medici disobeyed the gender code in many ways, showing determination and intelligence but doesn’t fit the specifics of a Renaissance man, as she was not personally talented with regard to the arts, literature, or science.

On the other hand, Isabella D’Este, Marchesa of Mantua, does show proficiency and interest in the ways becoming to a Renaissance man. Educated from birth by a liberal father, the Duke of Ferrera, she became masterful in many languages, of which her favorite was Greek. She also collected Roman sculpture. She was a talented musician and wrote insightful letters on religion and politics to prominent figures. Her success in education cannot be attributed to an otherwise empty life, as she was made regent by the state, commanded the city's armies, and negotiated peace treaties, along with giving birth to nine children. She chose to study architecture, industry and agriculture to improve the lives of her populace.

Whilst these examples show that in a minority of cases women could access education and interact with the arts, we must remember that these examples are drawn from the highest spheres of aristocracy and wealth. Because of this, many things would be allowed to them that would be impossible for other women. Their success and freedoms are not a sound indicator of the freedom of their gender.
It is evident that for the most part the Renaissance continued the gender-biased legacy of the Middle Ages and as such hindered females from achieving what the Renaissance Men did. However, as the case of Medici shows, not every person with access to education and art will become as devoted to them as da Vinci and his kind were.

International Monetary Fund

Or, the ‘soft’ way to force capitalism onto developing countries

The IMF is an organization which 186 of the world’s 195 countries belong to. Its original function was as a pool of money which the member countries (who numbered 45) could donate to and borrow from.
Established in 1944, and with the aim of ‘Stabilization of exchange rates’ and reconstruction of the international payment system, the IMF was somewhat a reaction to the Great Depression of the 1930s - the economic scarcity of which unquestionably influenced Germany’s actions leading up to WWII.
Furthermore, at the end of WWII, the European empires were beginning the process of granting independence to their colonies. This meant that newly liberated countries throughout Africa, Asia and South America had to make economic decisions - they faced a choice between state-controlled development, free enterprise development, or a mixed model. For almost all, the IMF would become a lender of funds, an advisor in their development, and a monitor of their progress. It is when acting in these capacities that the IMF is most criticized.
Since the late 1990s, the IMF has focused on ‘reducing poverty’. It provides loans to developing countries, with ‘conditionalities’ – terms of contract - claimed to enable the country to pay off their debt quickly, and to develop their country in terms of technology and infrastructure. Money is loaned to the government of the country who must use their political power to channel economic development in a certain direction, or in the IMF terminology, enact ‘structural adjustments’. The structural adjustments favored by the IMF are the steps toward a capitalist structure of economy.
When these countries were part of an empire, they were exploited for their raw goods. The means of production were mining, farming, foresting etc, under the overseers’ authority - who were European, or nationals complicit with the authority for status or financial reasons. By limiting education in the country, colonial owners maintained this hierarchical social/power structure. These relations of production were directly linked to the political system. For the most part, property and industry was removed from ownership of individuals and chiefs/lords – the pre-colonial feudalist system was overcome by the desire of the colonizer to profit from ownership of the country. Goods and labor were sold for low prices, so the European countries were guaranteed the resources they needed, and they had a market to sell their excess product to.
After liberation, once a government was in place, they needed to plan an infrastructure which would enable their countries to grow, organize the labor of the country and have enough money to put their plans to action.
- In a capitalist model of development, land and resources would be privatized – sold to individuals or companies. This generates some revenue for the government. As the countries have little capital, most of these businesses and individuals will be from the West. To be more attractive to foreign investors, the countries must not regulate their actions, or tax them too heavily. For example, the company can do what it wishes with the product. This means that they are under no written obligation to re-invest in the country. Within this model, an employer or business owner need only act in his own interests – which are to maximize profit.
- In a state-owned economy, the government retains control of land and resources, and becomes manager of industry. Again, a developing country will struggle with lack of capital, and taxation is not useful when the population is unemployed. To meet this problem they may receive loans from the IMF or World Bank, grants from individual countries, or agree to partner with businesses on particular ventures. In ideal circumstance, the government will act in the interest of the population.
- In a mix of these two models, the country could select some areas to privatize, and retain state control of others. They can use revenue from the initial sale of resources and taxes on the private industry to invest in public services.
After political independence, many countries in the world are economically dependent on the west. The Profit Motive of private businesses remains - to use developing countries for cheap labor and resources, and as a market for their products. As such, many businesses would be better off if developing countries did not become self sufficient, produce enough food and manufacture goods for their own needs, or have a well-regulated labor system. Furthermore, it is better for corporations if the developing countries do not restrict or tax imports, as this limits their markets, and if they privatize their institutions (education, healthcare) then foreign business investors could compete for those contracts. In other words, it is in the economic interest of the businesses of the western world for poor countries to develop into capitalist nations, provided they remain little threat on the global market. This last could be insured by, for example, charging them extortionate interest on loans taken out and fixing exchange rates against them.
Since independence, the mode of production has changed little in developing countries: Many people work for foreign businesses, who get cheap labor there, but are not bound by any conditions & contracts to stay there if the workers begin to unionize or minimum wage requirements increase.The labor of the country is in the same employment sector. Their main exports continue to be raw goods. These have a relatively low value as all the developing countries are selling the same cash crops. The colonial mode of production has been maintained, with the titles of the overseers and profiteers changed.
The IMF has had a significant role in the directing of these events, as the conditionalities attached to their loans are removing state control, and implementing the capitalist model. Specifically they advocate: reduced trade barriers and protection of domestic industries, concentration on raw good export as opposed to service industry, currency devaluation, non-unionized labor and removal of subsidies.
The IMF interacts with several groups intended to hold it accountable, which vary in their impartiality: the G20 and G8 may share many of the capitalist sentiments the IMF is accused of; the internal watchdog may have its hands tied, and the think-tanks tend to be funded by interested parties. The Independent Evaluation Office, however, has the chance to be more honestly appraising of the IMF’s functioning.
One of the criticisms in the past has been the IMF- imposed structural adjustment programs (SAPs), which are contracts contain the conditionalities mentioned above . This has led to the introduction of Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers, which the governments of countries borrowing money draw up themselves, showing changes they plan for their country. The similarities in the content of SAPs and PRSPs suggest that the IMF is still very much involved with the policy-making process.
The power that the IMF has over individual governments is concerning in itself. They cannot claim to be without opinions about what is best for a country, or that they don’t use their influence to achieve it. It is interesting then, where they do draw the line - they continue to fund military dictatorships, particularly those using Western corporations for their gunrunning needs.
These disparities between the latent and manifest function of the IMF are a result of the conflicting interests of Western corporations and developing countries. The IMF acts on the behalf of the former by using its financial leverage with the latter.

Bibliography

International Monetary Fund official website: www.imf .org
‘IMF challenged on accountability, governance’, article on Bretton Woods Project website: www.brettonwoodsproject.org/art-561807
‘Structural adjustment a major cause of poverty’, article at: www.globalissues.org/article/3/structural-adjustment-a-major-cause-of-poverty
Exploring Africa website: http://exploringafrica.matrix.msu.edu/students/curriculum/m9/activity8.php
Wikipedia pages on IMF and Structural Adjustment

Lightening up, settling down.

I think so, anyway.


I live with my best friend Helen in a room at the top of a house. We've hung some pictures, bought some candles, and we share eachothers' clothes. In the mornings, she wakes first and puts on the tiny coffee pot. With her contacts out, in the blurry room she moves gently and gracefully, so that the first sound I hear is the jumps of the drops as they hit the warmed base.

Showers are taken downstairs in the bathroom we painted bright yellow. It is crisp and fresh. There is a teach yourself swedish book on the white shelf by the loo. I like to read the phonetics whilst I drip dry, and soundlessly, obediently, mouth the alphabet.
It's not really a quiet house, but it is peaceful.

Either side of our room, live Gavin and Liz. Liz (yes, of course, our names get confusing) looks like a mix of Audrey Hepburn, and Katie Holmes, but with bigger eyes. She seems serious and shy first of all, but is peppy and strong and has a loud, fun, laugh. She has made funny cushion covers for our living room, from mens' buttondown shirts. They are on pillows from sofas, so large that leaning against one is like having a cuddle from a giant friendly dad.


I do miss my dad. The last time I saw Wade- Helen and Luke's dad- I felt this pang of needing mine. Wade had just spent some time in Bristol, so it was as if the essence of my dad had been left on him. They might have sat out in the garden, last warmth of summer keeping them in shorts. I like to look at this picture.


Gavin is Liz's boyfriend, or she is his girlfriend, depending on how I arrange this sentence. He is blunt, funny, draws pictures and practises his Irish accent with me.
He comes from a town called Mars. I dont know how to say this, but that's not a joke.



Downstairs live Alison and Trevor. Today, Trevor met the president of Russia. As you will recognise from the below photograph, he is well suited for such tasks. This is actually an unusual amount of clothing to see him in, a more normal day would see him wear various eastern european woolens, and a pair of boxers. He loves to clean and play Animal Crossing.



It is appropriate that Alison is in the kitchen, and wearing something strange. She loves to bake and has fantastic clothes. She does yoga, and goes for late night walks. There is a paper mache baby hanging from her ceiling. It was her birthday last weekend, and we made a special carnival party with bearded ladies, acrobats, and of course she was the ring master!



I'm usually fine, readers, if there are any of you left. I get homesick, I get angry, I get hungry, sad, tired. But that's normal, I think that's how it used to be in England too! The candles are burning low, my dressing gown is incomprehensibly soft.

Good night.

Pittsburgh

Walking from my boyfriend's apartment to his sister and brother-in-law's, I pass along Sampsonia Way, a narrow road with a whimsical name typical of this War Streets District.

On the blocks either side of The Mattress Factory, the houses seem to have been saturated with the spirit of creation housed there. One is dark wood clapboard painted all over with white Chinese letters; small, each the size of a hand, so that the entire thing appears to be a big advertisement or notice. Another house has an installation of three pieces of driftwood, each as long as a man, and carved with even grooves. It's door is glass, with white script running horizontal filling it.

A third house is red brick, and has plaques in place of windows. The upper windows are all memorials. The window to the basement, a thin narrow thing at street level, reads like this:

Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or what you no longer possess waits for you in foreign, unpossessed places. Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities.

I noticed it, and did that awkward pausing foot drag where your body has not yet decided whether to let curiosity win out. My decision to return to the spot of sighting was denounced by a small energetic dog behind a fence.

The rest of the walk I thought about the things that I left behind. This time last week I started a fever, and was throughout the shivers and sweats I was inconsolable in my hatred of America and her food, people, traffic, noises and smells. My well-wishers tried their hardest to bring me little doses of the homeland - blackcurrant jam on toast, Harry Potter read aloud, Classic FM playing all night.
Eventually the pitiful cry came, ' I want my mummy. I want to go home.' Her cool hands, soft but firm touch and lovely smell.

We spent Monday in the ER and several doses of antibiotics later, the cursed infection is dying down. Positivity has returned, along with a huge appetite. Pieroghies* for dinner tonight at the Rock Room!


*Wikipedia has a horrid sounding but accurate description of these as 'half circular boiled dumplings of unleavened dough.' They come stuffed with a mixture of cheese and mashed potato and are often served with onion. A Slavic food, and also very much associated with Pittburgh,

The end of an academic year

(draws near)


This is intended as an informative post.
I'm transferring venues: as of August will be living and studying in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I probably will never learn to spell Pennsylvania, but practice makes perfect.
I have been doing Chemistry in Bath for a year, and whilst I've been academically successful (and socially engaged), the subject doesn't suit my strongest interests. I will be taking a broader range of subjects for the rest of my time in a college, and will pick a major by next summer.

Discordant are these sounds.
Ska sails searing -
through the plaintive piano that murmurs platitudes.
The clock ticks, off beat, and my brother lets out a moan of disgust.
He has discovered your hair in the plug hole.
I open up pages to log into various internet accounts, hoping to connect with friends who are mine alone, who have left messages during my period of hibernation within your heart. Each time I must sign you out first. And this is why the incongruity of these surroundings is sweet. Because you are not here anymore and it is quite right, so, that they are so wrong.

People keep dying

And then like that in an instant the picture is gone and with the jaunty skype signing out jingle I am taunted.
Will he leave me one day like this, alone and staring at a screen pale green? A hospital curtain, a laptop home page.
His mortality haunts me more than my own. He can convince me of his love, but not of its permanence, that it cannot be taken, given to another, or that with the demise of his body it won't fade and wither.
Let this run its time, let us have our fourscore, let me not be left without him, thinking what we could have done with more
time you teaser who now I would rush; but I crave more of you, promise me seventy, a home and a kitchen with voices aplenty.
I don't have anything to trade, I merely remain - yours, sincerely, your slave.


And the truth of curse mixed in with blessing makes me in simple awe of hope, a force-like-blood that is necessary and destructive all at once. It can flood the brain, choke the stomach but without it we are not even walking, much less talking when we get to our final destinations.

All there remains to reclaim is the ground on which I return to continually, when the blood pools and I sink, dizzy, or when it spills out unstaunched I fall to find that God loves, and they love, and I love in return.

Dude, where's my Journal?

My flat mates don't the know the difference between the smells of weed and incense. Isn't it lucky for them I'm here to give them an education in this; and religious divisions, political change, indie music and cooking with pulses.
God, I wonder what they think of me, and if they think of me at all.

I won't be here much longer and as they go house-hunting in the twilight grandeur of Bath, I look up current conversion rates and think about the different life I'll have by Fall. Chemistry is out, kids! My counselor seems to suggest I care to much about what people think of me. I think now about who might be reading this. Do you think I write well? Shall I make a career of stringing sentences? Can anybody these days, though?
I don't know that I want a career. I want a life. Occasional happiness and lots of busyness. To fall asleep each night knowing my mind has stretched, the content sleep of learning. I fear the 9to5 if it's robotic and dull. I can't do the same thing over and over again. If I believe in what I'm doing, I'll work hard.
I'd like to live with the man I love and would be the proudest wife ever. Are prayers and good intentions enough to keep couples together? I recite i-love-you's like a liturgy, something I mean always but imagine the feeling must fade.
Do old married people long for a connection with each other, remember the past, the way I remember the 'passion of my youth' for God. You snigger now, you over 30s? I presume to call myself old. Well in this sense, I have passed the blissful time in which I imagined my fervour could be kept in flame by occasional efforts and didn't know the ache of 'hope' or 'wait'.

But I'd also like to say.

To every atheist who says that this campaign is their chance to retaliate against the hellfire and brimstone messages the church pushes with a message of positivity:*

To stop worrying is not positivity, its apathy.

Being challenged by the improbability of God or otherwise is part of enjoying life.


And where is this wrath of the church? Know thine enemy, people. The churches of England do more in the loving vagueness line, if you were looking for something to criticise. To suggest you are bombarded by propaganda of hatred seems at odds with reality. It's true that Alpha adverts say things like 'If God did exist, what would you ask?' and 'Is there more to life than this?'. Whilst it is possible to find the extremist views of a minority which are divisive, on the internet and on the streets in our cities, these largely false claims make it difficult to take your other perceptions of the world with the respect you deserve.


* I acknowledge they do not all read this blog. Some of them are busy. But they should.

Start the bus

I'm delighted with the Atheist Bus Campaign.

It's bringing our lazy 'evidence' for believing in God to light. This is faith, not a science. We do not have to make it one for it to be a worthwhile part of our lives. I refer to the evidence of First Cause, of Intelligent Design, of Paley's watch, and of Near Death Experiences. I learnt to write these with capital letters in Religious Education class, and each time my insides squirmed with the inaccuracy and danger of calling these the foundations of our spiritual knowledge.
Intelligent design and William Paley's watch argument, which attempt to prove God by focusing on the improbability of our existence, are relics of the 1800s. Theology and reasoning have both moved on. To say that because something unlikely has happened, someone must have forced the odds in its favour is illogical. A die will land on a number below 2, 1/6 times compared to 5/6 times. It can still happen.

When we set too much store by our word games - if everything has a cause, there must be a first cause - we deny God the opportunity to be himself. Choosing to believe in God because you have persuaded yourself it makes sense is a contradiction. The essence of faith is doubt. That may sound like a contradiction too, but to recognise the unbelief that accompanies every increment with which you do trust, is healthy. I have found God to be someone I hope for, more often than something I know. Faith is not a science.

The most famous slogan of the recent campaign says 'God probably does not exist'. Well, it's true. If you base probability on what sometimes seems the most likely given the evidence that we have gathered through our senses; what we see, what we hear. Based upon extrapolation of these findings... we haven't observed any God particles left from when he walked in the Garden of Eden, his interaction with humans has never been recorded. He probably doesn't exist. We don't have any proof. Faith is not a science.

Science is more theoretical and flimsy than we like to let on. I'm willing to work within the boundaries of a hypothesis, as operating like that is a sensible way to gather and make sense of data. And the theory I use is the best we have at the moment. But I've read about radical theory change, and that what we 'know' now may one day be history, giggled at in classrooms, like Rutherford's plum pudding model. So I don't feel that science is sound enough to base my life upon. Something written in a textbook does not make it an immovable fact, for me. If the equation for divine existence was written into the front of my Physics textbook, including the Christ constant 3.77x10E5000, would you believe in it?

If one bases a religious life on arguments, formulae and most-likely-statements, one risks having it all swept away by radical theory change. Theories of evolution develop constantly and creationist creeds seem increasingly endangered. I feel so sad for people for whom this will cause a crisis of faith. But if their faith included the humbling realisation that they knew an incomplete amount about God and his operation, would it be such a stumbling block?

Finally, I would have used exactly the same phrase to get people thinking about Christianity.
'God probably does not exist. Stop worrying and enjoy your life.' I hate being told to stop worrying, it makes me think people are hiding something.

disenchanted

i asked a man to draw a swallow onto me flying into my heart to remind me to hope that I could believe in God. that in time i would get a better understanding of what that meant for me, and a hope that he keeps his promises.

this fucked up world kicks us back over with mumbai bombings and waking up to death not healing. now the very words hope and promise feel like a mockery. the unknowable 'they' told me it would be easy, implied there would be less pain with an eternal perspective. don't for one moment imply this world is not inutterably wrong, no matter how we strive; if we all strove simultaneously.

a mechanics model says, therefore, there is an equal and opposite resistant force. physics models of the universe say there is a tendency toward chaos, disorder. everywhere i see a tendency toward complacency, apathy that angers me until i too become stilled, chilled.

this is where hope matters. what a fucking easy thing to say. it's darkest before dawn. god of the dark places. no; where the hell is he, come, please. let's not take the lazy path and assume god is the orchestrator of what is happening, to me, to my friends. this glossy christmas colored world owns you and you own it. isn't that what you read in the magazines? you have so many choices, and you're so lucky, let's cook an M&S advert dinner and watch a blockbuster film. you are the world.

we're all captivated by this pretty world. I'm trying to tell you that these past few days I've spent seen more of her, and she's a bitch. you won't believe me because one time she said she liked your belt, your hair looks nice like that, and it made you feel good. like a gullible school boy enchanted.

on somnus

usually i seek to feel more intensely, to attain heights, become more animate, stay up late, alert always, louder noise, technicolour. all i want tonight is removal, escape by suction into a vacuum. when i think about vacuum i think of the shrinking and pulling into a small space but in fact in a vacuum one would silently stretch so thin there was none of you and all of you.

life feels dull but i want it more so a sleep we can fall dead into a cold to freeze the blood in our veins a warmth to lull and dull us, something anything to soothe us so i no longer know that raw anger of wound laid bare to desert winds - salves she rubs on it scratch the sandstorm in. this is so wrong so wrong why do we go on.

debussy's my new opium, see how cultured i've become and i'm turning into my mother who in white floor length dressing gown guards the early morning hours of our home. no matter how much exercise i take my brain's still awake as the clock ticks on past twelve. this body complains and stream's of consciousness are bitter, soured. no aspiration to forgotten beauty content to sit in this worldly shit playing rhymes as they file in lines to the wall. their sacrifice my human right to affordable opiates, smother our nerves some more. cells line uterus walls and we rejoice when another is born into this captivity?

Letters

I'm not lazy. When people get famous, their letters always get published. I'm just skipping a stage, and conveniently telling you about life as I know it.


Letter to Adam Dixon, of 24th October

Have I failed you as a friend?
Is there any point in trying to make excuses for not getting back to you?
I was initially going to use the line "I was waiting til I could give a satisfactory answer'', but I think we both know that your message was just buried under a load of facebook crap, and I probably replied to many less worthwhile things. Sorry.
Anyway, moving on. Bath is much better than I expected in the month I moped at home. I am at home on a friday night, which is not usually a springboard for a positive letter-writing session, but I'm feeling nice. Because.. I don't think I'm staying. The more Chemistry I study, the more certain I am that I am going down the wrong path with this one. I'm not ready to specialise; I want to diversify. Really, truly, I want to write. But I'll need things that I know about, to write about, and I want those things to be politics, art, literature and history. I'll always like physics, but synthesis of compounds is not my thing.

I've been keeping myself afloat by rowing, and the visual arts society. Have gotten fitter than I've probably ever been, in just a month, and trying to get sketching skills back on track. Most of the late-night activities don't interest me that much.. But I've seen some good bands, and worn some good costumes. It's not that I've gone off drink, you know I like to party. Just in comparison to the big wide beautiful world it seems sort of a silly way to spend time and money.

Today I met a girl who is Bangalore born and bred. Reminded me that Alicia is heading back, and are you, too? It's strange that it's really not that far away. How do you reconcile the two worlds in your one head?

I have a third world, too. America. Do you remember how I wouldn't ever let people get away with calling all Americans idiots? That's because there's a few of them I'm incredibly fond of; a best friend and someone who's recently been given the title 'boyfriend'. I don't mean to imply he doesn't deserve the name, merely how taken-aback I am that someone should want that word, especially someone who really does know how pathetic I am. By December 18th I'll be over there for a visit.
The continent is also synaptically linked to the course-dissatisfaction in my head. If I moved there to study, this inter-disciplinary plan of mine, could actually happen, let alone be approved of.
I don't want to show my hand so much as to reveal how serious I am, but I think we should record an album together as soon as possible, so our fame will precede my travel.

Write back in depth, please.
Lizzy

Fresh from the Womb

click here for


pictoral representation of the more aesthetically pleasing moments of the last month

Lists

New Academic Year Resolutions:
Or, ways to get through an unwanted year of university


European Cities to visit
Stockholm

Prague

Venice

Bruges

Berlin

Hobbies, Activities or Societies to involve self in
French lessons

Volunteer at a museum or gallery

Rowing Club

Visual arts society

Learn to cook without frying with liberal amounts of ginger and lime juice

suggestions for new lists or pastimes gratefully recieved

Last Night

I dreamt there was a train I needed to catch. I was meeting Georgia on it, like when I travelled from Agra to Delhi, but this time, it was my Dad warning me how imperative it was I catch it; it was the last train of the night.



I left the platform to get chips, from a neon lit multiplex takeaway that seemed to be in a Northern English city, although it was the main shopping road in Bangalore. I used my card to pay but took it out of the machine too soon in my rush, and so fiddled with cash. The woman behind the till was kindly, fat and slow, with bleach blonde scraggly hair and a cratered moon face.

When I returned to the station, the train was there. Most of thee carriages were full, and there were big crowds coming off - so I waited. They dispersed and I shuffled around trying to identify my carriage from the outside. Then the porters were shouting and the train started to move but as I willed my legs to obey their call of "All aboard" they were glued to the floor. It accelerated and I removed my white trainers which are a bit too small and started to run. I thought I'd make it to a door but I couldn't keep up.

I met my Dad and Grandad later; they'd been watching from the waiting room unbeknownst to me. They said I'd missed it on purpose, that they'd seen me check my wristwatch as the train left, and were angry at my nonchalance.



(A tribute to Shaun Love, who always writes up his dreams)

This is reality, Greg (Bristol)

Having been home for a week and a day, I feel in a position to assess reality.
These days have mostly been spent in bed, where thinking is best done.
On the few occasions when I have stumbled blinking outside - or into other darkened artificial spaces, my path has crossed with that of former friends and acquaintances. I say former, not to suggest they are no longer but that I was doubtful of what we would have in common anymore, I don't know if they are of a former life, or real life...
Certainly other 'travellers' give me a dazed slightly mournful smile that I'm sure is mirrored on my face, implying some mutual understanding. Not just that we had a lovely holiday but now we are poor and we have to get jobs before we whisk our relenting selves to uni.. It's that we saw something. More than 'suffering is terrible and universal' or that 'we have it so lucky'.. You can see that on TV if you want to. Its hard to make this sound normal, but its that the places that we can see in pictures are real and you can walk there and eat that food and talk to those people. Because you can know the topography of Iraq from the maps of offensives, and how the famine in Eithopia was precipitaated by climate, or how Muslim women are treated in Saudi Arabia but how much are these just facts to you without ever being within those places.
Now before I come off all pretentious (oh, too late), that wasn't really what I was thinking about under the covers. It mostly cycled around; how am I going to get enough money to afford a laptop so I can play on the internet from bed, are there anymore crisps I can eat, why do I feel unhappy when this is home, why am I signing contracts for a year in university that I don't want to pursue further.
I got out of bed for 24 hours and in that time, got a trial shift in a french restaurant on Glos. Rd. (tonight - wish me luck)and went to our old Wednesday night hangout. I kneww this was a bad idea, guaranteed to compound my depression about all things souless and local. It's always been full of underagewannabeindie's but that didn't use to matter because that was me and everyone I knew. They're very sweet and charming, and I'm not entirely happy that age's over - I found a wrinkle under my eye before we went.
I wish I could say what's different now.. are we more discerning and less awkward or just pretending to be?



(Dedicated to Neni & Bacsi, inc)

Hottie (Agra & Delhi)

Back in the land of chai and thalis:

Two little girls arrived in Delhi around midnight to heat and fights on the street.

One little girl has gone to Agra, to see certain popular mausoleum, and talked into buying rugs. Finally found disposable camera, and have gone crazy. Feel my heart has gone so fast and my eyes been so wide open! I'd forgotten that I can manage in a city on my own. With Sri Lanka's laidback spirit and D&Gs good ideas, I had pretty much floated along these past two weeks.

Speaking of floating - on Monday 11th August I reached an unspeakable age, and those two darling people gave me a beautiful day. They woke me up singing and led me to a bath filled with fresh tropical flowers, overlooking the rainforest. Red and orange and white and purple and luscious green and sky blue (haha). Then a breakfast of pineapple and banana with curd and treacle. Curd is my favourite thing in Sri Lanka, and if you saw my surfer, you would know that's saying a lot. Its creamy and a little bit savoury and smells like babies.. in a good way. Drank fresh coconut water from champagne glasses.

Then there was this bundle of rags, which looked a lot like the hippy clothes Geo had been buying downbythe beach. And I thought Aw, she's giving some to me. Confession - the thought was probably a bit less nice than that. But no... Inside was a shimmering creature, or maybe I was a shimmering creature when I wore her. I'd seen a black dress/coat (debatable) in one of the beach second hand shops. Totally out of place, ridiculous and fantastic. Covered in sequins.. Knee length with sleeves to the elbow. I didn't try it on but I had a feeling. Went back the next evening and it had gone. Georgia and I discussed what terrible tortures we'd inflict when we saw the batch what bought it on the beach.. But long story short, that minx had gone and bought it, and sworn the shop owner to secrecy. I love her.

So now I'll stop these reminisces and get on a train and she'll be sitting there waiting and then in two days we'll be home though I don't know if and why that's a good idea.

Music

I left my generic mp3 player behind, thinking I would be more able to appreciate eastern beats if I wasn't plugged into songs that remind me of home. So for two months, I haven't picked what music I listened to. Such a strange feeling!
However... One of my dear treehousemates lent me his yesterday morning, and I sat for hours playing things I knew and things I didn't. This is something that made me happy. I can't embed it, because I'm a fool.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHNAFRg6jYA