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is it me who's rambling on about my new, old house at times? did i borrow money to get this house, and does it ever make me blue?
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i know.
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i'm making it up as i go along! not being married, this old new borrowed blue tradition is an occurrence which hasn't passed my way. yet. {nub of floor tile as shown here, borrowedfrom nature, would you believe it?}
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so improv time is mine and here's as close as i could get to blue underwear. thrifted lately, extra long undershirt from the fifties {and belgian!}. durable, came in the original cellophane wrap. bingo on theold, new!
one thing we haven't needed round here recently, is an umbrella. unless of course, one wants to carve one's way through frozen water, with the sharp tip of said object.
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when collegue b. announces there's a small natural spectacle to be enjoyed in the small park above the brussels sablon, i take a lunch break outside, regardless of the freezing temperatures and a gigantic cold on the part of yours truely.
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as i walk the walk, i begin to suspect what b. meant with natural spectacle. and there it is! running a little, and also frozen over. hard as ice. strange sight nonetheless, to observe running water under ice, but such is nature on the whole. unpredictable. and stubborn.
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as i back out of the park, i stumble upon an antiques shop i haven't seen before. the contrast with the frozen water couldn't be more crushing.
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i snap a few pictures and slide back to the office, wondering what will flow from my palm this weekend, on behalf of, erm, umbrellas ~ parasols.
once you open up your eyes to the full, quotes pop up like sprouts in spring. the air seems to be brimming with 'em. wisdom is being whispered from fanatic's lips or else spoken up (hopefully not in tongues ~ unless we're talking TALKING HEADS). thus i've been wondering about quotes recently, about the quality of quotes. because like the next person, i do enjoy a memorable quote {when found solitary, on someone's blog, e.g.; here or here}.
since i caught quotable gertrude stein/kathy bates saying the following on our television screen just a few days ago: "... we all fear death, and question our place in the universe. the artist's job it is, not to succomb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence, ... ", i have felt a little out of sorts. {the actress spoke the words to a desperate owen wilson - who handles woody allen's mild melancholy to a tee, might i add?}
i mean, as an antidote to fear of dying in general, it is a comforting cite. sit back, relax, find your topic, enjoy the creative process, you're done. consider the emptiness of existence and roll yourself in it. accept it. on a clear day one can see forever, and in a good mood that is exactly what we'll do, and we'll be creative and kill that thing, that bug, that knowledge, that piece of existence. well. kill it. LIVE it!
quote by cesare pavese
but when the days are dark, and when the walls come tumbling down, the quality of life and death, or quotes on the subject, can become a little gloomy, a little hard for us to take. but a few examples: "there is left us ourselves to end ourselves" (william shakespeare), "i hope the leaving is joyful, and i hope never to return" (frida kahlo), "there are worse things in life than death. have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?" (to quote the man himself, woody allen).
just to make the point, really, quotes should be taken in small doses, don't you find? which is NOT what happens in above mentioned movie. a fireworks of quotes, of cites, of excerpts and paraphrases. and once one tires of words spoken to fulfill wisdom's despair, fortunately, there will always be paris. let's live, let's dance.
· i've far from read all of charles dickens' gems, but i've had great pleasure at viewing a vast majority of bbc adaptations, which traditionally steer well close to dickens' world, literature and mind. recently great expectations was put through the test, starring a.o. a brilliant gillian anderson; as was remastered in 2011, the mystery of edwin drood(left half finished, for dickens' sudden death in 1870).
· over the christmas break armando ianucci took his viewers on a tour through dickens' world. starting out in the inoccuous british settlement of chatham, he takes us on a dickensian ride through time and places. beloved broadstairs pops to mind, where bleak house (now privately owned) still lies, on top of a dune, looking out over the sea. {in the eighties, we found ourselves strolling those beaches ofttimes.}
· forever apt to his surroundings and always on the go to scrutinize upper society on social disparities, dickens treated humankind and its intricate psychology in such a literary, but above all comical way, the author, who initially published in sequels, found himself well read in many different social milieus.
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europe unexpectedly faced to snow and ice, i fear this gruesome little month of february wants to settle for a charles dickens default mode. the celebrated author born on february 7th, 1812 {soon VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOY!}, it furthermore lends this whole year of 2012 a charles dickens lustre, don't you feel? i kinda like that. are you, by any chance, dear reader, familar to dickens' work? which of his pieces is your most favourite, i wonder.
