Still rather fuzzy/weak/tingly/headachey today. Since I always want an explanation for how I feel, I'm a bit annoyed and stymied – my lab results two weeks ago were just about the best ever, I don't think I've caught anything in the way of current viruses from the students, and so on.
Of course, it is ages since I had anything even faintly resembling exercise... perhaps that's what I need to be thinking about.
In any case, I still need, somehow, to get work done on these two articles....
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Here was a nice, sharp bit of writing –
In 1912, Arnold Schoenberg composed Pierrot lunaire, a musical setting of 'thrice seven' poems by the French poet Albert Giraud. The texts assemble a conventional symbolist environment, through which move characters from the commedia dell'arte engaged in vaguely ritual actions of indeterminate import but with overtones of hostility to the order and monuments of ordinary bourgeois culture. They are, in short, 'dated'.– Donald Marshall, introduction to Melville's Philosophy Beside Itself (U. Minnesota, 1986; misspellings (2!) corrected).
Well, maybe it's not all that amazing – but musicians are so accustomed to treating Pierrot as a 'great' work that we rarely pay much attention to the poetry, or notice how much it represents the merely 'trendy' (and kitschy) work of the 1880s.
By the way, the title of this entry is from a Lafferty short story, a joke about ancient neolithic messages....
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Slept a lot, woke, ate. Changed bedclothes, taking shower. Trying to reboot, as it were...
I do continue to wonder: any chance that all this illness is just avoidance? Ah well. Spurious' most recent post mentions his old mentor – someone he's spoken of before – writing an academic article in a single morning. I know the first drafts of some of my best articles were written literally overnight, but, well....
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