Avoiding Las Vegas.

I wonder whether anybody has been expecting me to comment on the Las Vegas shooting. I didn’t see any point since I couldn’t have added anything to what I’ve already said about other civil massacres. Except, maybe, to note that Trump’s superficial and juvenile response was entirely typical of the man, and further reason to be sure that he will go down in history as America’s Great Mistake.

Undervaluing the Babe.

I never understood that old pop ballad cliché which promotes the view that no matter how many distressing things life throws at you, everything will be OK ‘as long as I got you, babe.’

Never understood it at all. If life is throwing distressing things at you, you’re still going to be distressed whether ‘you got her, babe’ or not. What difference does having the babe make?

I used to think that the whole silly idea was some typically disingenuous invention of those who write soppy love songs, but now I suspect I never learned the togetherness thing. I could never stand Mickey Mouse even as a kid.

The Oxymoron and Truly Weird.

There was a display of oil filled radiators in one of the discount stores today. On the box it said:

Heats up instantly in seconds.

And there’s an ad on one of my email pages for a range of discounted TV sets. One of them costs £6,499 after the £500 discount. Do you realise what that means? It means there are people in Britain willing to pay £7,000 for a TV set.

That’s the kind of weirdness I have a problem with.

Defending Weird.

I just watched an Indonesian movie on YouTube called TAG Riaru Onigokko. It’s pretty surreal, and all the more enjoyable for so being.

But there’s comment after comment by people bitching about the fact that it’s weird. Well of course it’s weird; it’s supposed to be weird. Conventional plots have their natural place, but why does everything have to be conventional. Why do people so resist being taken somewhere different for a change? Why not just sit back and enjoy the weirdness?

Speaking in Tongues.

I’ve mentioned on this blog before that writers are constantly searching for ways to express themselves which are distinct from everyday speech patterns. Shakespeare, for example, had Macbeth say: tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. He could have said simply: my future is looking pretty bloody tedious. But he didn’t.

So, having become accustomed to this process over the past fifteen years during which writing has been my primary focus, I’ve developed the habit of carrying it over into my everyday speech patterns. And having my very own blog to quote from further encourages the tendency. And that’s why, if Lucy in the coffee shop (remember Lucy?) had asked me today: ‘And how are things with you today?’ I probably would have answered: ‘I continue to strut and fret my hour upon the stage, Lucy, but all I see beyond the footlights is an empty auditorium.’

Now, maybe Lucy is growing accustomed to my weird way of talking and finds it tiresome. Maybe she’s even psychic and knew I would say something along the kind of lines which must sound absurdly pretentious to any normal person. Maybe that’s why she didn’t come within thirty feet of me today. Maybe the auditorium is only twenty nine feet deep. How fortunate that a sad irony can provide material for a blog post.

Unconnected Notes.

I’m currently watching an old supernatural thriller called White Noise and so far it’s reminded me of two things:

As I’ve been discovering over the past few years, it isn’t the growing number of lines on your face which indicates your descent towards dotage, it’s the set of your eyes. They somehow contrive to look more tired, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because your soul is winding down.

More appropriately, it also reminded me of that curious incident about six years ago when my mobile phone mysteriously called my landline while I was in another room. (I think I made a post about it on this blog.) Both phones were on the desk in my office at the time, and the call was confirmed by both BT’s record of my landline and the mobile’s call register. I told the story to three people who know about such things and they all said it was impossible, but it happened. It did. If anybody out there can explain it, I’d be happy to hear from them.

On Being Talked About.

I’ve occasionally been intrigued by the old adage never speak ill of the dead.

I wonder why people say that. Could it have something to do with an instinctive feeling that thought is energy which can be picked up on the other side and trouble the subject? Could it be the fear that the subject will haunt them by way of revenge for the slight? I don’t know, but a little snippet of script occurred to me.

‘What was he like?’

‘He was different, you know?’

‘In what way?’

‘Hard to say; just different. People generally steered a bit clear of him. Always the way with people who are different, isn’t it?’

‘Suppose so. Was he married?’

‘Nope.’

‘Close friends?’

‘Nope.’

‘You make him sound unwanted and unloved.’

‘Oh, he was wanted often enough. He had a few skills. But loved? Doubt it. He wasn’t the lovable sort.’

‘Poor bloke.’

‘He didn’t seem to mind too much.’

I think I’d be quite chuffed if somebody said that about me. I might even haunt them to say ‘thank you.’

Little Critter Matters.

I went through to the kitchen from my office and saw a little beetle crawling across the floor towards me. I often see a little beetle crawling across the kitchen floor and it causes me some consternation.

‘Oh come on, little beetle,’ I said. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t crawl around the floor when I’m up and about. I might accidentally tread on you, then you’d be dead and I’d be mortified.’

(I thought the juxtaposition of ‘dead’ and ‘mortified’ quite clever in the circumstances, but the beetle just looked confused.)

*  *  *

Twilights aren’t the same now that summer has run its course. No moths, you see, just snails. I’m becoming uncommonly fond of snails, but whereas moths suggest Titania and her entourage, snails merely remind me of The Magic Roundabout.

The Shire and Its Visitor.

The Shire was wet and misty today, and through the mist could be seen myriad flashes of red and gold among a landscape that is still mostly green. We in temperate Europe don’t get the spectacular blaze of colour that is New England’s major boast. We in old England are usually treated to a less robust set of signs to mark the turning of the year. The green fields turn brown, the hedgerows drip, and the lanes become muddy as muck spreading and ploughing activities overflow onto them. Cleaning a car can be seen as either especially necessary or pointless depending on how you look at it.

But we did have a visit from Her Most Esteemed Presence today, or at least her family did since I don’t think there’s anything or anyone else in this little domain to pique her interest. Nevertheless, her visits to the environs of my world are of special significance to me because they leave me feeling light-headed and a little nervous. And only one person – apart from me, that is – knows why.

Right on the Rise.

Non-European readers might be interested to know that there are two big news items from Europe today.

In Spain, police are leaving hundreds of Catalonian citizens injured in an attempt to stop them voting in an independence referendum. How often have I said that it doesn’t take much to strip the veneer of civilisation from the denizens of so-called democratic countries? Beating people for trying to vote is something we’re supposed to look down on.

And Austria has finally banned the full face veil. Well, I’m surprised it took them so long. Didn’t a certain Mr Hitler come from Austria? And what’s their excuse for this little piece of mean-mindedness? They say it’s to ‘preserve Austrian values.’ So where have we heard that before? It isn’t even honest enough to justify the term ‘sophistry.’ If I could spell ‘disingenuous’ with three upper case Ds without being thought a stammerer, I would. It’s the classic, effectively meaningless phrase used by oppressive regimes and the rabid right everywhere to justify the ‘die Ausländer’ principle.

I suspect there’s something going on the ‘free west.’ In addition to the above, we’re also seeing the rise of the right in Germany and other European countries, and Trump is in charge of America. I think the real Third World War might have nothing to do with North Korea. I suspect it’s a war about establishing true values instead of nasty, narrow, nationalistic ones.