The Rhino in the Library

*Really Clicky, did you have to use that photo? It’s not exactly hanging straight…*

Following the death (and global outrage at the manner of said death) of Cecil the Lion I’ve been listen to some talks by Wes Cecil on philosophers. Merovee’s Viktor put me on to him.

Before delving straight in, I sought a review.

Wes Cecil is another favorite of mine when it comes to introductory philosophy courses. Cecil is a philosophy professor at Peninsula college and focuses on the biography and work of a different philosopher with each lecture. What I especially like about him is the fact that he treats major philosophers from many camps: analytic philosophy (Ludwig Wittgenstein and Bertrand Russell), pragmatism (William James), continental philosophy (Jacques Derrida, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Nietzsche), existentialism (Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beuvoir), and even christian mysticism (Simone Weil). Cecil has a wonderful sense of humor and gives even the most seasoned theorist a new way of explaining the significance of these major philosophers to just about anyone. I thought of including Cecil’s lectures here because of how many times I have quoted his Jacques Derrida lecture in attempting to explain Derrida’s significance to linguistic philosophers. Trust me, these a great.

Buoyed up by that, I decided to start with Nietzsche as I was a little familiar with him.

*Thanks Clicky! Have you got the link to the talk? The review is not wrong…*

After a slight diversion, and having the day off today, I decided to hear all about Bertrand Russell…

… Who I had not looked at before, and his protégé, Ludwig Wittgenstein…

… Who I was slightly familiar with through fiction…

*I know Clicky… /sigh… Still libraries do carry tomes and someone, some day might want to check it out…*

*Good point, Clicky! When push comes to shove I’ll be able to check it out again for myself in the future… Got a song to round it off, Click?*

When the Music’s Over? Good Vibrations…

Musical discussion at Frank’s place today…

*I know, Clicky! Do you reckon Jezza Clarkson got a vibe with the selection of that image? I’d posted my hand-made version in both the Red and Blue Universes… Shit! have you clocked the times on each of those posts? 17/07/15 at 1.37pm and July 23rd 2015 at 7.31pm… Mirror Franks, MIrror 137 timings. Cllcky… /fingers tremble… I had no fucking idea I’d done that…*

*I didn’t say you did… /squint…*

Prog’s post and GaryK30’s reply prompted me to look up Beethoven because he was deaf…

A large collection of Beethoven’s hearing aids, such as a special ear horn, can be viewed at the Beethoven House Museum in Bonn, Germany. Despite his obvious distress, Czerny remarked that Beethoven could still hear speech and music normally until 1812.^[50] Around 1814 however, by the age of 44, Beethoven was almost totally deaf, and when a group of visitors saw him play a loud arpeggio of thundering bass notes at his piano remarking, “Ist es nicht schön?” (Is it not beautiful?), they felt deep sympathy considering his courage and sense of humor (he lost the ability to hear higher frequencies first).^[51]

As a result of Beethoven’s hearing loss, his conversation books are an unusually rich written resource. Used primarily in the last ten or so years of his life, his friends wrote in these books so that he could know what they were saying, and he then responded either orally or in the book. The books contain discussions about music and other matters, and give insights into Beethoven’s thinking; they are a source for investigations into how he intended his music should be performed, and also his perception of his relationship to art. Out of a total of 400 conversation books, it has been suggested that 264 were destroyed (and others were altered) after Beethoven’s death by Anton Schindler, who wished only an idealised biography of the composer to survive.^[52] However, Theodore Albrecht contests the verity of Schindler’s destruction of a large number of conversation books.^[53]

*Just like the comment threads we frequent to converse in, eh, Clicky? It’s literally like I can hear their voices…* 😉

There is a film, called ‘Good Vibrations‘. It is about the power of music. Shiny recommended I watch it and I’m so glad because I witnessed a man have an epiphany, well several…

*Oh bugger! Is that the time. Thanks Clicky… early start in London tomorrow. Damn! I was just getting into my stride… I’ll pick it up tomorrow…*

An Anti-Anti Anthem: Corrupting Lyrics

I thought I’d have a go at creating an Anti-Anti Anthem by corrupting some song lyrics…

*Aww… that’s cute Clicky. Yes it was at Leggy and Broken Girl’s gaff that I’d seen it done before *

Now this may come as shock to some people but I am a smoker…

…And I’m getting a tinsey bit fed up with antics of the capnophobes in public life trying to control my life with their incessant demands, backed by lies and wishful thinking. I wondered if other smokers were feeling the same way. What’s needed is a song…

This is a first attempt at corruption… constructive criticism in the comments is always welcome 😉

An Archivistic Vision: Welcome to the Programme

Earlier this week, coinciding neatly with a just-in-time delivery of memories into the LoL – a faux-leather case, bulging at the seams with promising content, Mrs Reign opened Parliament and recited the new government’s proposed legislative programme for the coming year.

“Have you seen this?” Thoughtful Man said, passing the case over for inspection. It was surprisingly heavy, requiring both hands to guide it to the floor and prevent flattened toes. “That should keep you occupied for a bit”. He was right. A glance at the protruding spines produced a squeal …

*squint*

… and the urge to break out plastic opera glasses. “Programmes! These are all our programmes”. I grabbed a handful and got comfortable …

“Shows, concerts, places of interest.” I looked up beaming, “All the places we went together. I’d forgotten all about these”.

“Of course.” Thoughtful Man managed to keep the ‘harumph’ out of his voice but not off his face. “I keep everything.” He’s not called ‘Thoughtful Man’ for nothing. “I don’t think that’s all of them, but it’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you take some photos and then pick one to focus on.” He handed me a camera and retired to a safe distance.

programmes 2

Where to start? There was a lot to choose from but fortuitously a prompt arrived from A Void at Merovee … Erasure … not the sort proposed by the new government and read out by Mrs Reign … but the campy band and their ‘Phantasmagorical‘ concert that I had to go see twice at the Hammersmith Odeon in 1992.

I’d bought the concert tickets for Thoughtful Man, as his gift the first Christmas after we were married. But as luck would have it, he was travelling that night so I ended up taking Sister Juju. Afterward, as we left the theatre, the sweat rapidly cooling on our hot and tired bodies, we hoarsely agreed “OMG! He has to see it!”

The next day I set about trying to find more tickets, no mean feat considering this was pre-internet days …

Not quite that desolate, Clicky, but I can see why you might think that.

It was the giant, Pip, from work at Big Shop, who unexpectedly came to my rescue …

These tickets were even better than the first, right at the front, but even better than that, we got to have the phantasmagorical experience together …

Jealous much, Clicky?

“Have you finished that yet?” Thoughtful Man reappeared, looking anxious; he knows what a terrible shot I am. He spotted the shiny programme. “Erasure! Bloody brilliant!.” He turned away, leafing through the pages. “I’ll tell you what, have a song.”

Have Sock, Will Travel

Little Sock is small and white. Okay, the sole is grayish – it had been worn by Little Boys – but that’s beside the point. Little Sock is my travelling companion and this is the story of how that came to pass. Dear Reader, it’s actually quite embarrassing…

*Nice job starting that in the right place, Clicky… /pats snouth… You can carry on helping me tell the story…*

It happened a few years ago, one cold, dark winter’s morning…

Laden with old laptop (i.e. heavy) and handbag overstuffed with paperwork, I pulled my big-arse coat close around me…

…and set off up to The Big Smoke for an early morning meeting with senior managers. On the way I did as other commuters do…

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…and so didn’t notice the stowaway sock on my shoulder…

*I do not look like that, Clicky! …/thinks… Okay, maybe during the train portion of the journey…*

From Here to There, Little Sock had a grand view of the journey: train, tube and trot through windswept tunnels and frozen roads. To anyone I passed, it must have looked like I’d taken a direct hit from a great height…

The first time I noticed the stowaway was when I shook my coat off at the other end. Little Sock floated to the floor… In front of the bods I was meeting!

Apparently, Thoughtful Man had everso thoughtfully used my coat, innocently hanging over the banister the night before, as a suitable place to dry Little Sock. The poor thing, having lost its sibling, was still damp after coming out of the washing machine…

*Rude…*

That would have just been an embarrassing story; however, it only happened again less than a week later!

nwy

*Way, Clicky!*

Little Sock, it appears, had got a taste for travelling. Not wanting to give the impression that I’m Big Bird’s toilet again…

…I decided to give Little Sock pride of place in my handbag. That way it could travel with me everywhere…

Stowaway Little Sock at home

*I’m just thankful it was Little Sock and not Little Boots, Clicky…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song 😉

It started with a kick

We got off on the wrong foot, Pepsi and I. She was startled and I was oblivious … it was not an auspicious start …

*Indeed Clicky. How was I to know my attempt to say ‘hello’ would result in her death?*

*Aww … thank you ❤ *

Pepsi was Mother’s cat and they adored each other. She would lie on Mother’s lap as they watched the telly; the rising hill just meant Pepsi had a better view of …

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In the spring of 1967 she was a contented cat. That was until the day the earth moved …

*Ah yeah… No, Pepsi didn’t see it that way …*

*Quite!*

And it got worse for her as the kicking, ninja belly grew … less and less attention was spent in her direction as more and more was lavished on it. She withdrew to the top of the wardrobe and kept a careful watch on proceedings with her glowing green eyes …

When it was nearly time for me to arrive, Father brought home my cot. Mindful of what Pepsi was capable of, he made some provision …

Unfortunately, this was seen as a …

… and boy did she rise to it. The next day dad woke to find the netting ripped to shreds and the cat fast asleep where the baby would lay. He made the decision then, Pepsi would have to go …

*Unfortunately yes, Clicky. He didn’t have time to find a new home for her because I, too, had made a decision … to arrive …*

Pepsi died on the day I was born. Father took her to the vet and the deed was done. I didn’t get the chance to meet her … until later that is …

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As a small child, I would play in my parents’ bedroom, happily babbling away, the way small children do. Mother asked me, “Who are you talking to?”

“The cat.” pointing upward at the empty space on top of the wardrobe. I’m fairly certain we managed to straighten out the misunderstanding between us then, Pepsi and me.

*Thank you for listening, Clicky … have a Song …*

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Category: Music