What Others Were Feeling Like Today #17

1951

One wonders how a nation's intelligence resists the radio. Moreover, it does not resist. The radio is a faucet of foolishness. The only thing I can bear listening to is the sports reporting. The high-speed precision of the speakers. They are forbidden stupidity. Which exists only in the fact that some men are kicking a ball around a field and the whole world is excited by the fact.

Cesare Pavese

It's been over a year since I put one of these posts up, and the previous entry was also from Cesare Pavese (whom I had never heard of before). One can only assume that sixty years ago Cesare and his contemporaries didn't have to suffer through the phenomenon known as 'the co-commentator'. Driving home the other day I caught the end of Liverpool v Swansea City on Today FM. As the home side pushed for a winner Dirk Kuyt thought he had scored, only for it to be ruled out by the offside flag. "Ooooooohhh, I don't know about that," piped up Ronnie Whelan " and it's the female official over the far side, too, so let's just see if she's got it right."

She had, though that is neither here nor there. Being female is not an obstacle to understanding the offside rule, having it explained to you by someone who doesn't understand it either, is. I can forgiven the flagrant abuse of grammar and meaning by football pundits, we've all got used to it. But the sexism makes me squirm for you, Ronnie, you faucet of foolishness.

What others were feeling like today #16

1938

'He has found a purpose in life for himself in his children'. So that they in turn may find the same in theirs? But what point is there in this endless procreation? We care so little about other people that even Christianity urges us to do good for the love of God. Man prefers to punch his fellow man in the mouth, and is such a fool that to give himself an object in life he has to produce a son.

Cesare Pavese

I like this one a lot. Pavese manages to get such a wealth of ideas into a few lines of writing. I haven't been able to find out where the quote he opens with comes from, but while googling the phrase I learned that Usher, that most anodyne of popstars, said much the same thing a couple of weeks ago. Attributing all your 'purpose' in life to your children is a dangerous thing to do, as I see it. Surely it can only mean that you've given up on finding any meaning in your own life and are now only seeking to do so vicariously through your children. Or is it just something vapid that people say? If merely producing humans to produce humans to produce humans ad infinitum is our 'purpose' in life then it is really no purpose at all. I very much hope to have children some day but I'd like to think that even without them my life might have some purpose, and that if I do have them I won't subscribe wholeheartedly to the cult of the child.

Extract taken, as always, from The Assassin's Cloak.

What others were feeling like today #15

Oh, readers! Be ever so thankful that Chancing My Arm does not come in Twitter form. For had I access to a medium that cries out for pithy, pissy observations I shudder to think of the flecks of bile I would have been spraying at my devoted followers this week. And perhaps some delightfully light-hearted observations on the iciness of the Dublin streets this week - ROGC - Rolling on the Ground Crying! Cuz I just fell on my bum again LOL!!!)
But anyway, enough of this tomfoolery. For you didn't come here to read my words, you came for those of Christopher Matthew. Oh yes you did. Did the government have enough salt in his day? How did he feel about Irish blogging? Let's find out.

1977

It may be a little late in the day to start making New Year resolutions, but mine are none the less serious for that. I shall write them down to remind myself:

1. To make some money.

2. To think seriously about getting married - possibly to Jane, but ideally to someone with money.

3. To find somewhere else to live. I am getting too old for this type of flat life

4. To move freely in society. I am always reading in the diaries of the famous how they dined here and lunched there; sat next to this person at table and met that one at the theatre. I see no reason why I should not do the same. My problem is that my life is too often taken up with domestic trivialities, and I allow my time to be wasted by people of little worth and influence. I shall take steps to break out of this little world in which I have become trapped in recent months, and give far freer rein to my personality and talents.

Christopher Matthew (Diary of a Somebody)

What others were feeling like today #14

1869

Old Irish airs on violin. I love Ireland: were she only not Catholic! But would she be Ireland otherwise?

William Allingham

After yet another foul, fetid week in the history of this country a diary entry from exactly 140 years ago has summed things up better than I can. As have Radge and Gimme.

What others were feeling like today #13

Checking my archives I realise that I haven't put up one of these posts in nearly six months. There's a couple of nice entries for today and I have little else of interest to share with you. When I hear back from E4 regarding my strongly worded letter expressing my outrage at their rescheduling of Gilmore Girls so that it clashes with Countdown I'll let you know. For any new readers (and,surprisingly enough, there seem to be a couple recently, which is nice), this is simply a section where I opt out of any creativity whatsoever and simply put up diary extracts for the day in question taken from a book I have called The Assassin's Cloak.

1660

At night my wife and I did fall out about the dogs being put down into the cellar, which I had a mind to have done because of his fouling the house, and I would have my will; and so we went to bed and lay all night in a quarrel. This night I was troubled all night with a dream that my wife was dead, which made me that I slept ill all night.

Samuel Pepys

If the lady and I ever manage to have a row I may well try out the "I would have my will" line on her; it's so delightfully authoritative.

1938

I spent the whole evening just sitting before a mirror just to keep myself company.

Cesare Pavese

Wikipedia tells me that "The typical protagonist in the works of Pavese is a loner, through choice or through circumstances. His relationships with men and women tend to be temporary and superficial."
Cesare, of course, lived in an era before either Gilmore Girls or Countdown had been invented.

What Others were feeling like Today #12

1945

When all seems rubbish that you wrote in this and all your other books - when you have nothing good to show yourself, to give yourself a feeling of delight. What can you do but plough on through thick mud?

Denton Welch

Extract taken from The Assassin's Cloak.

What others were Feeling Like Today #11

1989

The ninety-eight Liverpool fans crushed to death at Sheffield bring back memeories of a similar disaster at Bolton in 1946. We never took a Sunday paper at home but sometimes saw the News of the World when we went down to Grandma's on a Sunday night, and I think I knew at eleven years old that there was something wrong about the gusto with which the tragic story was written up, and something very prurient about the way I gobbled up every word. Today I read very little, and because of being at the theatre see nothing of the live coverage on television. But already the process begins whereby terrible events are broken down and made palatable. They are first covered in a kind of gum: the personal reactions of bystanders, eyewitnesses giving their inadequate testimonials - 'It was terrible'; 'I'll never forget it'; 'Tragic. Bloody Tragic.' - and then wreaths inscribed 'You'll never walk alone.' Then the event begins to be swallowed, broken up into digestible pieces, minced morsels: the reaction of the football authorities is gone into, then the comments of the police, the verdict of the Sports Minister and so on, day after day, until by the end of the week it will begin to get boring and the snake will have swallowed the pig. Then there are the customary components of the scene - the establishment of a memorial fund (always a dubious response) and the bedside visits by the Prime Minister. I find myself thinking, it would be Liverpool, that sentimental self-dramatising place, and am brought up short by seeing footage of a child brought out dead, women waiting blank-faced at lime Street and a father meeting his two sons off the train, his relief turned to anger at the sight of their smiling faces, cuffing and hustling them away from the cameras.

Alan Bennett


Taken, as ever, from The Assassin's Cloak.

What Others Were Feeling Like Today #10

1932

There is a dead and static mouse in the lily-pond. I feel like that mouse - static, obese and decaying. Vita [Sackville-West, his wife] is calm, comforting and considerate. And yet (for have I not been reading a batch of insulting press-cuttings?) life is a drab and dreary thing. I have missed it. I have made a fool of myself in every respect.

Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God?

Very glum. Discuss finance. Vita keeps on saying that we have got enough to go on with. but when one goes into it, that represents only two months. I must get a job. Yet all the jobs which pay humiliate. And the decent jobs do not pay. Come back to Long Barn. Arrange my books sadly. Weigh myself sadly. Have put on eight pounds. Feel ashamed of myself, my attainments and my character. Am I a serious person at all? Vita thinks I should make £2000 by writing a novel. I don't. The discrepancy between these two theories causes me some distress of mind.

Harold Nicolson



1947

What makes daily life so agreeable in America is the good humour and friendliness of Americans. Of course, this quality has its reverse side. I'm irritated by those imperious invitations to 'take life easy', repeated in words and images throughout the day. On advertisements for Quaker Oats, Coca-Cola and Lucky Strike, what displays of white teeth - the smile seems like lockjaw. the constipated girl smiles a loving smile at the lemon juice that relieves her intestines. in the subway, in the streets, on magazine pages, these smiles pursue me like obsessions. I read on the sign in a drugstore, 'Not to grin is a sin.'
everyone obeys the order, the system. 'Cheer up! Take it easy.' Optimism is necessary for the country's social peace and economic prosperity. If a banker has generously lent fifty dollars without guarantee to some Frenchman in financial straits, if the manager of my hotel takes a slight risk by cashing his customers' cheques, it's because this trust is required and implied by an economy based on credit and expenditure.

Simone de Beauvoir

Taken from The Assassin's Cloak.

What Others Were Feeling Like Today #9

My favourite stop-gap, taken, as ever, from The Assassin's Cloak.

1995

Travel back to Dublin. Do the Late, Late Show with with Gay Byrne. For those who don't know, this is the Irish equivalent of Dave Letterman and Jay Leno rolled into one. And it has been running since they have had television in Ireland. I've avoided it for years, because it is the one thing that makes your face known here. As it is, I'm generally confused with Jim Sheridan and complimented for My Left Foot, which is fine by me. actors and rock stars deserve that recognition since they're paid so much. Writers and directors are paid to be anonymous. And halfway through the show I realise that anonymity here for me is gone forever. The interest in this Collins film is turning it into a national institution. My problem now is how to make a film that won't feel like a national institution.

Neil Jordan

Neil Jordan was on the promotional circuit for Interview With a Vampire when he wrote this entry, and had been with Liam Neeson in west Cork the day before to meet the family of Michael Collins (it's a shame I missed the date for that entry, it's all about them getting stuck into pints and pints of Guinness, and also makes mention of Kevin Costner). I'm inclined to think he failed in his quest to not turn Michael Collins into a national institution, given that RTÉ screen it at least twice a year.

What Others Were Feeling Like Today #8

1927

I awakened without a kiss, had breakfast alone, dressed without talk; I had nobody to brush, to kiss good-bye; I am having lunch with Mother, and tonight I will sleep alone again. Am I glad to be alone? Was there anything I wanted to do while Hugh (her husband) is away that I cannot do when he is here? No. I miss him deeply, I have no desires, no joy at my independence; and I feel as if i were half alive. this wonderful life I praise so often seems blank and stupid today. I could do without my mirror, without lovely clothes, without sunshine - none of these things are necessary when I am alone. I did a few things to take advantage of my solitude, sleeping on the left side of the bed, which I prefer to the right, and wearing gloves with cold cream. And then, of course, I was glad to have the bathroom to myself. Usually i have to scratch the door and 'miaow' desperately to be allowed in, and even then I often get a shoe or a clothes brush on the head. Also, I slept in fifteen minutes longer than usual.

Anais Nin


1964

Is my inability to love based on fear of vulnerability & lack of spiritual generosity; or is it the profound belief in the utter hopelessness of human love? I think it is the latter, but it may be the former. I've never once tried. It's almost as if I know it's foredoomed; and yet of course I don't know. One thing is certainly true about me at the present moment: I have no desire for life. Even as I write this, the awful feeling of guilt about such an admission makes me want to erase it. Why on earth commit such a thing to paper? I suppose all diarists are lonely and uncreative people.

Kenneth Williams


Taken, as always, from The Assassin's Cloak.

What Others Were Feeling Like Today #7

I haven't managed one of these posts in ages, for reasons I'm not quite sure of. They haven't gone away though. For newer readers, these are diary entries written on today's date, in whatever year is listed above them. They're taken from The Assassin's Cloak.

1938

Listened to Hitler's Nuremberg speech on the radio. The call to arms permits a facile eloquence, and it is easier to lead men to combat and stir up their passions than to temper them and urge them to the patient labours of peace. the flattery springs from this: that the affirmation of strength contains a permission of stupidity.

André Gide


1946

Two thoughts:

(1) Do not worry too much about the indiscretion, foolishness or banality of what you write. Leave Time to take care of it all - either to kill it and hide it forever, or else to change it in its magical way into something strange and rare and not silly at all. This diary, if it is read at all, will make no one blush two hundred years from now. Someone might blush a little in a hundred years, just as I have squirmed after reading some of Keats's earliest poems this morning.

(2) It becomes more right and acceptable to believe that the other things in the world were made for us to enjoy, if we think that we were made to be enjoyed.

These truisms pounced on me very early in the morning, when I was half in dreamland.

Denton Welch

What Others Were Feeling Like Today #6

1973

Had to do an interview for American TV on the lawns of Shepperton Studios to promote The Homecoming film. ‘Who would you like to be if you weren’t Peter Hall?’ said the interviewer. I have never considered this before. I had to be honest and say that I had no desire to be anyone else at all. I’d like to be a better me, a cleverer me, a more organised me. And wouldn’t mind being a me of twenty-eight knowing what I knew at forty. But the thought of being somebody else is inconceivable. Not because I’m particularly pleased with myself – I just can’t imagine being somebody else. Perhaps you only want to be somebody else when you are very much in love. You want to become the other person.

Peter Hall

What others were feeling like today #5

1965

There has been another high-flown debate in the House of Lords about (idiotic) amendments to the Homosexual Bill, in the course of which Lord Montgomery announced that homosexuality between men was the most abominable and bestial act that any human being could commit! It, in his mind, apparently compares unfavourably with disembowelling, torturing, gas chambers and brutal murder. It is inconceivable that a man of his eminence and achievements could make such a statement. The poor old sod must be gaga.

The Beatles have all four been awarded MBEs, which has caused considerable outcry. Furious war heroes are sending back their bravely-won medals by the bushel. It is, of course, a tactless and major blunder on the part of the Prime Minister [Harold Wilson], and also I don't think the Queen should have agreed. Some other decoration should have been selected to regard them for their talentless but considerable contributions to the Exchequer.

Noel Coward

I don't think a member of the House of Lords could make a statement about homosexuality like that nowadays and get away with it, but I wonder if the view among many high-ranking politicians has changed all that much.
Coward's statement about The Beatles is interesting, given the deification of them in recent times. I suppose it's understandable that some war veterans would view the awarding of the same award to a bunch of hairy musicians as they received for massively courageous acts as a bit of an insult. coward's dismissal of them as 'talentless' is obviously ridiculous, but then there weren't amny more talented people than old Noel. I wonder what he and the war heroes would have made of The Corrs getting an honorary MBE in 2005?

1973

I have decided that the reason one keeps a diary is the compulsion to write something, anything. Secondly, all intending writers are well advised to keep diaries, for pratice, like doing scales. mine are absolutely unstudied. I never pause for an instant to consider whether I write grammatically, or not. No doubt diary-keeping is also a kind of vanity. One has the sauce to believe that every thought which comes into one's head merits recording.

James Lee-Milne

I wonder how many bloggers use their blogs as 'scales' for aspiring writers? Probably quite a few. I started out thinking it might be that way, but I'm not sure anything I've posted so far brings me any closer to being a writer than I've ever been.

What others were feeling like today #4

More extracts from The Assassin's Cloak - the book that saves me from having to think about how I'm feeling today:


1850

Once again I have taken up my diary, and once again with new fervour and a new purpose. How many times is that? I can't remember. Never mind, perhaps I'll drop it again; but it's a pleasant occupation and it will be pleasant to re-read it, just as it was pleasant to re-read my old ones. There are lots of thoughts in one's head, and some of them seem very remarkable, but when you examine them they turn out to be nonsense; others on the other hand seem sensible - and that's what a diary is needed for. On the basis of one's diary it's very convenient to judge oneself.

Leo Tolstoy

Tolstoy, in case you haven't heard of him, was a famous Russian author, whose works include 'War and Peace' and 'Anna Karenina'. If you haven't heard of him you need to stay in more.



I like the idea of analysing and judging oneself on the basis of a diary. Wouldn't most of us come up short? I certainly would. I wonder how many bloggers keep a diary and then harvest the best parts of it for their blog entries. It would avoid the tricky habit of completely pouring one's heart out onscreen to anyone who might stumble upon your site and could act as a kind of quality control. So many of the diarists featured in this anthology express thoughts that frequently run through my head and I find it strangely reassuring to note that a man as great as Tolstoy found that many of the thoughts that occurred to him turn out to be nonsense. He is also something of a hero in the field of beard-growth and this picture confirms that I was right to all but get rid of mine yesterday. Grandad could give him a run for his money though.


1962

Went to park. Full of girls who sit up, bending over their male companions who are lying down, receiving their kissings & caressings. It is disgusting to watch. No wonder Billy Graham thought our parks so foul. but I'm sure Hyde is the worst. There is so much riff-raff living near.

Kenneth Williams

Mr. Williams is somehing of a comedy idol to me, but his life is laced with sadness - including an inability to deal with his own homosexuality, which led to proclaim himself celibate, leading to outbursts such as the one above. Yet it is funny, albeit unintentionally, when he expresses concern for the opinion of Billy Graham, who most likely holds fairly strong anti-homosexual views.

This may, additionally, be the last recorded incidence of anyone using "riff-raff" in a serious way.

What others were feeling like today #3

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.



1938

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.



David Gascoyne

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Gascoyne



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.



1968

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.



Kenneth Williams

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenneth_williams



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.



1982

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'.



Andy Warhol

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_warhol



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.

What others were feeling like today #2

Carrying on from a post I did a couple of weeks ago, here's another extract from the book The Assassin's Cloak: An Anthology of the World's Greatest Diarists. This was written on the 4th of June.



1831


I wonder if I shall burn this sheet of paper like most others I have begun in the same way. To write a diary, I have thought of very often at far & near distances of time: but how could I write a diary without throwing upon paper my thoughts, all my thoughts - the thoughts of my heart as well as of my head? - and then how could I bear to look on them after they were written? Adam made fig leaves necessary for the mind, as well as for the body. And such a mind as I have! So very exacting & exclusive & eager & head long - & strong & so very very often wrong! Well! But I will write: I must write - & the oftener I know myself to be, the less wrong I shall be in one thing - the less vain I shall be!



Elizabeth Barrett Browning



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning



I find this to be an astonishingly articulate expression of what must go through many people's minds (certainly mine) when it comes to putting one's more intimate thoughts on paper, or screen - as many now do. It certainly touches on why my blog is not particularly personal in nature: having to read back upon my own thoughts is bad enough, the idea of others doing it is just excruciating.



I particularly love the line "Adam made fig leaves necessary for the mind, as well as for the body." That is just perfect.



A few years ago I made my first serious adult attempt at a short story, in which I alluded to the feeling of nakedness that comes from writing down your feelings for others to see, and, I think, went so far as to suggest that its almost a form of self-harm. And I mostly intended the thing as a comedy! Today I can hardly bear to read that story, despite the fact that I half-assedly entered it into an online competition at the time. Tellingly, I found it incredibly difficult to show it to anyone I actually knew.



Thankfully, Ms. Barrett Browning obviously found a way to deal with her literary self-consciousness, as 19 years after that diary entry she published this little cracker:



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.



I'll probably be back with another of this type of post tomorrow, as there's a couple of brilliant entries for the 5th and I have fun writing about them.

R.I.P. Ian Curtis

I couldn't really let today pass without mentioning that it is the 28th anniversary of the death of Ian Curtis of Joy Division. I'm no afficionado of their music but I do appreciate the brilliance of many of their songs, the influence they have had on so many bands since, and the tragedy of so much talent passing from us at such a young age. I was going to attach a video of their most famous song 'Love Will Tear Us Apart', but my lack of blogging nous has let me down again.

Its probably in your head already.

What others were feeling like today

Trawling through the copious books in my family home today I found one called 'The Assassin's Cloak - An Anthology of the World's Greatest Diarists'. Given that blogging is, or at least can be, the modern form of diary-writing, I picked it up with great interest. And what a book! An imposing looking tome of nearly 700 pages, it goes through selected highlights form famous diarists for every day of the calendar year. Naturally, I wanted to see what people were talking about on the 14th of May. Here's three of my favourites:

1945(Berlin)
Something dreadful - or eerie is going on all around us. Every house door is locked. You can't visit your firends because no-one opens up to a knock. If you're lucky you run into someone you want to visit on his way home, and after a brief exchange he quickly slips behind the door, which is instantly locked behind him. Why? Because everyone is afraid of Russian soldiers, who try to force their way into homes at every opportunity. Granted, many of them are harmless, but many aren't, and those that just rob you aren't the worst. Above all people are afraid, and rightly so, that they'll rape the girls and women in the house. I wish I could prove that the people who tell stories about these sorts of rapes are liars. But I can't!

John Rabe


1952
A little stirring of sex today. Not much. It occurs to me that, of all the sensual pleasures, sex is the only one which depends partly on reciprocation. That's its power. imagine if an orange said: 'Darling I was just longing for you to eat me. I was so afraid that horrible old man would. He's not at all my type.'

Christopher Isherwood


1989
I find it difficult to write each day, but if I don't I'm swamped with guilt. Where does the compunction come from?
Perhaps I inherited it from Dad - he could never keep still for a moment; even when reading a newspaper he would tap his foot keeping time to silence. Back and forth I go into the garden, like the boy with anorexia who weighed himself every five minutes. At rest, a nervous pit quickly develops in my stomach and overwhelms me, forcing my mind to change direction.
I'm sleeping better, even have nights when I do not wake. But awake, I have the concentration of a grasshopper. Only the pressure of a film set keeps me focused for a day.

Derek Jarman


I love all three of these posts for the differing feelings they convey, and simply for the fact that reading them adds a little bit of history to a day that to me, along with most people, would otherwise be an entirely inauspicious one.

John Rabe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Rabe) was an extremely interesting guy who seems to have been something of an Oskar Schindler type figure to thousands of Chinese refugees during a Japanese invasion in 1938.

Christopher Isherwood (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_Isherwood) was an Anglo-American novelist, who seems to have been quite preoccupied with sexuality through much of his work.

Derek Jarman (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derek_Jarman) was a film-maker and gay rights activist who died in 1994 of an AIDS related illness.

You can buy the Assassin's Cloak at http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=the+Assassin%27s+cloak

Or, if you know me, you could ask really nicely to borrow it.

I will no doubt return to this book again when in need of inspiration for a post.