I'm starting to really regret trying that stunt with the Megan Fox picture now because the amount of hits I am getting is stunning but they all just feck off elsewhere in disappointment pretty quickly and never say hi.. I feel like a used nappy - cheap, dirty and of no further use.
Anyway, here's today's extracts from The Assassin's Cloak. There's three this time so its gonna be a long old post. One is very relevant to yesterday's post, one has historical merit, and one is just funny.
Saw today in an English paper a notice of somebody's journal, recently published, containing a sort of daily account of the year's events described from a personal angle: which led me to reflect that, considering the extraordinary and momentous nature of 'the times', (apart from the fact that this is a quite different type of journal in its intention), these pages contain singularly little reflection of contemporary history. Demonstrations in London, Spain, and Anschluss do appear, but only in passing. It's true that I've lost most of my former interests in politics during the last year, but I've never been at all unaware of, or indifferent to, the things that are going on; and I have a very strong general sense of the present state of the world. I've never altogether been able to decide whether or not I wanted this book to be published some day. I suppose it's not uninteresting to read, but quite what its interest is I find it difficult to say: a record of the late 1930's; or a 'mon coeur mis a nu' sort of confessions? Perhaps not quite either one or the other: there's not enough general contemporary detail on the one hand, and it's not really sufficiently intimate on the other. I've given most of my most 'hidden' self away, I think, but have confessed to singularly little of my factual life, so that the self-portrait, insofar as this is one, tends to be rather too flattering. I ought to force myself to be much more painful about money and love, for instance - In the end, perhaps, the real reason for keeping a journal is vanity or narcissism, unless one is absolutely determined that no one shall read it: which I am not.
I find Gascoyne's extract extremely relevant in the light of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's assertion that writing a journal would make her less vain. Darren queried that in his comment, and I'm inclined to agree with him. Presenting one's thoughts and creativity to the wide world is definitely a little vain, but what kind of arts and culture would we have if the world didn't have plenty of show-offs? Regarding Gascoyne's comments on the lack of wider-world perspective among the journals of the time, I would have to suggest that blogs today follow much the same pattern. We live in interesting times, but most of us aren't really talking about them. o r perhaps people are just being too oblique about it. Personally, I can't even bear to mention US politics right now, out of the morbid fear I have that the idea of a black man and, maybe, a woman running the show might just be enough to spur Middle America to vote in the Republicans again.
My point is, how many of us couldn't hold our hand up and admit that our blogs often fit Gascoyne's self-deprecating "not enough general contemporary detail on the one hand...not sufficiently intimate on the other"? My hand's up.
The whole day made unreal and horrible by the shooting of Robert Kennedy. The senseless mad awful act has resulted in him being operated on, for a removal of a bullet from the brain. Everyone seems utterly stunned by it.
If you are unfamiliar with Kenneth Williams please rectify that immediately by buying a boxset of the Carry On movies or else leave this place in shame. As for Robert Kennedy, I'll be interested to see if today being the 40th anniversary of his shooting gets much news coverage. He died on the 6th. I must admit that his name has never hed any particular resonance in my life, but I recognise what a big deal it was at the time. I rented that movie 'Bobby' once at great expense (fucking Xtravision) and fell asleep within the first few minutes. I bought an incredibly cheap pirate DVD which included it in Tanzania and someone nicked it off me. I'm just not destined to find out what it all meant at the time. I remember when I heard about Princess Diana dying though. I thought my dad said "Mrs. Tyner just died in a car crash in Paris" and I wondered how he'd heard so quickly and what the fuck the old bat was doing in Paris in the first place. True story.
Up early. I went into one of those Korean produce stores and there were about 15 people in there, it was mobbed, and I listened to this guy rave about a pineapple for ten minutes and by the time he was through, I was dying to get one, too.
He was saying, 'I want it ripe and ready! Juicy! Luscious! Ready to eat, right off the bat!' and then I turned around and it was Richard Nixon. and one of his daughters was with him, but looking older - maybe Julie, I think. and he looked pudgy, like a Dickens character, fat with a belly. And they had him sign for the bill. There were secret service with him. And the girl at the cash register said he was 'Number One Charge'.
This post has gone on more than long enough now and there's not too much I can say about this one. I like Koreans. I like pineapples. I like Richard Nixon. I like Andy Warhol, I think.