Yesterday was the family Christmas dinner, somewhat premature, but it was nice seeing my brother and sister, even the in-law was good company. It was slightly triste for nostalgia's sake, seeing the house we grew up infor the first time Iin donkey's years.
Right now I have a gig, on my Jack Jones, which is something at least.I've shed-loads of coursework to catch up on so this Christmas iz likely going to be very busy. In any case, I am enjoying tbe modules, most especially Ovid.
Good morning Diary! Ahhh! L'amour. My cousin Luke once said, "Mad pussy is better than no pussy." To which he ended up with this cRaZy stalker of a girlfriend, who he wished he never became involved with. There is this girl (19) who has fancied me for a while, and last night I happened to pass her and Uncle Paul in the street. We went back to mine, and the rest, as they say, is history. My last girlfriend was forty odd and cRaZy, my current girlfriend is in-fact a mEnTaLiSt, but she's twenty years my junior, and a score of years younger than my last partner. As far as I can see this is a result, and makes a change from living alone. Ahhhh l'amour.
I managed to get that TMA in on time, and am currently writing the next one (Aesop's Fables - which I simply adore).My girlfriend is due back in the nut house any time soon (she is quite literally certifiable, but has a great figure and is quite highly sexed). All round this is a result. It's pretty cool actually, having a burd after such a long time alone. I may even buy her some flowers, or cook her breakfast in bed, or bake her a cake with a nail-file in so she can break out of the nut ward. In any case, she's strapped up and doped up pretty soon, which leaves me free to do my assignment. Groovy.
Sobriety is ... what it is. Run out of booze and stuff, but back on the fags. Bummer. I'm currently cooking "Rice surprise" and trying not to freak out about my late tma. Life is a living nightmare, with the occassional burst of Cumberland Gap, Cumberland Gap, goin ' on back, Cumberland Gap, with the often times old timey tunes such as dry and dusty, jack 'o diamonds and turkey in the straw, a few old timey numbers in there for good measure .
I got this brutal tma to scribble down some place wherever it is I'm at, some place, a day late already, major freak out trying not to panic, contrary to popular belief chicken licken the sky is not falling in, not yet.I would thoroughly recommend investing in a rickety old piano and quitting smoking cigarettes. Get a dog, double up on your drinking habits, and when all the stress of life slams home as you realise that you're late bysome dozen weeks on two top level really harsh Uni' mods (A437 & A330). D-day looms any day now (with the booze and thr disti ct lack of broads, and the extention, and the pressure responded to with wine and singing Old Time pian-ee Cumberland Gap over and over 'til the cows come home on an out of tune upright Joanna with one too many ringers, unsound notes, discordant, yet in perfect cadence. "I miss my daddy and more grandpa, goin' on back, to Cumblerland gap, I wish I was back on the farm, plantin' them taters long as your arm; Goin' on back, to Cumberland gap..." for hours, and hours, in D major, on Joesphine, my Joanna. Ringers and all, y'all hear old time.
Must get back to my tma.
Today at the gig I met "the Dorset castle hunter" who asked me the whereabouts of Marshwood Castle (where I had been on an archaeological watch survey recently). I told him it was on private land, and that he would need permission, and told him to go to English Heritage to find out more information. In between breaks at the gig (where I have received a small pay rise, in the two and a half years I have been working there, that still only amounts to less than 10% of the going rate for musicianship). [Today I played the best gig I have ever played in my life, and am extremely undervalued. For that kind of money they could get Wolfae wailing or the crazy cat lady screeching! Not a musician of extreme quality such as myself. I am so pissed off with the situation that I have resolved to wait until Ronulus (founder of Bone) kicks the bucket, and once he buys the farm, if I have not found a job which does not involved either unskilled labour "the spud b**tch" as they affectionately call my in my day job, or being exploited by these people: I will depart for France then Italy, then Spain, as it is easier to be poor, by the sun, and I know I can get gigs there. Ten years to this day.]
Anyway, back to cases. the Dorset castle hunter told me of two archaeological stories, fables, locally. Seemingly near Dodhams lane, Bridport, there was an archaeological discovery of some significance - a Roman pottery horde - and the builders just smashed it up. Also, out in Shipton Gorge was another archaeological discovery, gold coins and artefacts, most of which were kept by the person who found it (a farm hand), with only precious few finds donated to the local museum. This is a shocking travesty, and, if I do hang around to found the Marshwood Archaeological Society (in association with Arrowhead) then these are the sorts of things which we will have to tackle, lawfully, above board, and see that these precious historic finds are given to the proper owners.
I don't know, it's all a mess. I'm in Court on Monday for non payment of Council Tax, some two neighbours who are quite scary (especially the woman alcoholic) came round yesterday. I have two assignments overdue, shed loads of work to catch up on. After walking to and from Court (forty miles in the wind and rain), I have a house inspection, shed loads of rent to pay, no money to pay it. I am up the swanny. What I need to do is relax, focus, and just get what needs doing done. I just applied for another washing up job, which might get me out of the s-. Shakespeare? Paganinni? Get him on the kitchen sink, get him down the mines, best place for him, in this society.
I might have to leave for Froggieland sooner than expected if I am evicted, and that might not be a bad thing. Snail-side. At least they appreciate good music there (to the tune of two-hundred and fifty Euro), and are liberal with wine, women and waffles - of the Belgian variety. I am so pissed off. I have no freedom. No more future, unless I knuckle down, grow a pair of bollocks, and just get on with it. Nightmare.
It's late, I'm mildly... tipsy, but I shall recount what has happened to me in the past week, and my plans for the next few days, with little Ronulus Latrator (my pet Norfolk Terrier) in the next day or so. Where do I begin? Well. First off, the Carthaginian turned up at the show, he gave me the time of day, but it was feigned, and he merely tolerated my presence. I longed to give him a piece of my mind, but I thought it best not to "rock the boat" and just keep things on an even keel, retain my job, and do the best I could, all things considered. I did a good job, managed to earn the money, and get out of there, unscathed, which was nice.
On another point, the other job I am currently in have cut my hours in half, then half again, so, I decided to cut loose, go and find my old mate Steve "Lightsabre" Pearson, and reform our old band. Life is going well, and I am well.
Ronulus is learning to play bass (instead of pianoforte, he's a jazz man at heart, but I am getting him into the idea of learning blues, rock and funk "jazz ain't nothin' but good musicians playin' bad" sort of philosophy). Ronulus is still studying towards his Masters Degree in Natural Canine Sciences with the Department of Dog Studies at the Open University, Milton Keynes. He is very happy, but lovelorn, and I long to find him a Toy Poodle, who is mild mannered, well educated, and a worthy suit: faithful, honourable, and honest. In any case, we embark on a long journey tomorrow morning, to find Lightsabre, and a Toy Poodle for Ronulus to play with, so he may go forth and multiply, have lots of little Ronnie Barkers to continue the family line, to prosper.
'T has been but two days, and already I miss you, dearly. Much has happened today. Where do I begin? First of all, something inside me told me to wake from my dream, so I did. Thirty seconds later the phone rang. It was the ex, the stalker one. I lined her up with some Sand Monkey to get her off my back, and she was out front doing something with her car, cleaning out her old dear's house, who died a while back (shortly after her and this Sand Monkey boy got together). Anyway. He comes out, and is slamming his bicycle around, getting all heavy with her (he's always pissed off about something or other). I called her back and told her to phone the Police, after he had stormed off. He came back, and was very angry (more so than usual, normally in her house he snatches food from her plate, telling her "women should not be allowed to eat such food" - in her own home, no less! - and in the same breath, intimidates her). So, anyhow. He jumps in his car, it won't start, and eventually the engine springs to life, and he takes off.
I go to my gig (the band split up last week, amicably, Gulliver went to town, moved back to where he came from, our Great Nation's capitol).
En route to work, I cross this guy, a young thug I am dimly aware of through moving in nefarious circles in my wayward misspent youth. He has blood all over his face. The lady next to me said, "Oh, that's just halloween paint." Um, no lady. I told her, "Whoever hit him was right-handed." I carry on walking. In town I see him again, and he says, "I beat him up." bragging to some younger boys. Evidently it was not paint.
Next, I bump into a lovely Irish Lady I know, who is a Classical linguist (graduated with Honours and a first, two years erstwhile, from the Hallowed Hall of Walton, MK). I read her the poem I wrote her, she loved it.
At the gig I bump into said Sand Monkey. He usually engages me in conversation, but this time he thrice shot me a look like he was looking for trouble. I call the stalker. Seemingly she told him that I told her to call the Police. Not only this, but (not for the first time) she implied that she had been with me, to make him jealous.
This man murdered his ex-wife (I was the translator on that gig, his "sorrow" was very overplayed, and a lot of money was involved, which all ended up in Tunisia - Carthage). This Sand Monkey is sleeping with one of his five sisters, his only other brother has serious physical and mental disabilities, and his father is very old, so the onus falls on him to earn the money. After he got together with the stalker, her mother sadly passed away (mysteriously), and again, a lot of money was involved, which again, ended up in Tunisia.
So, I return to my house, after work, with some crazy ass Sand Monkey gunning for me, and a stalker neighbour who is stirring up trouble. Incase anything should happen (heaven forbid) I am writing this diary entry as potential posthumous evidence, for the circumstances surrounding my possible death.
I'm betting that this Sand Monkey won't do anything, as the bully usually only attacks women, for money, then sleeps with his sister.
Much has happened, since I last wrote, ever dearest Diary. I cannot begin to tell you most all of it, but needless to say getting a job and sticking at it has paid dividends, not merely in monetary terms, but in the building of one's character. In any case, today, I went out, and bought "Josephine" the Joanna (Pianoforte). I am immensely happy about this, as I have wanted a pianoforte since I began having lessons, aged 8. Three score years later, I have one in my possession. It cost me an arm and a leg, and I shall have to graze from plates at work in the meantime (for this next month), but I have Josephine. She is beautiful.
Another acquisition I have in my possession is Arion: a late 19th Century ornamental guitar. I bought it off the guy who shagged my Mrs. Excellent.
My degree is coming along fabulously, but I can't say much about that except that I am gradually learning the difference between being a Classicist and a Linguistic Anthropologist.
Next week I begin my apprenticeship as a junior archaeologist. I am to attend a watching brief, for an old Romano-British hill-fort. My Mrs. used to like walking there. It turns out my master (the professional archaeologist) is likely shagging her as well. I say, "My" missus, but she's anybodies.
Well, it's been a nice week, I had a lovely Saturday last weekend, philosophising Neoplatonism and the nuances of the Old Norse languages with the mathematician and linguist Adam David. In the park, we played some tunes. Gulliver became most frustrated as he is a nihilist and a cynic.
Since then, matters have been good, and then not so good. I am still the poorest I have ever been in my life. It seems that in this society, one must either do unskilled labour, fight beggars for scraps of pavement, or die. I'm used to that, it's okay. On one hand, let the rich toffs cream all the money (after all, they've worked very hard for it) and let the mentalists all cream it on mental benefit. I just don't care, because I read a lovely quote from Chaucer the other day, which resolved all this thinking. The succinct definition was, "Don't worry about what anyone else has, just ensure you are happy with what you have." Well, I'm not happy, I'm gradually wasting away, from malnutrition. It doesn't matter, because I don't matter. I was hacked, spoke out about it, now I am banned from blogging, or being a part of the OU FB community. Well, that is the price and sacrifice of honour and truth. So be it. That's just the way the world works.In other news, because I am a prophet, I have discovered precisely when the world will end, and thought I would tell you about it. The Age of Aquarius, will arrive 2,181 C.E. according to my calculations, research and intuition for the procession of the equinoxes. At this time a lethal burst of solar radiation will change the face of the world's population, probably due to a magnetic flip.
I am just seen as some crazy guy, well, we'll see won't we?Well, it's been a month (since I blogged - a lot longer than that since I...) anyway.
I am over being a Classicist and not a historian now. This is the path I have chosen, and so that is the niche I am in. I am quite happy with having a Humanities degree conferred upon me (providing I work hard enough).The reason I am content is because I am proud of being a Classicist, and more importantly, I discovered the meaning of the word humanitas in Latin. Of humanity, kindness, refinement.
I think I have found my speciality. I knew this was going to be the way I was going to go, in my heart of hearts, from the offset. I am going to be a historian, even if it is not written on my certificate. I have a gift for languages, and am adept at translating, either precisely or poetically. What can I do with music? Nothing. I have no means of income other than busking or playing a gig which pays only ten bucks and a meal (£12.50, I recently had a pay rise). They even take the tips for the musicians. I have never stooped to such a low level. You could be the best musician, the greatest poet in the world, and in this town, it would earn you nothing. I am the finest poet this generation has ever known, I am among the better musicians, and yet, I have all my work plagiarised by thieves, sold for profit, and my music is worthless. I, personally, am worth nothing, but a certain somebody (N.A. - he is not applicable) steals anything he can, and profits from it.When I am dead, people will find out who really wrote what.
What can I do? Keep on sticking at my degree, not that anybody (of consequence) reads this. I've missed the boat, come into it too late. It's all been done before hasn't it? Well, no, actually. I am very adept at archaeology. In-fact, there are many areas where my skills are an asset, but I can see very few opportunities. This life is ephemeral.
In other news, I have discovered a few areas which have not been well excavated or researched, so their is hope yet.Gung-Fu boy paid me another visit, after ripping off my letterbox, stealing my things and beating me up. I just don't care any more. This is just "stuff" and doesn't mean anything.
Cyborg is up on charges of assault, his lover slept with another friend of mine (she is ... not exactly the nicest looking lady, and foul-mouthed and uncouth, they deserve each other) and Cyborg, rather than be a philosopher, decided to be a brute instead. I know how he feels, it happened to me, but the answer was not then, and is not now, violent. Their is no answer, except to pick up the pieces, and move on.I am dreading my upcoming Latin examination, but intend to revise hard for it. I cannot fail, so long as I revise. One woman on our course scored 97% in her assignment and still bailed out on the even attempting the examination, she has either done the course before, or, more likely, has no courage. (Although she is undergoing chemotherapy, to be fair). Shed loads of people flunked the archaeology, even more couldn't cut the Latin. It's not exactly difficult, if you're me. I am just cursed with learning's golden gifts.
Maybe one day I'll be somebody, they'll find a job for me. I am unlikely to get anywhere writing poetry or composing music - their is no money in it. It's pointless. I have no income. How do I avoid starvation? Go to the dole office like the rest of them? That is not an answer. I am not permitted to study and sign-on, and my pride will not permit me to go back there. I am in misery. Poorer now than I have ever been in my entire life. Sure, I do okay on the street, I live on between £20-30 a week. That's life. That's just the way it is. Do unskilled labour, or die.
Well, I have endured a lot since y'all last heard me blog. (Not that anyone even reads this...) I have decided to start role-playing again, but gave my last set of elven dice away today. I want to play Ars Magica because I feel that the effect on the macrocosm (in a Neoplatonic sense) will be diminished, compared to a violent psycho-drama such as D&D or whatever.
My 'other blog' f- shed loads of people read, from the amount my ears burn most days.Today, was a monumental day. I was refused my degree in history, which I am livid about. Just because I chose Latin and Roman history, I am not allowed to hold the certificate of historian. This makes no sense, whatsoever, other than I have "Classics" as my major. Now, I have known quite a few people who have "Classics" degrees, some speak ancient Greek or Latin, but most don't. So, I am to be put in the same category, as people who like to write about Classical culture, but have no true understanding of what it is, nor history. This is really frustrating.
Furthermore, I can't go back to my French friend with a history degree, a diary from a soldier who served there, and say, "Have that!" We kicked your ass at Waterloo! Now, I have to go to him and say, "I hold no certificate in history, so concede, the French did actually win Waterloo." (If conspiracy theorists are to be believed, then the French did win!) As a historian (and despite what the University says, I actually am a historian, and a damn fine one too I might add!) I can see a weight of evidence supporting both sides, and in truth, the Prussians won (even if they were our allies, and so we won by default). Alas, today Great Britain lost, and France won.What's worse is I failed to get my Latin assignment in on-time, because I stupidly tried to compose a score for the harp along side it and did not invest sufficient time to translation. So, now I have the risk of failing my "Humanities and Classics" degree. I am very f- pissed off about, first of all not being permitted to have a history degree because I chose Latin (you used to have to study Latin - or ancient Greek - to gain a history degree!) and now, I will not have even one... single... word... on my certificate (assuming I pass) which reads history. This pisses me right off! All I worked for. For nothing. History is my passion. Sure, Classics are technically what I am studying, and Roman archaeology, but Latin and Roman culture was also given a re-birth later on in history, as was Greek culture, throughout the mediaeval period, throughout the Renaissance, and even when Italy was first founded. So, I am not, in any way shape or form, "a historian" any more. I am just like all the rest. Humanities degrees are banal, common, base. Any fool can write about Roman culture, but not everyone can understand the language. The language is the culture. Not having a good day today.
Before I hit the silver screen and become a major Hollywood movie star this year in Fox/BBC's production of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd, or before I garner a successful publishing deal with an old school chum, I will have to turn my hand at something mercantilist, in order to survive. One must be a mEnTaLiSt referred by the Citizen-Subject Advice Bureau, in order to qualify to be able to go to the food bank. Oh well. In order to avoid starvation I am going to put into action a plan which has been on my mind for over a dozen years.
I shall surely be burned as a heretic, for mercantilising my prophetic gifts, turning to black-magic and divination, in the shadow of satan, not in the light of Christ. Too bad. I'm hungry. Needs must as the devil drives...
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| First find (archaeology) |
It's been a while, much has happened. I confronted Gung Fu about the missing house-key he stole (after tearing off my letterbox, breaking in and stealing it). Ronulus caught him hovering by the door to see if I was in, waiting for a moment to break in again. I explained this to him. For my trouble I was promptly knocked to the floor, in a pool of my own blood. It's okay, I have friends in places, sacred spaces, authority, the rule of Law, truth and light. They took care of everything, just as the heavenly father takes care of me. Ronulus was about as much use as a spare knob in brothel. He simply rolled to the floor as did I.
In other news, I made it through my archaeology paper, which was incredibly arduous, as much as it was interesting. I might well pass.Now, now is the time to learn Latin. God I love it so much. It is as though I am flaying myself with a bull-whip of knowledge. I really love Classical Culture so very much. Pliny, Vergil, Seneca.
This weekend was nice, a great gig, plenty of sunshine. Well, duty calls, back to the grind. Marvellous.The sun shone, and pennies from heaven dropped in the alley where the streets are paved with gold. Half a dozen people dropped into Ronulus' water bowl, they probably know about my intended swim. I cut the stint short to go and 'whore' myself out at the cafe for a five. What I really wanted to do was play music with the fiddler, he gave me a smile and told me he didn't want to play music ensemble. Bastard. The staff missed me and the word is they paid Gulliver fifteen and bade us play together. Never-mind losing my house, my education and my future, not being able to play Old Time with an excellent banjoist left me utterly devastated. I became really quite downcast.
The Franciscan arrived. His wife's left him. I could see this happening for years now. He too was really very melancholy, and rightly so. She's really quite pretty, and a beautiful person, with lovely boobs to boot.Anyway. Gulliver turned up for a 'jam' (he does not jam, he carries a tune, which is fine). I explained just how pissed off I was with him spurning me like that. He has agreed to play together next week. Alas, a couple turned up. He is a right space-cadet, proper cosmic-ranger, and his missus is gorgeous. I know she's shagged the cellist (who hasn't?). She has an interest in... archaeology. Well? I had to woo her with some dazzling facts and turned her on to the OU. She is going to do AA100. Excellent. She is as bright as she is fetching (again, nice rack). Her boyfriend is a lovely guy, if a little far-out. I explained that I was deeply in love with his other half. He accepted it, because out of respect I could not try it on with her. We hugged.
They invited us back to there's. I was so drunk.God only knows how I made it home.
Seeing as I am Sunday Saint, I must pray forgiveness and attend Church this morning, naturally. What a day. I am shockingly hung-over.It's been a while since we last spoke. (Not that anybody reads this shit). Anyhow. The Council are still on my back about the outstanding tax due. I am being threatened with bailiffs and prison. I called them up yesterday (they didn't answer) and left a message telling them: G.F.Y. Albeit in polite idiom.
If they come round looking to steal my hard earned possessions they can jog on. I intend to elope to warmer climes.It is such a shame. The archaeology course is f- fantastic! Loads of people are 'bleating' about the amount of reading that has to be done on the fora. Pussies. Try doing Latin alongside archaeology, that will give you something to 'bleat' about.
My End of Module Assessment is coming along nicely, despite the millions and millions of lines of reading required.
This morning I had to make a choice: dog-food or human-food. I chose the former. I am okay with fasting, but could never see little Ronulus go without.I am the poorest I've ever been in my entire life, and now the Council want their thirty pieces of silver. I just don't care. I've had enough now. They could have had one of the finest academics, the greatest living lyric poet this country has ever known. Instead, I have decided to go back to France.
Since Gung Fu stole the keys to my house, seeing as he is being booted out, I thought I would leave a little parting-gift for the Council, in the form of a number of armed gypsies squatting my place. They want to play hard-ball? Fine. No problem. I'll just go back to France, and never see this country again.A storm rages outside, and Ronulus and I are tucked safely inside, beyond the reach of the tempest (or so it seems). I am tired. Today has been a long day. Busking, researching, finding citations. Tomorrow will be even longer: writing the first draft of my EMA (not that anybody cares).
The Children of Starwood is on-hold while I finish Zenobia.The Inca civilisation is really fascinating: far more than one may realise. They are not as interesting or venerable than the Maya, but they are of great interest to me.
Well, today has been a weird day. Firstly I discovered how to make a little money, lawfully, although it will take a little while to get used to buying and selling stuff on-line. Then Draan came round. We went to see an old friend (Mr.X) and I got on to the subject of the big-guy-upstairs. I was mercilessly torn to pieces in argument whilst simultaneously being so beyond each of their respective understanding of the subject matter (history, archaeology, epistemology) that these uneducated savants stood no chance against Maxy. What a debate though. Mr.X was voiciferous and forceful in his assertion, Cyborg was more calm and collected, the other guy there had an opinion directly opposed to mine own. I took 'em all on. Fcuk it. I managed to 'shoot down' Mr.X numerous times from his lack of understanding of the subject matter (archaeology) and I am well chuffed with that.
In other news I have one *bitch* of an essay to write. I want to focus on unspoken communication and music, but the Don says I must focus on archaeology instead. Oh well, I will just have to tow the line. After all the course is World Archaeology. I can't wait to sign up for A340 Roman Archaeology. Even so, I am woefully behind on my Latin. Must catch up, quick!Virtually nobody reads this blog, because nobody cares. Plain and simple. This is a fact.
I have recently cast off the shackles of criminals of various varieties: thieves, dealers, thugs. I also passed up an opportunity to form a new band recently. My heart is not in reggae.In the course of my ethnoastronomical inquiery I have unearthed considerable facts about the nature of metaphysics. Due to some sense of subtly communicated messages (via a Knighted blues musician) I am unable to share my findings with anyone other than the academic community: of which I am barely a part of, certainly on the fringes, and ever shall be kept at an arms length. People fear what they do not understand.
The symbol of the lonely ones is centred on a spider...It's a lovely cold fresh sunny morning, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and certainly only hope and faith in mine heart. I've run out of supplies and am down to my last tea-bag. I do have half a loaf of bread left, and am trying to quit smoking.
Gung Fu stole the keys to my apartment. Each time I've come home, the door has been unlocked. Food, cigarettes, candles have gone missing. I don't care; but, I've locked the front door (Woody Allen out of Bananas style!) and secured the back. Ronulus stays on guard, attracting attention as he barks, while Gung Fu tries to break in. When he comes round, I will tell him to give the key back. When he gets stressy, I'll shut the window, when he gets heavy, I'll just call the authorities.He said, "I knew everything their is to know about being in the Army at the time I learned to walk." (He wouldn't have the first clue about drill, working as part of a team, charlie and delta fire-teams, I.A. drills, anything) He also says theirs a 1,000 bytes in a mega-byte. He really doesn't know anything, yet he thinks he does. He is like the Emperor Gallienus, but worse. His homeless mates all fight and steal, they are untrustworthy (Justin, Saemus and Hannibal) and Gung Fu is due to be evicted soon, which should be fun. I warned him if he didn't get his rent paid, they will throw him out. That was six months ago. It has now reached the point of no return.
I cast off the shackles of his "friendship" (and many other people) to prefer instead, to Learn, and to Live, in a manner befitting an Alumnus. Not a petty thief or a violent gangster, but an Enlightened soul.Stay On the Flex.Max.
I bemoan the wounds of Fortune with weeping eyes, for the gifts she made me she perversely takes away.
It is written in truth, that she has a fine head of hair, but, when it comes to seizing an opportunity she is bald.
On Fortune's throne, I used to sit, elevated, crownēd with myriad hued flowers of prosperity;
though I may have flourished, happy and blessed, now I fall from the peak deprived of glory.
The wheel of Fortune turns; I descend, demeanēd; another is exalted;
far too high up
the King at the summit - let him fear ruin!
for under the axis is written
Queen Hecuba.
I have a job interview today. I will get the job, because I am the suitable candidate. Furthermore, I have decided to turn my life about, full-face. I have quit smoking. Ever since my father’s belt went missing (which was his fathers and his fathers) when some rogues came round, I have turned my back on all roguish company. Fair weather friends.
Gung Fu and Hannibal have been thrown out. I am moving upstairs, and will put Orff’s IMPERATRIX FORTVNA MVNDI on the headphones, when they come round. Ronulus will bark. The door will be knocked on and on and on, and I will ignore it. These, are young men, who have never spent any real time on the street (a year or three at most: nothing).One of their mates has been working at a supermarket as a cleaner for several years now, he was recently caught stealing. I’ve no doubt they’ve had him under close eye for some time, and he repeatedly offended, time and time again. I turn my back on all these rogues. I tread a different path now.
I know two dozen really acutely intellectual people, but none of them, not one, has the will to learn anything. They are ignorant and immature.Sunday is Church every day, followed by band practice.Nobody heeds mine words, but I walk, the path, of the lonely ones.
Maximus Mercurius Arachne.Well, it’s been a while since I’ve spoken with you, dearest of all diaries intimate. Aye. Much has happened. I am writing this in amidst the mightiest most tempestuous storm the Isle of the Mighty has seen since the nineties. Almighty Jove is particularly angry this evening. ’Neath the waxing moon, in a microclimate, here on the coast, much like living on a boat at the mouth of the Cleddau river in Cymru, ere three days have passed, the weather changes. From stormy seas, to more becalmed waters be, tranquil, peaceful, serene. Hang on to your hats.
I jacked my job in. As I spoke to Mr. X about it today, his response to my analysis of the situation was, “They’re taking the piss.” Quite right too. A fiver. Never have I played for so measly a sum. I would rather be lashed with rain, sick from exposure and malnutrition, busking on the street, than be exploited in such a blatant fashion.Naturally, I’ve taken steps to find work: I have an interview for a job at the Museum. I’ve arranged to give guitar lessons. The young man in question has the modicum of talent required, which needs but nurturing as does an olive-tree. He has the motivation to learn, precious little money to give, but enough (a fiver). Life is tough. Alas, such is the way of the world.
I possibly have a publishing opportunity with a very dear old school chum. I can say no more on this, except that in mind catharsis, I take the dregs of a bad situation, turn it on its head in the tertiary definition, of Antistrophe. Making something good from something evil, turning darkness into light, making the most of an otherwise dire situation.
Good night fair dairy. I shall see you in morning’s early light.Adieux.
Despite ‘cocking up’ pretty majorly recently, at the very least, at least my studies are going well.
I got to thinkin’ ’bout subject matter and mental conditioning as an effect of study. This equally could be applied to life, and not forcibly as purely an effect of socialisation. Take, if you will, the example of a lyric poet, whom stands all day in the street, and sings songs worthwhile to his Muse: love. This person is more likely be monogamous in nature, as a direct effect of having sung lyrical poems about love, in its purest sense.I met another student the other day, whom has had a complete reversal in opinion and way of thinking, directly as a result of studying a science. This person used to be far more open minded, but now they live in a world of banal constructs, ever limited by logic, and never defying logic.
“The ignorant take ... [symbolic wisdom] literally and build for themselves prison houses of words and with ...speech and ...taunt denounce them who will not join them in the dungeon.”That’s my thought for the day, and while we’re at it, let’s relish some Sir Thomas Browne.
“...the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the Pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt the Temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it; Time hath spared the Epitaph of Adrian’s horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad equall durations; and Thersitesis like to live long as Agamemnon, who knows whether the best of men be known? or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, then any that stand rememberēd in the known account of time? Without the favour of the everlasting register, the first man had been as unknown as the last, and Methuselahs long life had been his only Chronicle.” - from hydriotaphia.My new show went well. I played the best I could and sang my heart out. As a result I was well treated. I may end up playing that place again. In any case I rose to the occasion, played all requests I was asked for, and am booked to play a party or two in the summer.
All is well. I dived back into learning Latin and am gradually working my way through the exercises. I’d hoped to get this chapter out of the way today, but I still have some outstanding in order to work through.Tomorrow is another gig, the usual, as always it’s uncertain if I’ll play alone or not. In any case, it’s work, and I’m grateful for the opportunity.
A friend is coming down tomorrow. He wants to go to the beach for the storm. This idea is sheer stupidity. I have been blown from my bicycle (nearly into the sea) in winds on the peninsula of Normandie. It is also foolish in the extreme to run around waving your arms in the air during a storm (which he does). The E.M. field we emit is increased considerably when one runs, therefore one is far more likely to be struck. I learned this fact living in the mountains of Le Massif Centrale, where lightning strikes much more often than here.T-minus six hours until I’m strapped up and spanked by the hallowed halls of the Unseen University. I have made a few surprising discoveries snooping along the trail of ancient Empire. If I did not love the subject matter so much, I would likely have buckled under the strain. Half of it is written, only half to go now. All the pieces are in place, I just need to get it down on paper before sending this bad boy off. Crickey, it is a tough slog.
In the words of one poet, “You think it’s gonna be easy!” and it ain’t.Pythagorean metempsychosis of the precessional Great Year, don’t fail me now. I stumbled across a lovely quote from Virgil today:
excudent allii spirantia mollius aera (credo equidem), vivos ducent de marmore vultus, orabunt causas melius, caelique meatus describent radio et surgentia sidera dicent. - Aeneid, iv, 857-853.
Today has been ... interesting, yet the usual monotony ensues. I had a great chat about this and that with Gung Fu, he is a really very sharp and knowledgable guy and I feel his talents are wasted. He once very nearly signed up for the Queen’s shilling, when we were roving in Cornwall, one rainy autumn day. He would make a superb soldier, though probably more in the form of the Commandos or those who dare win style Reg’. He could just as easily make a marvellous coder or physicist, but chooses to live the life aspiring to that akin to a monk instead. I cannot blame him, even if he spends a great deal of time playing frivolous computer games.
Speaking of frivolous past-times, I’ve been invited to a Friday night game of backgammon with an old historian friend, but had to respectfully decline, on account of the studying I must do this weekend. I must discipline myself, and study hard. Sacrifices must be made if I am to achieve my goal of one day becoming a history teacher.Archæology is going rather splendidly, and I must undertake much more detailed research. As soon as that’s done, I must hit the ground running, take that relay baton of wisdom and dash for the finish line on the third Latin assignment. This means as soon as I’ve finished up studying ancient empires (namely the Roman, Aztec and Hittite empires) I must work my way through the Latin exercises.Gig tomorrow, the usual, I might have to play it alone again, only time will tell if the fiddler chooses to grace us with his presence. He has kindly agreed to play the Cajun night next month, and the patron Québécois I crossed paths with in the street (whom plays a boxer, awaiting his bout in Far From The Madding Crowd) tells me that tickets are sold out. I am hoping that the Old-Time banjoist and violinist is in attendance.
I have completely failed the Coursera module, for having to focus on my other studies. I shall have to concentrate on my usual studies, if I am to stand any chance of completing these next three assignments, the end of module assessment for archæology, and the dreaded, but really quite necessary Latin examination. God help me. "<><"Blimey, I have just fourteen hours to finish two assignments. I haven’t even begun writing the Yale one yet, but should have that done in a jiffy. The Latin is proving to be ‘a bit of a bitch’ but that’s what’s so great about it. If Latin was easy it would not be the language of the intellectual elite. Only a select few are even capable of learning it, let alone having the will to tackle such a magnificently challenging task.
Much has happened since I last blogged. I have had a Revelation and am writing a series of poetic moral allegories, in calligraphy, illustrated, and set to music. They will be mainly Classical pieces for two vocals (tenors), guitar and violin (both acoustic). I am actually really boned for money and stuff, but tomorrow is market day, so that should be good. I also have another archæology paper to write in under five days. Then it’s straight back to Latin.This is the best, and toughest thing I have ever done, and I love it.
We have a gig immediately after the archæology paper is due in, at a swanky restaurant. I am hoping they pay well, because I need the cash to get a certificate of achievement from Coursera (that is, assuming I even get 70% on each paper. Man! That’s a tall order. I hope I manage it. In any case, it’s worth trying my best).God bless, and go in peace.
Maximus Mercurius Arachne.I have just had my archæology assignment back. I am still on tender-hooks to know whether I have failed or not.
Result? My marks doubled. Naturally.However, I did write it in a rush, and state of frustration. I could have done much better. I should have been thinking clearly, but instead was quite put out at failing. I essentially fell into the trap which was set. I am learning to tow the line, and be a philosopher. However, I still think outside of the box. Little boxes little boxes little boxes made up of ticky-tacky; ...and the people, on the hill-side all went to the University...
Some spoilt brat (the dancer’s son) tried to attack my dog tonight. I nearly ....I did not do anything drastic, finally, and walked away.
So much has happened in the past few days, I cannot even begin to explain. If I told you, you would not believe me.Basic Adventuring Career for Dungeons & Dragons.
Cultures Allowed: Human.Alignment: Must be Lawful-Good.
The Star Child is a very special career, so much so that only one character in any Campaign Setting may exist at any one time. Much like the Chosen One, many false prophets manifest themselves, but there can only be one true Dragon Reborn. Outside the planetary sphere, there may exist other Star Children in other solar systems throughout the Cosmos, but they tend to only be born in other dimensions and parallel universes beyond the bounds of space and time, elsewhere in the Multi-Verse. Star Children are typically male, but one prominent Star Child (The Earth Mother) was the first to be born, ages and ages erstwhile, and gave birth - in spirit - to all offspring down throughout the ages. It is a sacrēd lineage from the first of man-kind’s ancestors.The Star Child is a particularly unique character in that he or she gives up his or her choice of special abilities to the Universe, to a certain degree.
Special Abilities.Level 1: Upon a successful healing skill or relevant ability score check (typically D.C. 15, or 30% chance) the Star Child may use Lay On Hands once per day, as a Paladin, on a willing target.
Level 2: Gains the Lay On Hands ability (precisely the same as a Paladin).Level 3: Destiny dice. The Games Meister casts the player’s horoscope, and determines which special ability to grant the Star Child, depending on the outcome of the Foretelling. Alternatively the G.M. may roll a horoscope destiny dice, (available from the Dice Shop on-line) and determine which characteristics are granted appropriate to the roll. (Ideally use the Sun die).
Level 4: The Lay On Hands ability also Neutralise’s Poison, as per the Cleric spell.Level 5: The Lay On Hands ability also Remove’s Curse, again as per the Priest spell.
Level 6: Using the Chosen One spell selection table from the Zealot’s Guide, the Star Child gains a different random spell each day, once per day, but must pray as does a Priest each morning, in order to memorise it. If the Z.G. from Kenzer is not available, randomly roll a spell at a random level from either Priest (D8) or Mage spells (D10). If an 8 result or 10 result is rolled (respectively, i.e. the maximum) then the G.M. must either select a Realm Spell from the Birthright Campaign Setting, or, permit the player a True Dweomer (see 2.5 High Level Campaigns).[WORK IN PROGRESS] ...
...Hit dice, saving throws, attack matrices, number of attacks, damage bonuses, feats, skills, etc. are all identical to a Fighter. The Star Child is considered a single-class Fighter to all intents and purposes, with the sole exceptions of the above special abilities, and a bonus on Divine Intervention rolls for a Paladin as per the G.M.G. (Kenzer ed.)More to follow...“The Golden Star Child’s issue, at whose birth,
Heaven did afford a gracious aspect
And joined those stars that shall be opposite
Even to the dissolution of the world...
Weep, heavens, and vanish into liquid tears!
Fall, stars that govern his nativity,
And summon all the shining lamps of heaven
To cast their bootless fires to the earth...”
Today, I cocked up. I stupidly accidentally posted a section of my private diary on the Yale fora. Luckily it concerned purely scholastic endeavour so it probably won’t be seen as that bad. I did use phrases like ‘screw archæology until my essay is marked’ and it made it quite apparent to thousands of people that I have an ego the size of the Colliseum. Oops a daisy! Well, never-mind. I see it as a blessing in disguise, and it has given me the focus I need to concentrate on learning Latin. I am rushing the Latin at a break-neck speed, which means a much more thorough consolidation of the chapters I have worked through. So long as I grasp the way in which adjectives agree with t’other words in’t sentence: that’s fine.
I am slowly beginning to realise that no matter how hard I try to catch up, I will never be fully caught up, as there are still two essays in archæology I need to write, three more Latin papers, then worst of all - the dreaded examination. Again, Français helps immensely. I am going to have to work extremely hard if I am going to pass these modules. Once it’s all over I can relax. It bugs me that I am the only person left in my tutor group forum, and that after playing the gig at the fancy restaurant, I must choose to either get to my Latin tutorial or sign up for Yale signature track (which might well be worth doing - seeing as my other musical residency falls on a Saturday.I am so tired. Must sleep.
Maxy’s back. After being beshadowed by the black dog yesterday, I am in good spirits today. Dr. Watson kindly got back to me and gave me my requested extension, so all I need do now is understand the subject matter. I have stopped ‘freaking out’ about the archæology paper. No news is good news. I re-read it yesterday and am quite certain that Dr. Kirk cannot fail me. The paper is a good one. In a worst case scenario I will just have to do better next time. He should have returned the paper by now. It is not me being slack.
At Yale I have made a big splash, and yesterday I earned a compliment from the esteemed Professor there. I was in tears of joy afterwards, as it is something almost unimaginable for me to achieve. A compliment from one of the top professors at one of the top universities in the world. I am overjoyed.There is this guy on the Yale course, he has come to the attention of the staff, because he has a vast knowledge of chemical compounds to do with cement, and a reasonable knowledge of Roman history. He is worse than me for ‘peacock pluming’ but I was able to thrust and parry in conversation with him. He’s talking about cement this and concrete that, and I felt like saying what Quint said to Hooper in Jaws, “You got city hands, been countin’ money; never done a hard days work in your life.” I am holding my own there.
Back to the Latin, gladly. The quicker I get this done and dusted the quicker I can get back to archæology, and eventually, Roman architecture. This is gonna be a busy old week. I have no tobacco, which is a good thing. Taking Ronulus out for walkies is a great cure for smoking.
A whole fortnight has passed and I still have not had my essay marked; I’m on tenderhooks the entire time. I am utterly demoralised about this archæological assignment I handed in. I wrote it (in my thoughts) over the course of several years; I was lucky to find another scholar who shared a similar viewpoint, (Quigley) and so had citations to give.
I failed the last one, and will in all likeliness fail this one, because of my stupid rebellious streak. I am an idiot. I should have conformed to the fully straight down the line ‘copy out the textbook in my own words’ technique which garners the most marks. I didn’t, because I felt so spurned at failing the first essay. I am a failure and if I pass this assignment it will be nothing short of a Miracle.I am completely demoralised and on a low ebb today. I find myself unable to focus and time is ticking away. It’s only two days until I send off this Latin essay, and I still have two whole chapters to work through before I can begin to start the essay. Despite being acutely intellectual, my spirit is downcast. The sole crumb of comfort I have is being able to speak French. Without this, Latin would be much much more difficult. I use it as a bridging language, because the words are closer to the original Latin than our own Germanic tongue.
I am at a loss. Likely destined to fail. I know I must pick myself up, carry on in confidence, but today I do not eat the bear, the bear eats me. I am no-one. I am nothing. I am less than nothing.I just had to endure a horrific nightmare, an awful experience. I was trapped in an old castle with a nine foot tall insidious figure who kept eating people, animals, he even tried to eat poor little Ron’! As I protected Ron’ he ate another small dog instead. It was awful! I am not sure I can go back to sleep. My goodness! Words cannot describe just how bad that was. Truly macabre, gothic, dark, evil and twisted. I know many people think vampires are ‘cool’ but no, there is nothing cool about cannibalism. It was horrid! It all began by watching a mediæval guard get his throat slit, then some people entered, middle-ages soldiers, afraid, I hid under a blanket, then the soldiers were eaten, dismembered body parts littered the place, as well as bloody parts of animals and horses heads. It was terrible! I attempted to climb ‘the tower’ up and up, but the huge nine-feet tall grey old man clad in noble-attire kept pretending to be friendly whilst having a deep dark growling voice and was constantly eating people, with Ron for the starter and me as dessert! Iesus!
On another point, my Latin is coming along well. I am really getting into it. Although there is a slight risk of being late with my assignment, I feel I might well do well. Certainly better than the archæology papers. Speaking of which.I am the ‘Last Man Standing’ (man denoting both genders) in my archæology class. Everyone else has quit seemingly. Hard-core. On my last paper I went completely over the top on footnotes, which might even lead to a fail; but without the footnotes it would have made no sense. I really gave my tutor both barrels, because I want so disappointed in writing such a great first paper and scoring an all time low grade. I have written far worse papers and garnered higher marks, so it makes no sense that I failed. I got over it soon enough, but decided to ‘tell him how it is’ (my tutor). I am a hot-dang genius, and if someone marks me down, instead of ‘towing the line’ (which I should do) I simply write more and more radical views, in all correctness. The last time I did that my marks doubled. Sure, it’s a gamble, but I’ll bet that my tutor has never read a paper like that before.
On another note, the Yale course is going extremely well. Back stage party in paradise on!I have calmed down somewhat after today’s fiasco. I played my heart out down at the café and they treated me ever so well. I had a slight pay-rise and some generous tips for doing such a great job. I am instilled with confidence about performing music alone in a posh restaurant, which is just as well. The chalice was poisoned by underhand deeds. The net result is that I shall be more well paid, and am myself a one-man musical army. No banjoists required.
My Coursera is going exceptionally well, but my other studies are suffering. I cannot allow this to happen. Today I will catch up on my Latin, and leave Roman architecture and World Archæology until I have caught up on my Latin studies.The best thing about Reading Classical Latin is the quotes from ancient orators, poets and philosophers. It is an excellent part of the book, and I am so glad it contains most of the materials for Continuing Classical Latin, as due to the points tally, I am not permitted to study that module. It matters not, as I already have the lion’s share of the books, so can continue studying Latin during the summer break. My pronunciation is coming along well, and although some authors who wrote in Latin are long since forgotten precisely because they wrote in Latin, this does not affect me. Why? Because nobody is interested in what I have to say anyway, so it is only posthumously that I will be appreciated. Marlowe would be so very proud.
Gung Fu is still majorly boned. No dole or owt and he will be relying on me to support him. This I cannot do, because I am so poor myself. Fifteen for the gig plus a tenner in tips doesn’t go very far. At least I bought dog food, and saved enough for postage on my Latin essay, which are the main things.So much for staying off the fora! Man! This Coursera thang looks pretty awesome (if only a pale imitation of our own hallowed institution). I feel like a traitor, but I just can’t get enough of learning Roman history and archæology. Naturally Maxy Waxy has made a big splash already.
This evening’s plan to study the Hittite Empire has been shot through the foot. I am frantically writing out conjugated verbs and declined nouns, in an effort to memorise them.Tomorrow I have a gig, and I am more than a little bit nervous. This is nothing compared to the pressure of my debut at the swanky restaurant. I thought I would develop an immunity to stage-fright, or at least a resistance, alas no. Not that it matters. Time to reach down deep, breath, grow a pair of bollocks and then put on my best performance yet.Oh dear. Lot’s of thangs happenin’, goin’ down. So, Max was delivered from the clutches of dire straits by cinching a second residency. Cajun, bluegrass and old-timey night at a swanky resturant. None to shabby. I was enraptured to get news of this through the cellist, for ’tis nothing short of a Miracle.
In other news Mr.X is not on the Flex, having lost his benefits of late; speaking of which. So did Gung Fu. He and Hannibal are at each others’ throats. Hannibal is a thief and a liar, which pisses Gung Fu off. It pisses me off. Something’s gonna give.Bye for now. Back to reading.
tempus legendiEven though I managed to get some Latin done this morning (which was awesome by the way, I am really getting into it) I digressed by focusing on archæology this afternoon. I am making progress as best I can, but life is tough. I should have gone busking as I have no food or tobacco, but since the blanket ban on buskers I would be either doing so illegally or, sitting in the rain watching my thousand pound guitar get rusty. Fcuk it. I give up smoking and eating instead. I still have a few olives and half a pack of spaghetti (no sauce or owt) to last me until Saturday: where I earn a tenner, which must last me all week.
There is this guy, a kid, a chav, a conspiracy theorist, who is around town. He wears his trousers round his ass, talks like a black guy, raps, he’s essentially what we’d term a ‘wigger’. Anyway, the other day he posted some s- and I corrected him on his spelling (he could not spell the words English or immature) and he just replied, “F- off!” immediately after stating that he was ‘chilled out’. Evidently not. Anyway, I got to thinking that this guy is so very uncultured, vulgar, a thief, rude, he revels in the ‘bling’ he has bought with his giro and thinks the world owes him a living. This morning I slammed him with one hell of a status update. He once smashed up my mates car because he thought he was a lizardman from outer space. That’s how messed up this generation is. This morning I indirectly called him a ‘semi-illiterate chav wigger’ (he cannot even spell the word ‘immature’ nor the name of our country). I am so used to amicable discourse with academics that some FB conversations are banal, vulgar and boring.Tonight is D&D, I am attending just for the social aspect. I hardly see any body nowadays. I’m going to take my guitar and try to play music there, as the rôle of Arion - cithara player extraordinaire. In any case, little Ronulus must stay at home. He’ll hold the fort for me.
Who loves you? Well, an old flame got back in touch last night. She was drunk, her other half was out with the lads, and she confessed she loves me very much. She asked me, «et toi» to which I replied «je même» which, for those of you who didn’t already know means “I love you” effectively, in French. (Literally: I feel the same way). I miss her, but like so many burds, especially French ones, to her monogamy is a type of wood. She is quiet, unassuming, highly sexed, again, a typical trait of the French woman.
I needed to take regular breaks from the Latin. So I’ve been playing some guitar in between spates of learning vocabulary and working my way through the exercises at a snails pace.This morning I gave the Council a letter explaining in no uncertain terms that you cannot take something from nothing, and if they repossess my house, I have put a contingency plan in place to emigrate. I am serious. No doubt a hundred souls will be glad to see me out of Britain, and if even one is pleased to see me across the Channel, I am content. Figuring out how to get across the sea with little Ronnie Barker is going to be a challenge, but I’m game. I’ve had it with this place. No gigs. No burds. No opportunities.
I am looking forward to a breath of fresh air, a new adventure, and some gigs are surely better than no gigs at all. Aye. I am going where the people love musicians, where not a word of English is spoken, and where the wine is cheaper, the food more fulfilling and the women are easier. Froggieland.I had a major epiphany today. First of all I got back on the horse with the Latin, after being thrown in low spirits over Saturnalia. Alas, I am rusty as buggery but am managed to rediscover my mojo for language with a matter of minutes. I must keep it going, studying each day.
The revelation came when I managed to pull myself out of ‘the cloud of the black dog’ and get back with it.I remember dating a burd a while ago (like fifteen years ago) who was well fit! I mean she had an incredible intellect, was so beautiful and gentle. She left me for a muscular toreador with a barrel chest and big red flares. Anyway. Before she left me, I excitedly told a friend about getting together with this incredibly talented woman (a musician, naturally) and my mate said, “Well she’s a very lucky girl.” I had not even considered that she might feel lucky to have me - so low was my self-esteem - and something not too dissimilar happened to me today.
I have been worried about doing years of study to get a degree and another twenty-thirty years research to eventually become a Professor; constantly the black dog hounded my spirit. “Is it worth it?” I asked myself, “Have I left it too late in life?” My grades are very average and I am not well respected in many places. Most people hate me. That’s life. Anyhow. Today I had a polarity shift in perspective: I will not be lucky to find a decent job after graduation; whichever institution does eventually hire me will be lucky to have me; and visa-versa. It’s not all one way. I am not going to accept teaching brats just anywhere (as far as I’m concerned, that’s the wooden spoon prize). Despite my grades, I have what it takes to be a teacher: charisma, knowledge, a thirst for the subject matter (classics) and any institution would be just as lucky to employ me, as I would be fortunate enough to beat the competition and land a job with them. Sure, competition is tough, but that’s no problem. I’ll just have to keep applying for jobs, going to interviews and so forth, once I am sufficiently qualified.In the meantime, music is my master, my bread and butter, and that is really quite okay. I must not let living on a tenner a week get me down. While everyone else is getting ‘mental benefit’ or working on minimum wage, Maxwell works for no pay, at his studies. The OU wrote me a letter saying that it is only part time study. Today I took my books with me, plonked them on the desk at the Council offices and said, “You think that’s part time?” Two modules at once. I even showed her the Latin grammar guide. It’s no cake-walk lady. I can tell you.
Maxy is back on the flex.If you think you’re defeated: you are defeated. It’s not simply a question of maintaining a positive mental attitude, but it’s about courage, and most of all: spirit.
If I write something of intellectual worth (posts such as Mesoamerica or Homer) then my hits jump up over ten times. Apparently I have not a single follower, but within two minutes of writing both those aforementioned posts, I had a dozen hits. Somebody somewhere is monitoring this shit, the whole thing’s a set up. Here’s how I know.
I once met a revolutionary, a Communist, an Anarchist, from Wales. When I asked him if he had the internet he exclaimed, “No!” I then enquired as to why ever not, he told me that he was involved in politics for many years. At the time he was a politician, the idea of the internet was conceived. Being privy to such certain sensitive information meant that he knew what the government were up to when it was first implemented across the network.The internet is essentially a massive espionage network and information exchange. On each motherboard is a tiny microphone, and in most laptops and smartphones nowadays: cameras with facial recognition are hard-wired. (Incidentally, they work on measuring the distance between your eyes, so that even if you wear sunglasses, you can still be identified). Each time you turn off an application on your iPhone, it takes a picture, compresses it, and relays it to a database, time-stamped with the co-ordinates of where the picture was taken. I even know the person who first developed and wrote the software for the location tracking. He was paid in weed.
This is the so-called ‘Big Society’ in which we live. Big brother. As the rich get richer the poor get poorer, and all the while, the government are taxing you and taxing you. Something’s gotta give. A change. It will most likely be egalitarian and global. The old order will be torn down, and a mafia will take its place. Back to the bad old days of the Ostrogoths, Visigoths and Vandals. This is what is likely going to happen, if the current trend continues, and the left-wing revolutionaries I have met in Europe and South America are genuine. It will happen elsewhere first (on Continental Europe) and will spread through South America, with the final bastions of corrupt ‘democracy’ holding out (Canada, the U.S. and Great Britain) until they have eroded people’s civil liberties to the point of being part of a military state. Then the government will begin to suppress its own people with riot-control and the armed forces. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this out, but it helps.I just visited the Council offices in an attempt to reach an amicable resolution about my recent Court summons for non payment of tax. The lady behind the desk said, “I am not the Council, I cannot log into the system.” Whilst wearing a badge that read ‘District Council’ and tapping away at terminal. I explained my situation, calmly, and told her that I can either give up half of my earnings for the year, or get fed in prison and be tarred with the brush of being a criminal for the remainder of my days. It’s Catch 22. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.
My imagined log-cabin in the Rocky mountain forest seems more appealing than ever now.When the words ‘heroin’ and ‘aliens’ are mentioned in the same paragraph alarm bells start ringing: “nut-bar”, “fruit-loop” and “scam”. I read ‘agent buried alive’ the other day, and naturally was every bit as intrigued as I was sceptical. Here’s how it is.
1) Anybody who dwells too much thinking about the so-called ‘Illuminati’ (the Freemasons, effectively) and aliens from another planet drives themselves into a state of hysteria, so much so that they end up crazy. Fact. I’ve seen it happen time and time and time again. The more they meditate on it, the more all they can think about or talk about is f- aliens this and secret BS that.2) Phil Schneider said that there are several elements from aliens that are not on the periodic table. This is complete BS. I have spoken to Geo-scientists on this matter and the periodic table of elements is complete. Anyone who believes this BS is gullible and stupid. It’s a case of bad science.
3) The guy who wrote A.B.A. earns a tonne a week from his website.4) Not every theory can be dismissed, let us keep an open mind. There were several points when I have experienced similar things to skip-matey-me-old-flapper (author of A.B.A.) such as viewing sound as a transparent ripple, and also a connection with my twin brother (telepathy, feeling pain, etc.) so one cannot dismiss what he says, as evidently these phenomenon exist, they’re just not well researched.
5) Even if aliens did exist, so what? Who gives a f-? They’re obviously not ready to reveal themselves, so who cares man?! I have witnessed UFOs above Brittany. So what?6) If you believe all the hype, you’re naive. There is more to life than conspiracy theories, such as having fun, happiness, love.
7) David Icke drives a black Lamborghini. He has obviously done very well out of peddling BS.8) The conspiracy theory is just that: a theory. It’s a smoke screen to distract people from what’s really going on. The theory is put out there to scare the population and other nations into thinking that certain western governments have ‘alien’ technology. Such BS.
9) If you don’t wake up and snap out of it, you’ll spend the rest of your life worrying about shit that doesn’t exist, and before you realise it, life will have passed you by.10) Don’t worry: be happy.
Finally, success! I managed to get the files on the Hittites working through my Kobo, so I have a significantly broader research base from which to do my assignment. Awesome! I am definitely choosing the Hittites, the Aztecs and (of course) the Roman Empire. Rome and Greece are so very interesting (to me at least).
This evening I watched a touching film, a classic: The Piano. Very moving.Life is ... what it is. Viewing said cinematic masterpiece made me think about my dream as a child. Growing up in Ontario, I remember looking at the mountains and thinking to myself, “When I grow up I want to come out here, build myself a log-cabin, and live simply.” I might even pursue such a dream if things here go tits up. Were it not for my house, my studies and my dog, I might have even accepted my brother’s invitation to go stay with him; cut loose, and wandered the grizzly infested mountains, sowing seeds, building a cabin, hunting, fishing, gathering firewood. All I ever wanted, since the age of four, was to live a humble life in seclusion. Perhaps one day I will, perhaps not.
I was speaking to my friend the fiddler yesterday, who told me about his eldest. She has a degree (a first!) and can’t even find a job cleaning toilets, let alone follow her chosen career path. I wonder, I wonder, if having got my qualification (assuming I work hard enough to pass) whether I’ll even find a job? My grades are very average. It is unlikely I will ever make anything of myself. It would be nice to live somewhere quiet, in the wilderness, should my dream of becoming a teacher fail. I should like to sit and write, play music to the birds, grow vegetables and corn. Even during my dozen years on the road I drew up plans for precisely how to build the structure, what tools I would need, and how I should likely go about building my humble hut.Didier would say, “You have not the right.” and lawfully, he would be correct. Yet if he had trodden in my shoes, if only for a month, he would soon realise that not having anywhere means you just crash out wherever you feel safe and warm. Right or no right, a man has to sleep after walking many miles in mountains carrying a 120 litre bergen. Aye.
In order to summon the motivation to resume the laborious and unenviable task of mastering the founding principles of Latin grammar, I decided to read about the Roman Empire today (which overlaps with my current archæological assignment). I discovered some startling things along the course of this voyage through history; most especially to do with mediæval history. Fascinating.
This is just one of the few similarities betwixt mediæval history and ancient history:“...this vast internal trade network broke down. The widespread civil unrest made it no longer safe for merchants to travel as they once had, and the financial crisis that struck made exchange very difficult with the debased currency. This produced profound changes that, in many ways, would foreshadow the very decentralized economic character of the coming Middle Ages. ... they began to manufacture many goods locally, often on their own estates, thus beginning the self-sufficient "house economy" that would become commonplace in later centuries, reaching its final form in the Middle Ages' manorialism. ... a half-free class of Roman citizen known as coloni. They were tied to the land, and in later Imperial law their status was made hereditary. This provided an early model for serfdom, the origins of medieval feudal society and of the medieval peasantry.” - wikipedia, Crisis of the Third Century in the Roman Empire.
Now all I have to do is summon the will to study Latin. Easier said than done.On the other hand, many of the ‘better sources’ are commercialised (Creedo, Oxford) meaning pay-for-information which one could quite easily obtain elsewhere, for free.
I once quizzed Dr. Deman about Thomas Beckett. This is a subject Dr. Deman has studied extensively. I went to wikipedia and therein it repeated precisely that which Dr. Deman had explained, down to the finest detail (when Didier had researched the subject, the computer did not exist; furthermore I very rarely see him at the computer, he is usually immersed in books).For, against, this is living proof that wikipedia has excellent qualities about it, and remains the first port of call for most people wishing to know something, globally.
Upon returning home after the marvellous melodic musical session in the park yesterday, I was invited to a dinner party. It was lovely. A small family gathering with the hosts’ father being in attendance. He is a wondrous old chap, a charismatic Welshman, a writer and former journalist for the Daily Mirror. (He once wrote an 800 word article in the iambic pentameter: not a single person noticed nor said anything). In light of this, I recited some of my play at the dinner table, he loved it. I asked him to proof-read my script(s) before sending it to publishers, the gentleman agreed to do so. Even his girlfriend was a delight to talk to and we enjoyed a marvellous roast dinner and dessert.
After eating I produced both my guitars: Saint Lillian and Gertrude. Instantly the old boy asked, “Why on earth are you studying Latin history when you play so beautifully?” I gave my reasons, which he accepted. We even did a duet together, a ho-down, and the man sang such wit in a southern-drawl.Today I am invited to a musical get together. I refused, on account of having to catch up on my Latin.
Today, something incredible happened. You couldn’t write it. Spectacular, fantastic, almost unbelievable.
After leaving the pub Gulliver and I headed to the secret garden. Met by the smell of sweet scented spices smoked by a certain someone. A long bowed sound sawed from the cello’s deep resonance. Before long Gulliver broke out with his fiddle, I accompanied on my guitar, Ashokan Farewell, a beautiful tune, most especially on the violin, and the cello. After that came the hot-diggedy hootnin’-tootnin’ ho-down hoot-nanny yessirree! Yeeeha! Words cannot describe how melodious a sound we three made. A half a dozen bullfinches listened in, a stormy looking woman walked past carrying her shopping, throwing us a sharp look as a neighbour, smoking, laughed, looked on and listened with joy.So joyous was the occasion that I wished to record it, but didn’t want to taint the moment with red-eye fever; so I asked someone I knew to take a photo. It... was... magnificent.
No-one save the bullfinches that were there, the people, and the big-guy upstairs will ever know just how sweet a sound issued forth from the cello, save ourselves.I was almost fired today, on account of my strange body odour and smelly feet. It means I am not paid my usual tenner this week (I really needed the money) but providing I am sweet scented, and do a good job, I am permitted to play here next week. I should have gone busking. (I was going to but decided to play the café instead, on account of the alleyway ban on buskers, that and I’d rather have a gig than busk). I am so boned.
No matter. I shall just have to forage for food. There are no problems: only solutions. I need to find a way to make money. I’m buggered. This is a nightmare. Chin up Maxy. Just scram, get home, and get stuck into my coursework.At the very least, it’s a lovely day. Today has given me the opportunity to quit smoking (I have no choice) and clean up my act. They still gave me a breakfast and a cup of tea, but it is savage not being able to have any money this week. Must think fast. I could flog a section of my miniature collection, something I’ve been toying with that idea for a while now. The elven lords wouldn’t be too happy about it, and the Saxons would have no-one else to fight, which is perhaps a good thing. Maybe they’ll put down their weapons, and pick up musical instruments instead? Let’s hope so.
Back to Latin.F- it! I can just do a quick ‘stealth busk’ on the way home. Needs must as the devil drives...
Just as I was leaving the owner of the café came up to me, had a kind word with me and paid me anyway, result! (I sat and played some for about a half an hour - outside).“So Ron’? No need to stealth busk after all ’ey boy?”, jolly good show. The elven lords are most pleased about the deferral on their tree-top castle sale. So are the Saxons.
Righty ho, vocab’ and declining verbs and conjugating nouns.Ooh! This is quite a turn up for the books! Gulliver just called, and it looks like the band might be getting back together. Maybe. I’m not going to hold my breath. In any case, the café miss the one-eyed fiddler and banjoist every bit as much as I do. I really miss playing Old-Time. Even if it’s just a pint and a chat, it’ll be nice to see the old boy again.
Well, we talked it over and as I suspected, that was that: the moribund of No electrickery. No matter. We still play informally, but not professionally. One thing that did warm my heart was hearing that all the audience on the street and the staff at the café all ask the same thing: where’s Max? When the lone fiddle reports in melodic sonorous enticement, that same lonely sound yearns accompaniment. Aye. No man is an island. We’re off for a jam in the park, which will be, of course, as bitter-sweet as can be. I am not relishing the idea of playing on my own (for it is always better to play in a group than play with yourself) but that is what I am left with. The search for new musicians. That has been my life’s mission (that and the ever elusive search for peace and Enlightenment).Some learnēd scholar once said to me, “It is far better to teach history, than become history.” Too true. I love my chosen subject, with a passion matched only by my thirst for intellectual fulfilment.
Yesterday I remember sitting in silence with Gung Fu. He has no internet (it’s been this way for quite a few weeks now) and was bored. The entire time I was there I scribbled and studied for Block 3 of my archæology module. It made me realise just how lucky I am to have found a subject that perks my interest, so much so that I spend each waking moment immersed in studious endeavour.No more playing games. No more playing music. Now, is the time to focus, on history, language and archæology. Aye.
I awoke to a lively debate on the validity of Homer as history. Wading in, full of gusto, I said my piece and left my mark on a once exciting and now seemingly tiresome conversation. The other guy arguing can read ancient Greek and is evidently a very learnēd Classicist. This doesn’t stop Maxy though, I utilised a small selected segment of my personal library, quoted some top-notch historians and archæologists, but despite my efforts in attempting to prove such legends as history, following the tract of mine own research, had to concede defeat. Here’s what I wrote:
“I would very much like to agree to disagree but in light of the evidence, I must concur because, “There is no archæological evidence for a historical war... at Troy, although there were upheavals in the eastern Mediterranean around 1,200 B.C.E.” (Rathbone, 2009, p.158) Even so, to the first true objective historian Thucydidēs b.ca.455-ca.398 B.C.E. and epic poets like Homer, the Trojan war was a integral part of Greek history. (ibidem) But did such a war even occur? What of the validity of such an occurrence? Due to Schliemann’s faith in these fables we have added another chapter to history (Barker, 1968, p.H3) and through Sir Arthur Evans’ trust in the fidelity of the Homeric hymns that pushed back the frontiers of history to five thousand years. (ibidem) Equally, “Evans’ assumption that... ‘kings’... ruled from these ‘palaces’ is generally accepted. ... We now know that the shaft graves found by Schliemann date to the... 16th century, ... before the apogee of Mycenæ’s power and wealth in the 13th century. ... The iconography of power in Minoan Crete is... quite weakly developed, and virtually no clear examples of ruler portraiture are known.” (Alcock/Cherry, 2013 [2005], pp.481 & 484)In any case, whatever the validity of the Homeric poems, it is only through the tenacious search for truth by archæologists that we are even aware of whether these myths had any historical basis. What is clear is that this period forms the crucible of European civilisation, and furthermore has inspired great works of art throughout the centuries: Rubens, Veronese, Botticelli; writers in reception studies such as Shakespeare, Joyce and Marlowe.
“Hollow pyramidēs of silver plate;The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought
The wars of Troy, but not Troy’s overthrow;...Take what ye will, but leave Æneas here...”
Historical or no, the events (or non-events) that took place (or may not have taken place) have had such a weighty impetus that has left Europe with a lasting cultural tradition which has inspired some of the finest artful intellectuals to create their chef d’ouvre. Whether it was ‘Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe’ by Manet in 1863 or the sarcophagus of the River Gods from the 3rd century C.E. at Villa Medici, Homer, Hesiod and Maro have all left their legacy upon which stands the foundation of Classical Culture.A review of the evidence suggests that Homer may have been a gestalt entity - possibly two people - and that this may be said, “It is historically perhaps unfortunate that the composers or compilers of the Iliad and the Odyssey were... successful... in catching the spirit, and the social and military institutions of... [ancient] Greece; for by doing so the best potential literary source... later... was in a sense perverted.” (Revill, 1962, p.51)...”
Revill, J.C. (1962) World History, Longmans Press, Northampton, p.51.Barker, L.M. (1968) Pear’s Cyclopedia, Chaucer Press, Suffolk, p.H3.
Rathbone, D. (2009) Civilizations of the Ancient World, Thames & Hudson, London, p.158.Alcock, S. & Cherry, J.F. (2013 [2005]) The Human Past, Thames & Hudson, London, pp.481 & 484.
For the now, I must return to my Latin studies. Though the cupboards be bare, I am resolved to work tomorrow at the café, from necessity. This is my lot in life, so I must accept it, graciously, gladly.Alington believed that he had a responsibility to educate the workers on his Letchworth estate. He read them Shakespeare and transformed a pond on his farm into a scale model of the world. While they rowed him round the different countries in his constructed microcosm he gave introductory lectures on geography, followed by discussions and quizzes. Before taking them to London for the Great Exhibition of 1851, fearing they might get lost, Alington required them to build a large model of the streets of London, fashioned out of logs and covering the area between Hyde Park and King’s Cross. For a week he drilled his workers on the route from the railway station to the Exhibition and back again. Those learning the way from the station to the Crystal Palace wore a ribbon on their right legs; those responsible for mastering the return journey wore the ribbon on their left legs. The experiment was unsuccessful, and the trip was cancelled.
Alington was a generous man, and he held an open house six days a week. Tramps, gypsies and outcasts of all sorts were particularly welcome. Those on horseback could ride straight into his drawing room, where Alington would entertain them with ribald songs, accompanying himself on the grand piano. He enjoyed being carried around his garden in an open coffin, but was defiant at the end. In his last illness, he refused to take the proscribed medicine until his gardner had tried it for three days. Then Alington called for a tumbler of brandy, drank it and fell backwards, dead.Donaldson, W. (2004 [2002]) Brewer’s Rogues, Villains and Eccentrics, Phoenix/Orion, London, pp.11-12.
I was really looking forward to studying Roman architecture at Yale through Coursera throughout the past few months. Today I looked at the module, and it looks like it’s been commercialised, signature track is required, and they’re asking for fifty-bucks that I haven’t got. Oh well. Seeing as all the study materials are on-line, and the sole advantage of using Coursera is that it was free, means that is yet another module I am destined never to study, except in my own time.
There’s an archæology course that starts next month, and that one doesn’t require signature track ($50) so I might try that one. It’s with Brown University who, as far as I’m aware, take a more European approach to the discipline: archæology being a distinctive field in its own right, rather than being one of the branches of anthropology, as is usually the case across the pond.It is unlikely that I’ll try any Coursera this year, seeing as I have so much other study on the go. Must find motivation to continue Latin.
I also must find some more gigs, which would be nice. I remember travelling abroad and finding gig after gig, in France, Belgium and Italy they really love good musicians; even Germany is more ‘up for it’ than England. (Although I tend not to go there, because history has taught me a lesson. They wouldn’t like Maxy sausage-side. I’d be like Burton, when he met Taylor’s German family).Ho hum. Back to the grind.
Oops a daisy! It looks like I might well be signed up for Roman Architecture after all, and that the Signature Track would just be for a certificate. In any case I signed up for Sue Alcock’s Dirty Little Secrets starting next month. I wonder what they will make of Maxy? I intend to keep fora contact minimal and just let the assignments speak for themselves. Man! If I could do that with the OU I would totally flunk my degree, as if I wasn’t enough of a wild-child already! My papers for the OU are taken very seriously, but I still have to restrain and reformulate my arguments to fit with the rubric of the assignment. Because these Coursera courses are just for fun I can really be myself and ‘go for it’ in essays, which is a luxury I cannot afford when learning seriously: jumping through hoops, just like Ron’.
In any case, with likes of the Sue Alcock, I am likely to do the very best I can, seeing as my audience is an esteemed authority in the field. In any case, this year should be a great year.Year of the horse.
Today has been slow. I’ve just taken Ronulus out, he really needed it. Despite accompanying me round the shops or to friends places, little Ron’ has shat inside twice in as many days. He’s curled one out more than once, he’s the gift that keeps on giving. That’s my little stinker, my lil’ poo-pooh, my little stinky-winky. Seeing as how Ronulus is actually house-trained, these ‘presents’ he keeps leaving me are an indication of how much I stay at home and study. On the day of the deadline and the following day I was more or less chained to the keyboard, writing against the clock. Even if I let him out in the back-yard, he still tries to do his business in the neighbours’ gardens. He’s looking at me all innocent now, wagging his tail, eating his Barker’s complete. I love you stinker, but we’re gonna have to have bathies soon.
Back on with the Latin I suppose.I have buried my head in the sand about accumulating a Council Tax bill. It is not fair that I should have to part with a slice of the ten pounds I earn each week at the café. I am so hungry at times that I cannot face giving up even a penny that could otherwise be spent on bread or oats. Drink? Smoke? Forget it! Just a morsel of bread and some rainwater is all I ask, and am denied even that simple ‘luxury’.
I remember watching a documentary about the treatment of the Jews in France during W.W.II and remembering a quote about one poor Jewish soul trapped in such a harsh place. He said, “In the morning you would queue, to get your bread.” They ate one time a day only. I recall being hungry and yearning to be that Jew in a concentration camp: he at least had one crust of bread, which is more than none.So, the next question is a really good one, and if I apply myself, I might just be able to make up for the marks lost on my first paper, and possibly the second if it scores as badly. It’s all about ancient empires: the desire for security, economic gain and the ambition of rulers. We get go choose which empires and I have pencilled in the Romans and the Aztecs, and am toying with idea of writing about the Akkadians and/or the Hittites (all depending on whether or not I can read those files Delli gave me, perhaps using a converter).
I should be getting back on with the Latin, I know I should, and I will. I have two weeks to get this next assignment done and then another two weeks until the third archæology paper is due in. I re-start my job at the café in a few days, so I have to write some new tunes, or at the least learn a few new covers for that gig, so the staff don’t get bored and fire me. (Repetitiveness was the cause of the last guitarist losing his place there, I consider it my duty to ‘mix it up a bit’ and throw in a few new tunes each week. That is principally why Maxwell’s Silver Hammer broke up, Harry wanted to play the same set week in, week out).So, it’s late, I’m sober and can’t sleep. I might just have to retire again, and see about picking up the pieces tomorrow.
At eleven fifty-five yesterday I submitted my essay. It is a very average academic paper, and I decided to send it without checking it. As a result is has multiple errors, I forgot to write the word ‘development’ in the concluding paragraph. Not only that but I had forgotten to add an ‘&’ sign and full-stop in the bibliography. All in all, much like my last paper, it was finished in a hurried manner.
In any case, I kept the footnotes in (a thousand words long or so) and didn’t even care about doing so. Without these explanatory footers it would not be possible to make sense of the essay. I cited Hall, Reade and even paraphrased some Arouet.Today I am straight back on the Latin. I just went to the supermarket and they had some great books there! I managed to get a copy of The Kon-Tiki expedition the earliest pioneering attempt at experimental archæology. Also a I bought a huge nice book on history, next to which was a tiny pamphlet sized modest tome entitled ‘American History’. Cute.
‘James’ T. Kirk (my tutor) has kindly offered me another extension until today. Naturally, this gives me just enough time to re-work the steaming pile of pooh that is my lame excuse of an essay. I am over-awed by just how much there is to learn about Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Mesoamerican urbanism. You could pick either one of those areas, dedicate a lifetimes worth of research and you’d still only be barely scratching the surface.
I am unsure whether or not to include the footnotes or not (they are running into over 700 extra words so far). In all likeliness I shall have to either omit them and post them up on the forum or perhaps email them.This is such a tricky subject, I confess I am buckling under the strain, it is as though I am Atlas.
Righty ho, a cup of tea, bowl of porridge, and I am ready to begin re-working this paper. Last night I slumped asleep next to the keyboard at about four-thirty. This morning at nine I was awoken by a sudden loud thunderclap, and some more flashes of light and rolling thunder, fell asleep again for a few hours, and am up bright-eyed and bushy tailed, all set to re-work this bad boy.Let’s see how today goes.
Today I was diagnosed with A.S.T.S. It’s an extremely rare condition, and affects fewer and fewer people each year due to new remedies and treatment. “Acute Surf Teddy Syndrome” is what I’ve diagnosed myself with, after much critical analysis.
Being labelled as such is after sitting at the keyboard, gawping at Surf Teddy staring at a blank screen, as one gazes at one’s own blank screen.I have meditated upon this one question: “can urbanism be a singular phenomenon?” each fleeting moment of every passing day for the past couple of weeks, at least. I have pondered this question while setting my pants on fire, falling asleep next to the wood burner. Last night all I could dream about was ancient cities in Mesopotamia, Egypt and Mesoamerica.
Hopping from one foot to the next, “It is a single phenomenon. No, it’s not the same everywhere.” and so on and so forth. Similarities, differences, I am freaking out, big-time. T-minus eleven hours.I think I’ll watch Surf Teddy again, and ponder the problem some more.
Okay. Getting stuck into this essay is great! Much like hard work or punishment, it is very rewarding. I have gone with my ‘gut instinct’ and have written the paper from the perspective of a plebeian, a prole, a person. It is cynical, scientific, realist, gritty, dry, and most of all: no f- about evidence based arguments backed up by a veritable plethora of citations, only about half of which are ratified by the University.Fcuk it. I’m just gonna go for it, fail or no fail. Alright. *rolls sleeves up* “You really want to know what I think about urbanisation?” (Quigley, 1961, pp.211-212) The Evolution of Civilizations and (Reade, 1872, pp.6-9, 18-19 & 28-29) The Martyrdom of Man.
That’s what I think about urbanisation as a singular phenomenon. Oh yes, I have had to couch some fairly illiberal views in this one. If I fcuk it up, so be it.Now I am very f- stressed out. I just went over to Mr.X’s place to see about uploading the essay. It just so happens I pick the day when he has sent his machine off for repair. So, home (through the floods and storms), grab the PC and a screen, haul it over the hill and back again. Meanwhile it’s a full-blown bachelor party goin’ on round there, one cannot move for people. Nightmare. Back to the grind...
22:22 hours, D-day in T-minus 1 hour or so counting. Bugger, bugger, bugger. The essay is a complete bloody shambles I just re-read it (I was just going to send it) and it’s a bloody good job matey took his ’puter to the repair shop. This piece of ... whatever it is needs reworking completely.Calm Max. Edit it. Refine it.
You can do this.
