Satyre <$BlogRSDUrl$>

Friday, August 20, 2004

All You who Sleep Tonight

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

-- Vikram Seth

Never been one for poetry; however, I found myself drawn to this slim volume by Seth.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004


For some reason, this man has always made perfect sense to me.........

Though, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride themselves on their diseases, and I do, may be, more than anyone. We will not dispute it; my contention was absurd. But yet I am firmly persuaded that a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a disease. I stick to that. Let us leave that, too, for a minute. Tell me this: why does it happen that at the very, yes, at the very moments when I am most capable of feeling every refinement of all that is "sublime and beautiful," as they used to say at one time, it would, as though of design, happen to me not only to feel but to do such ugly things, such that ... Well, in short, actions that all, perhaps, commit; but which, as though purposely, occurred to me at the very time when I was most conscious that they ought not to be committed. The more conscious I was of goodness and of all that was "sublime and beautiful," the more deeply I sank into my mire and the more ready I was to sink in it altogether. But the chief point was that all this was, as it were, not accidental in me, but as though it were bound to be so. It was as though it were my most normal condition, and not in the least disease or depravity, so that at last all desire in me to struggle against this depravity passed. It ended by my almost believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner on some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last--into positive real enjoyment! Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain; the enjoyment was just from the too intense onsciousness of one's own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into.

And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute consciousness, and with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he actually is a scoundrel. But enough. ... Ech, I have talked a lot of nonsense, but what have I explained? How is enjoyment in this to be explained? But I will explain it. I will get to the bottom of it! That is why I have taken up my pen. ...

Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

It is not difficult to draw parallels between this narrative and that from Camus' The Fall. I find myself sharing the view that a heightened consciousness is nothing but a sign of disease.


I did not know this still existed. I do not know how it can make any sense to anyone other than me.

Monday, August 16, 2004

One and the Same

(Anton Webern, 1883-1945)

No center, no above, no below
Ceaselessly devouring and engendering itself
Whirlpool space
       And drop into height
       Clarities steeply cut
       By the night's flank
Black gardens of rock crystal
Flowering on a rod of smoke
White gardens exploding in the air
       One space opening up
        And dissolving
              Space in space
All is nowhere
Place of impalpable nuptials

(»Lo Idéntico«)

Octavio Paz

From here...

Does It Hold?

For a moment, it struck me that love was where those who have hoarded the past met those with futures to sell.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

Crash Test Dummy

That's two slides in two months. I seem to be getting better at them. My right hand is not marked enough.

Its been seven years since that sequence of eight in six months..........

Running Commentary

It is difficult to identify with any or all of the voices that jostle and joust to occupy centre-stage. Sometimes, its like that game of musical chairs - they all keep going round and round and you end up getting a couple of people sitting on each other's laps. Mostly it is like a ferris wheel with the power switched on and forgotten. Over time one has got used to the noise : White, Gaussian, yet never static.

Which am I? I do not know. The question has lost its meaning.

Another Read

This was nice... for a short novel.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

Thursday, August 12, 2004


Its a bitch of an instinct .... easily threatened and reacts in kind.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Information Overload

The gig commences in right earnest. Now to separate the non-sense from sensory data...............Hmmm.

Saturday, August 07, 2004


Found this as I trawled through the net..........

State of Mind :Puzli

Friday, August 06, 2004


A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers........................Camus

Here's what I've read of late :

The Fall

The Great Arc

All The Names

A Short History of Nearly Everything

And now with.....................

Kant and The Platypus by Umberto Eco

Il Pleut

Dog and man sat outside...........

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