I haven't written anything on this blog for a long time. I suppose I just lost interest, but now seems like a good time to start again. It's approaching the end of my first year of university, a massive amount has changed and I'm in an edgy, electric, creative mood.
My first term was a haze of new faces, of nights out, hangovers, malnutrition, homesickness and depression.
Second term began with a dive. But these problems gradually ironed themselves out. By about halfway through, I was having a whale of a time.
This term has, by and large, been fantastic. Personalities seem to have clashed and come to precarious truces. I have made new friends, people I am friends with because I actually like them, rather than because we were forced together in a 1960s concrete shoebox.
They say that, at university, only a fraction of what you actually learn comes from lectures and seminars, and this certainly seems to be true. I feel like I now know considerably more about myself, and am considerably better off for it.
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
Sunday, 10 December 2006
Gilgamesh
I have just finished reading Gilgamesh, the ancient Sumerian epic . It was phenomenal, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was quite short compared to other epic poems, but you keep thinking about it long after you have read it.
Some of the details are exquisite, such as the description of dead people in the underworld, clothed in garments of birds' feathers, eating earth and drinking clay in perpetual darkness.
Also, I enjoyed (in my cynical way) the futility of it all. Although Gilgamesh clearly discovers something about himself on his journey, the scene where a snake devours the plant that would have brought Gilgamesh eternal life is brilliant. It seems as if the whole epic has been building up to Gilgamesh using this magical plant, and then it is gone, and all that is left is the snake's skin, as it is returned to youth instead of Gilgamesh.
This will certainly be added to my bizarre melting pot of ideas that is growing gloopier by the second. And yes, I probably will write an obscure, brooding poem about those earth-eating men of the underworld.
B.
Some of the details are exquisite, such as the description of dead people in the underworld, clothed in garments of birds' feathers, eating earth and drinking clay in perpetual darkness.
Also, I enjoyed (in my cynical way) the futility of it all. Although Gilgamesh clearly discovers something about himself on his journey, the scene where a snake devours the plant that would have brought Gilgamesh eternal life is brilliant. It seems as if the whole epic has been building up to Gilgamesh using this magical plant, and then it is gone, and all that is left is the snake's skin, as it is returned to youth instead of Gilgamesh.
This will certainly be added to my bizarre melting pot of ideas that is growing gloopier by the second. And yes, I probably will write an obscure, brooding poem about those earth-eating men of the underworld.
B.
It's been a long time
It's been a long time since I last wrote on this blog. I have been incredibly busy trying to sort out the minutiae of life, and have been feeling pretty damn miserable along with it. I think that for some people, writing things like this would have been a release, but I have felt unable to manage it. Still, I am back now, and on my holidays, so I will have to do something with my copious free time.
I'd like to thank Wooden Plank for leaving the first comment on my blog!
Bookworm.
I'd like to thank Wooden Plank for leaving the first comment on my blog!
Bookworm.
Tuesday, 28 November 2006
Social Obligations
I must be one of the few people at uni to say "Oh, I really should go out tonight." Yes, I have an essay to finish, but I haven't been out with my floormates for ages - they might have even forgotten how bad my dancing is by now.
But, as you can tell from this blog, I am in tonight, not out. I just can't be bothered with all the effort. To be fair, I did have four hours of solid teaching, followed by a dash home and a very quick meal before heading down to the bar to check out the hustings for the Junior Common Room Committee. So, I can't be bothered to go out a-dancin'.
Yours lazily,
B.
But, as you can tell from this blog, I am in tonight, not out. I just can't be bothered with all the effort. To be fair, I did have four hours of solid teaching, followed by a dash home and a very quick meal before heading down to the bar to check out the hustings for the Junior Common Room Committee. So, I can't be bothered to go out a-dancin'.
Yours lazily,
B.
Monday, 27 November 2006
Tomato Soup
“Blood is only blood, after all.”
So. Pour it down the sink,
Pour it on the desert floor,
Pour it on the bones of a man
Dead for a thousand years.
I wrote that poem after pouring a bowl of disgusting tomato soup down the sink. I was feeling pretty down anyway, but the soup just finished things off. It meant I actually had to cook. Still, is there any excuse for something that sounds so teen angsty? It's still something I'm struggling with. I suppose the answer is just to keep reading, to understand how other people express these things.
Tired tonight,
B.
So. Pour it down the sink,
Pour it on the desert floor,
Pour it on the bones of a man
Dead for a thousand years.
I wrote that poem after pouring a bowl of disgusting tomato soup down the sink. I was feeling pretty down anyway, but the soup just finished things off. It meant I actually had to cook. Still, is there any excuse for something that sounds so teen angsty? It's still something I'm struggling with. I suppose the answer is just to keep reading, to understand how other people express these things.
Tired tonight,
B.
All work and no play
It's amazing. I actually did some work today. Despite my best procrastinatory (is that a real word?) efforts, I wrote 1000 words about motivations to violence in Shakespearean England. Exciting, no?
I also attended a lecture, resolved to watch Black Books on Youtube and played the guitar a lot. I am trying to refine my acoustic version of 'The Mercy Seat' by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, but the walls between the bedrooms are really thin, and I don't want other people to hear my amateurish vocals. I don't mind them hearing me play the guitar, because I am reasonably good at that, but singing is a leap into the unknown.
Talking of which, we're going carol singing around town soon. Methinks a couple of Yuletide whiskeys might be in order before that.
Cin cin,
B.
I also attended a lecture, resolved to watch Black Books on Youtube and played the guitar a lot. I am trying to refine my acoustic version of 'The Mercy Seat' by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, but the walls between the bedrooms are really thin, and I don't want other people to hear my amateurish vocals. I don't mind them hearing me play the guitar, because I am reasonably good at that, but singing is a leap into the unknown.
Talking of which, we're going carol singing around town soon. Methinks a couple of Yuletide whiskeys might be in order before that.
Cin cin,
B.
Sunday, 26 November 2006
Invocation
Ripped sharply from the edges of sleep,
I hear the crowds beneath my window.
The sounds inside the room die down,
Flare up, then stop.
As if in some ancient tapestry, the moon,
The stars devour your skin.
The grass eats your soul,
Every blade takes a bite.
I read of scarecrows,
Guarding the cliff top fields,
But now they are gone.
The mariner’s seagulls have flown,
And the first frost creeps on the window pane
Like a quiet invasion of tiny stars.
B.
I hear the crowds beneath my window.
The sounds inside the room die down,
Flare up, then stop.
As if in some ancient tapestry, the moon,
The stars devour your skin.
The grass eats your soul,
Every blade takes a bite.
I read of scarecrows,
Guarding the cliff top fields,
But now they are gone.
The mariner’s seagulls have flown,
And the first frost creeps on the window pane
Like a quiet invasion of tiny stars.
B.
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