in the hall of mirrors

Blur

In between yesterday's mix of effectiveness and dilatoriness, and the future... and a long, intricate dream, which had me visiting a Los Angeles that turned into Hong Kong, trying to find my way to the northwest (which was, however, in the northeast), a large shopping mall, and casually talking to a German guy (who turned out to be British?) who works at the University of Hong Kong. Where I used to work....

Confused. Telling dreams is irritating, I know. No more real details, but it had a strong sense of being about the past, the lost past (the confusion of the map and trying to find my way), and the embarrassment, envy and frustration of explaining why I no longer lived or worked in a given place, of not being successful in this academic world, where minor failure is both so common and also loaded with too much meaning.

Woke to the murky, slightly whiny music I heard yesterday morning – at first I thought it was some really annoying record being played by the transient girl downstairs; but finally realized it was the blond, tattooed kid next door practicing his guitar and singing. Well, if he's practicing then, it's all right – indeed it's a good thing (I will confess, however, to uncharitable thoughts around his inability to sing quite up to pitch – flatness seems to be eternal).

Anyway: I hope he knows how important it is that he should do that same phrase, over and over, with the dedication of getting it right... the best way to avoid having a misspent life....

Cooler heads

Over the past couple of days the temperature has been dropping; today it is actually cold – raining, gray. Not miserable though; there's a light behind the clouds, and it all just feels cool, refreshing; the mild autumn chill (yes, I know, in August? – well, this is northern Europe, near the North Sea) is a fine change.

And my emotional temperature has cooled – from yesterday's anger and panic at how I've been living my life, to actually getting some things organized. What a list of things to do in the next two months! – is it really possible to do all of that research, and with that the administration that people keep nagging me about? The only way is, I suppose, doing things. Things of any size – small things that need to be done, parts of larger projects, and of course the always salutary things that involve deciding something doesn't need handling or can get given to someone else. And one must do Things, frequently.

Especially tricky because of my tendency towards passive procrastination: not looking for other things to do, exactly, but merely thinking, well I don't need to do this right now – and no one's watching me to keep me working. An gradually worsening problem over the years of living around, from the mid-1990s; living with John in Australia helped for a bit, but just as I started to feel comfortable, the government kicked me out....

A music track that I downloaded three months ago, then bought the CD: the final track on Peter Gabriel's soundtrack for Rabbit-Proof Fence, called 'Cloudless'. I finally saw the film on television the other night – or parts of it at least (as should be no surprise, given my general tendency towards avoidance these days, the fact that it was a film of a tragedy enacted by the Oz government made it both interesting and far too intense for me to be happy watching it). It was good, though; a very focused, but very passionate fable, very linear, with few surprises but excellent and brave work, especially by the actors. Interesting to see the Wikipedia entry on the Stolen Generations – it talks about the conservative critique of the whole protest, and then gives enough facts to completely undermine that critique, making it sound like a sort of poor man's Holocaust denial.

The music to the film was good, and helped to interpret the action as a good film score should; but that final track didn't, apparently, make it into the film as such – a shame, because it is a glorious Gabrielesque synthesis of native Australian chanting, building and overlapping lines (always my favorite kind of music climax), and subtle, shimmering electronic support.

The sheer passion, and grief, of the piece – beautiful, naturally and strongly colored voices, falling lines – is perhaps why I have played it over and over, in the past few months. Such a powerful catalyst: almost inevitably brings tears to my eyes....

Living badly

Yesterday: left the apartment so that the cleaner could take over; had lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant. Ended up eating too much, eating wrong, feeling terrible – exhausted at the end of the day.

The patterns: bad eating, no exercise, television, Internet – by the time I woke this morning I was so angry at myself. I thought of the old seminar rubric, which is approximately: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result – exactly what I am these days: letting myself slide into a dull and sullen old age, earlier than necessary, and hoping that it will all change, that I will get different results, different experiences – but without bothering to change my own behavior, my own habits.

Madness. Of course on the other side is an instrumentalized care of the self; having come from California, that is acutely familiar in all its many forms. But when the self isn't cared for, it becomes, well, such a mess; any illusion that a teleological approach to one's self is 'bad' is immediately countered by the utter lack of choice, of existence, of experience, that follows upon letting oneself slide.

Being furious at myself is so appropriate: really, I have such an easy life – all the tools for taking care of myself, physically, mentally, and in terms of creativity or fulfillment, are so easily available – and I just leave them there....

Really, really angry.