am i in contravention of section 44 of the prevention of terrorism act by photographing this
about
life is bewildering. my aim here, mostly, is to add to the general bewilderment
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October 10, 2009 at 9:57pm Comments
September 20, 2009 at 5:34pm Comments
September 19, 2009 at 1:33pm Comments
experiment with an air pump by joseph wright of derby - reproduction hanging on the streets of soho. don’t look for it. it’s gone now.
if you’ve ever visited that benighted city, remember. it doesn’t have much, but it does have joseph wright.
September 18, 2009 at 7:02pm Comments
Waiting for contacts
September 18, 2009 at 9:39am Comments
September 15, 2009 at 9:02am Comments
what does it all mean?
what does it all mean?
what does it all mean?
the mysterious man on the 115 bus in whitechapel. and his notebook.
he looked like a seedy private detective from one of those black and white edgar wallace b-movies from the 1950s. thinning grey hair, a skinny man probably in his mid-fifties. very shabby clothes. he was feverishly looking at the buildings along commercial road - mostly wholesale rag trade shops - and nervously, frenetically, scribbling in this reporter’s notepad. i just happened to be sitting right behind him. his scribbles were just that, to me anyway, meaningless squiggles on the page. but so orderly, so meticulous.
what can it be. it was like he was an alien from another world trying to make sense of a world he couldn’t understand. there are cases in neurology where, after brain damage, the mind cannot comprehend the significations of the surrounding environment. it is seen, but the brain is unable to map it. the landscape utterly undifferentiated. i can see this building. i know what a building is, but the real building in front of me does not signify ‘building’ … or red handbag … or lover’s face. there was another case of a man suffering from acute short-term memory loss, whose only grip on events was to note down the time - to the second - of everything which happened to him so he could later prove to himself that these events had actually taken place. his long-term memory intact, he knew who he was, could recall in minute detail the detritus of his life before the viral illness which had attacked his brain, but everything since vanishes as soon as it passes.
what sort of nightmare is this man living through to go through this charade of mark-making on paper. is he trying to make sense of a world that he doesn’t belong to? perhaps he sees secret signs, codes, messages, behind the street signage; secret communications hidden to the rest of us.
what does it all mean? but isn’t that the question we are all condemned to ask ourselves, even if we believe that ultimately there is no answer.
September 12, 2009 at 6:25pm Comments
maybe they are geniuses after all
after all the brouhaha (see below) about the macbook pro and snow leopard. the mac genius at the regent street store managed to retrieve mission critical work before successfully cleaning and re-installing the growling snow leopard.
all i can say is lummy and crikes-a-lawkey it’s been a rum old do and no mistake.
September 11, 2009 at 12:29am Comments
September 10, 2009 at 5:52pm Comments
blagging a free glass of champagne in is
September 6, 2009 at 11:07am Comments
snow leopard hell
o am i in trouble. last week i eagerly installed snow leopard on my macbook, and became immediately intoxicated with the new speed i had on the machine. this was despite the fact that snow leopard immediately disabled several of my favourite plugins. i should have taken this as a warning, but o no, not me, i had to try to install the thing on my partner’s nearly new top of the range macbook pro, while she was out. nice surprise for her when she got home. i thought.
about two-thirds into the installation (that encouraging blue progress bar creeping from left to right across the screen) it stopped with that sickly yellow exclamation mark triangle and the words i’ll never forget: ‘installation failed’. it suggested i re-try installation. again, no go. since then i’ve tried everything (you name it - target mode, verify and repair disk permissions, verify and repair disk) appointment with apple ‘genius’ (ha!) tomorrow. right now the machine is stuck in the greyscreen-shutdown-restart-greyscreen-shutdown-restart-greyscreen-shutdown … circle of hell.
i have found reports of similar experiences to this all over the internet. don’t take my word for it.
if you are going to install snow leopard, be prepared. and for god’s sake back everything up. twice probably. if you’ve decided to wait until they’ve ironed out the bugs, you might be wiser. i’m just saying.
it’s my gut feeling that apple rushed this out prematurely. 3rd party app developers have been caught with their pants down (the wonderful mailtags being a case in point, whose developer has been under so much pressure to bring out a compatibility update that the one currently provided has a list of bugs that rivals the insect population of the amazon basin).
update:
the hard drive on the macbook pro is apparently suffering from something called an ‘invalid node structure’. sounds nasty doesn’t it. apparently it’s near fatal. let’s see what the ‘genius’ says tomorrow
any comments?
September 1, 2009 at 5:28pm Comments
selfridges, oxford street, london.looks sinister doesn’t it. well, it is.
September 1, 2009 at 5:25pm Comments
man
August 31, 2009 at 4:58pm Comments
a wet weekend in windermere
August 27, 2009 at 12:59am Comments
this is the most uplifting piece of music i know. it fills me with inexplicable joy
here are the english lyrics written by jobim himself:
Waters of March
A stick, a stone,
It’s the end of the road,
It’s the rest of a stump,
It’s a little alone
It’s a sliver of glass,
It is life, it’s the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It’s a trap, it’s a gun
The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush
The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all
It’s the wind blowing free,
It’s the end of the slope,
It’s a beam, it’s a void,
It’s a hunch, it’s a hope
And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It’s the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart
The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot’s stone
A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow
The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It’s a loss, it’s a find
A spear, a spike,
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale
A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night
A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It’s a girl, it’s a rhyme,
It’s a cold, it’s the mumps
The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It’s the mud, it’s the mud
Afloat, adrift,
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It’s the promise of life
It’s the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone,
It’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump,
It’s a little alone
A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It’s a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It’s the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart
A stick, a stone,
The end of the road,
The rest of a stump,
A lonesome road
A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A knife, a death,
The end of the run
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It’s the end of all strain,
It’s the joy in your heart.
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