Shattered

Dear Diary,

I'm really tired after working a double shift down at the pub. Yesterday it was pressured having the head chef and other porter breathing down my neck the entire time, and finally getting yelled at for asking to buy some food. Today was different, without those two cracking the whip - so to speak - the workforce simply went about their duties with efficiency, naturally. We all knew what to do, and simply go on with it, without the need for constant beasting.

In the Armed Services it is known as "the army B.S. factor", of which the elites are exempt. With the B.S. cut down, the soldiers simply get on with the task at hand, without any nonsense. Although I loathe my job (big-time), I realise that it will not be forever, one way or another. If I am Destined to work in pubs for the rest of my life, it will be as a musician, and not as a Kitchen Porter. If I do manage to find something else (intellectually stimulating) I might just hang around, but we'll see how we go.

Man, I'm tired. It was no easier today, excepting not being yelled at. I always go at full-pelt, and never stop working for even a single second. When yesterday the other K.P. said, "Don't slow up now." I replied, "That's what she said." The pun went completely over his head.

Today the humour in the kitchen was akin to Terence and Phillip from South Park. It was so base, so crude, and devoid of any sort of wit or intellect. Even the builders working outside (as I ceremoniously cleaned out the inside of filthy rubbish bins - my least favourite task - had humour on precisely the same level. I cannot stand tolerating the company of these simpletons, yet I must do my duty, without complaint. It has been a tough day, so I'm going to crash. Good night.

Getting older

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was nice, to see Jake and his family, and to jam, that perked me up a little bit.

Today was… the same old gig. I played for one and a half hours on a cheap guitar from the supermarket. It went really well. Had I played for another two hours (as I usually do) I would have earned only another fiver. Life, is not easy.

I just met another OU student, a Geo-scientist. He is equally as disillusioned with the University. Since graduation he is no better off than when he was before he began studying. That makes a total of eight post-grads I know who are either washing up, serving drinks, butlers, or unemployed. Since being barred from most any activity with the University, I am finding it more and more difficult to summon the motivation to study. I have an assignment which is really really late. The last other late one I handed in, I failed (by one mark)

One: I am not able to talk to any other Classicists. Two: If I go to see the one Classicist I know, I have a funny feeling that like Dr. David Kelly, I will be asked to "take a very long walk in to the woods" pearl-handled revolver and all. Three: A career, monetary gain and social advancement mean very little to me, compared with being able to conduct amicable discourse with fellow Classical scholars. I have included a copy of the letter, here, for anyone who reads this (which is very few people indeed).

Ever Dearest Didier,

I hope this finds you well. Please know that although it has been some years since I have been in touch with you, I think of our intellectual discourse often, with a great deal of fondness and nostalgia.

The University experience has been a transformative one, yet your personal experience as a student in Higher Education and mine bear similarities. They do not like what I have to say, and much like yourself (or even Pablo Picasso) I am marginalised. Even so, I have enjoyed spending two years studying lingua Latina and look forward to my final year studying ancient Greek language and Roman archaeology.

Included in this letter are a number of translations from ancient authors (by me) including Marcus Tullius Cicero, Pubilius Ovidius Naso and Pubilius Vergilius Maro.

I am immensely proud of being able to translate Latin so well, but the University, are not proud of me. Being abjured from keeping the company of learned scholars of du culture classique is a most bitter pill to swallow indeed, yet, this put me in mind of you, your refinement, knowledge, and wisdom.

I have learned that the pursuit of wealth, a career and social advancement is far inferior to being able to cultivate fruitful intellectual discourse, amicably, with another, equally as well acquainted with Classical culture; namely, your good self. In your own words, I wish nothing more than to "partage les pensez" chez toi.

Upon mastering the ancient Greek language, I would very much like to visit you once again, if it please you.

Know that I love you, as a brother, and have never met another single soul who matches your keenness of intellect, correct politeness, or sublime eloquence.

Yours,

In the utmost sincerity,

Mr. Maxwell Lewis Latham Cert. H.E. (litterae humaniores)

Pressure? No pressure.

Dear Diary,

Okay. So the pressure's off, in many cases. First of all, I am working and seem to have a little working credit at the moment, so things began to look up. I also had a call from Jake yesterday, and we're jamming again, which is great. He and his wife are working on a new computer game, which is really awesome, seriously. I think this will be the best game he has ever written.

On the other hand, the water pressure has dropped to zero, so now the dog has no water that is not in his bowl. I am still poohing into a carrier bag and urinating into a bucket, unable to have a bath, wash my clothes, nor even drink a single drop of that which sustains all life.

I have to wait until these people come around to repair it. Which means I cannot leave the house, even to get a drink of water. The human body cannot survive for more than a few days without water. This is not a life. This is a siege, and I am under siege. How the hell can anyone expect to live like this?! It is most unreasonable.

My work stipulated that I must arrive clean and tidy. I will lose my job if I do not find somewhere to have a bath, and I shall have to buy and entire new set of clothes, just so I don't lose my job. (I do not have an old-fashioned washboard, mores the pity - it would double up as a nice percussion instrument if I did have one).

I have an assignment deadline in thirty-six hours (assuming I do not perish from dehydration beforehand), so the pressure is on, and simultaneously off at the same time.

Yesterday I was admitted back into the roleplaying group, which I think was a big mistake. I do not have time for this, and as an activity, it does not exactly foster a better philosophical or moral mode of life.

Newsflash! The plumber just came round (a different chap) and showed me what had happened. The other "plumber" who came round the other day simply just turned the water off. (I didn't want to fiddle with it, as he used all sorts of tools, tweaking three separate nuts. Had I attempted to fiddle with it, I may well have flooded the house. This situation is tantamount to either culpable neglect, feckless or malicious "craftsmanship" (which is against the creed of the Guild of Master Craftsmen) or more simply a conscious act of sabotage. The previous "plumber" was either incapable of doing his job (which is highly unlikely) or, just maliciously shut all my water off.

In any case, I can flush the loo now, have a bath for the first time in days, and wash my clothes. Excellent. Problem created? Problem now solved. No pressure? Now we have pressure, D-day in thirty six hours.

In the roleplaying session tonight my character (named Pubilius Ovidius Nasonis Metamorphoseon) is a Roman bard and scholarly theurgist, who uses violence only as a last resort when all other options have been exhausted. (I wanted to play Lawful-Good, but the rules do not permit bards to be Lawful, which is just silly, so I just have to play Neutral Good). (As far as I can see, there is no distinction between respect for the rule of Law, and Goodness - on a philosophical level.

He is a healer, a lover, and a poet-philosopher. His main abilities include reading Latin epigraphy (Decipher Script skill: Roman) and ancient Language (Roman), as well as Theurgy as his magic, which mainly uses protection spells/prayers, and healing. He can also use his Bardic lore skill (knows most everything about everything) and I am actually going to sing sections of Ovid's Metamorphoses (in Latin) accompanied by my lute in real life whenever my character uses his Bardic music ability. Every round he uses it, I am going to keep singing the ballad of Echo and Narcissus.

Fever Pitch - Critical Mass, Decoherentness

Dear Diary,

Yesterday the "plumber" came around to check my tap, which has been leaking for a year. The Landlord is and was aware of this. Nothing has been done about it, until yesterday, where now I can no longer flush the loo, run a bath, nor have any water anywhere except from the tap which was leaking, and has not been fixed. I also have a large hole in the roof, which the Corporation are also aware of. It has been this way all winter. One can actually see their breath it is so cold in here.

So today, rather than give all my wages to the rent, I am going to risk another Court hearing (the suspended Possession Order will be re-enforced) and of course, in addition to the constant threat of eviction from an unscrupulous and uncaring "Landlord", I still have the Liability Order hanging over me, like a cold shroud, threatening to seize all my worldly goods, for Tax arrears.

To top it all off, at work (where I work hard) it was their tenth anniversary the other night. Every single member of staff was offered a drink (the cheapest lager only), all except for me. I was the only one not driving, and yet I was told to leave, while everyone else enjoyed a drink and food. Note, over Christmas and New Year (where I worked every single day) no-one was offered anything of this sort, nor even said so much a Merry Christmas to me.

On the shift previous to that, the guy who does the desserts at work dropped a brownie on the floor (which rarely gets scrubbed) and just picked it up amidst loads of broken porcelain, then put it back on a plate, and served it to a customer. This is supposed to be a "five star" hotel. I am sick and tired of slogging my guts out for these ungrateful feckless people, only to hand every penny I have over to the Landlord and Council, not even being able to eat, get my dog vet treatment, flush the toilet, have a bath, and I also still have a gaping hole in the roof, as it has been for the duration of the coldest winter on record.

I am going to throw the book at them in Court, and dig up all the dirt I can find on them.

I also contemplated losing my life the other day, because the University exclude me from the Classical Studies Society. So, I cannot speak with anybody about Classical Studies, and expect to get an informed coherent response from any of these uneducated bumpkins around here.

I have been through thirteen years of homelessness, strings of broken relationships, all manner of hardships, and never once have I contemplated such drastic measures. Life is a living hell.

Another Aphroditē

Another Aphroditē appearēd,
Oh mirror! Mirror! Fairest of them all!
Sweet Alice with her cheeks so red
Eyes like twin di’monds, from the heavens fall,
I saw three magpies: sunny afternoon,
I saw someone, she saw me, I saw you,
With feline grace she strode with such aplomb,
"She" the cats’ mother: I’d sing you a song,
Each note dripping as beauteous melody,
Aphroditē: the only one, for me.

An unexpected visit

Dear Diary,

Alas, a neighbour just arrived. She sported a yellowish-greeny bruise upon her left cheek. "Whoever did that to you is right handed.", I remarked. "My boyfriend is left-handed." In any case, when he hit her, he did so hard. I doubt she even felt it, bringing any number of alcoholic beverages with her. I know she is in to heroin. This is not good. It is not as though I can extoll the morality of Cicero or the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, and have any note of recognition from an audience, both unaware, and uncaring. It is unlikely anyone about here knows who Cicero was. If I asked Didier about Plato, Cicero or Marcus Aurelius, he would tell me most everything about all of them.

This morning's turn of events merely makes me motivated, to go and see my old friend, so very learned in Classical culture.

Here, is only addiction, distraction, and domestic violence.

Do I wish to be here? Naturally, no. Of course not.

Would that I could dwell amidst the pure mountain air, the clear water and the climate of a learned gem-cutter, well versed, in Latin, and ancient Greek.

The Usual

Dear Diary,

Another day, another growling belly. After a guy I know came around last night, offering brief respite from the pain, as we sat at his and chatted I realised, that I am so far engrossed in Roman and Latin culture, that I have completely lost touch with the world of computer games and movies, which everyone else seems to be immersed in. So much so, that I have little will to gas about anything other than Latin culture, particularly poetry, mythology and philosophy.

You could be the most eloquent translator since Thomas Taylor, and no-one here would care.

Nobody has any interest in what I translate, or how I translate it. Even as I beg for change on the piss covered street, just so I don't die of malnutrition (even though I am working), people say, "It's for the dog! Not you, the dog!" As though I didn't play music for years without a dog.

No-one I know understands Latin. Not a soul. Everyone who does, have no wish to speak with me.

Therefore, I must go to see Didier, as soon as possible.

If I stay here, I will eventually die of poverty and disease. No-one cares. If I stay here, I will likely drive myself barmy with the fact that everyone else I know just wish to know about hit points, damage per second, and their rankings in some frivolous computer game. Anyone who is interested in Classics, Archaeology or ancient mythology, is far away, and has no interest in what I have to say about anything. No-one even reads this blog.

Death and Taxes

Dear Diary,

This morning, like all mornings, I awake, being faced with the decision, to either go out begging on the cement, or keep feeling these hunger pains. I have decided to starve to death, rather than face begging. I just don't care any more. I am working, I shouldn't have to beg, just for food. Any kitchen, in any country in the world, offers their staff food, but not GB. Tax Credits? Gone. Naturally, seeing as how I am poor and working, it does not make sense to support a single male. I should have signed on the dole or mEnTaL benefit, but I am not able to, because of pride.

I read the Tax letter, they want over £655 "Liable To Recovery". How on earth am I able to pay that, when I am starving to death?

I have made arrangements to go and live with Didier and Maxime in the Vosges. I cannot live like this. No food. No future. Just the spectre of debt-recovery and eviction hovering over me as a frozen wraith. The housing Corporation have not fixed the big hole in the roof, for months, all winter. Today, I am going to march down there, and just tell them, until they fix the hole, I am going to spend my wages on food. This will cause another court case. I just don't care, I am going to cut the paintings out of the frames, smash up all my instruments (except Arion), burn my books and leave, never coming back, to this hell-hole.

Prospects

Dear Diary,

Were I not pious, honest, hardworking, erudite and a Christian, I would be far better off. In real-terms. Okay, sure, my soul would be in the hazard and I might well be re-incarnated as some sort of awful brutish beast, but, at least while on (hell on) earth, I would be much better off. Consider this. A guy I know does gigs, he is on a retainer of £800/month from one bar, he has three other residencies, he doesn't work, he admitted doing a degree with the OU "just because they gave me money to do it", he said, and he also claims mEnTaL benefit. He is as bad as any number of drug dealers I have known. They all have plenty of money, rent paid, Council Tax paid, no need to work, and are far better off, than an honest scholar who works. This, is the truth.

Last Saturday I played for three and a half hours, and they gave me twenty quid. This is better than the fiver I am used to being exploited for.

In France, the going rate is £200-250 per gig. Here, I work my ass off for some really very Dickensian heartless people, gig for hours and hours on end, and at the end of it all, am in debt, with a Liability Order hanging over me, and nearly no hope.

For the last week I have been the lowest (in spirit) I have ever been in my life, by far (and I've been in some pretty taxing situations, let me tell you!). This is because even before the conception of the OU Classics Society, I am banned, without a word, even before the word "go". This is the same as the blogging ban. One guy I know swears like nobody, rails against the Establishment, and gets barred for what? Twelve hours? Try twelve months! Or sixteen! There, is no justice, and instead of being proud to belong to such an excellent institution of Higher Education, I am ashamed to bear the Royal coat of arms on my jumper, or the name across my chest. If the OU have banned me from blogging, and even before it is born - banned me from the Classical Studies Society, then what chance do I have of ever getting a job (that does not involve washing up) with them? Zero. That's how much.

So? What do I do? Well. As I walked beneath an azured sky this evening, as the sun kissed the green verdant hilltops in the misty distance, peppered with trees, I noticed a single star, shining in the night sky. After about two minutes, another one joined, twinkling all the colours of Alexandrite. This symbolised my hope. It is but a mustard seed. There is one institution in the country which seems to have taken an interest in yours truly. I am not going to mention where, but let's just say they are among the top five in the world. I cling to this frail notion of (likely idealised and wishful) hope. It might just be, that one day, if I work hard enough, study hard enough, pray hard enough, that I might, just make something of myself, and not just simply be confined to unskilled labour, and a life of poverty, as I have been, my entire life.

Work, don't work: it's the same.

Dear Diary,

As per usual, I awoke, hungry, as happens on a daily basis. Instead of working a shift, while not being permitted to eat anything (working in a kitchen) nor even any scraps for the dog, I find myself throwing my entire wage packet at the rent, following the Court Case. The other Court Case (the Liability Order) hanging over me, threatens to take all my possessions. (I have nothing worth taking except tools for my work, or paintings). So, I checked my Tax Credits to see if they are in. They are not. So, I have no electricity (I've been on emergency for several weeks now, even sticking a tenner on the other day did virtually nothing) so cannot take a bath, wash my clothes, or eat anything hot (as the element draws the most power). I could of course, go on the dole. This would mean shame, from even frequenting such a place, and of course, everything I earned would be deducted, so whether you work, or don't work, you still receive the same amount of money.

Tomorrow I must go and sit in a windy piss covered alley, begging for change, just to avoid starvation, even though I am working.

I am not feeling particularly proud today.

Mercury's Mystical Experience

More familiar, more simple form, this heavenly thing folds back into itself, in its place is a great radiant space. There is only light. This light is the appearance of Reason, a radiance. … This radiance, to Hermes, permeates all space. Reason takes upon itself the puissance of Enlightenment. 'T is revealed, as the Enlightener. The bringer, of the light, of the mind. Hermes feels himself [exalted] lifted up, placed in the 'midst of this radiance. He stands there, supported only by space, and the light. Having a foundation in everlastingness because he is in the substance, of life itself; and from this substance there can be no falling, no injury, no lack, of anything." M.P.H. - The Vision of Hermes Trismegistus.

A turning point: Self-change

Dear Diary,

This has been the worst week of my entire life so far. Never have things been quite this bad. Never-mind fall outs with burds, homelessness, or any other form of hardship, the realisation that there is no possibility of ever being able to talk to anybody about anything intellectual, comes as a serious blow. Big-time.

1) Universities, by their nature are secretive organisations. Not everyone is lucky enough to access Jstor, and by rights, students are not encouraged to share their knowledge with people who have not been studying, for the simply reason that these lazy so and so's do not merit being given this information. (And quite right so).

2) Even if the information was shared with the uninitiated, the uneducated slothful milling masses would not even understand the register, let alone abstract concepts or complex theories to do with specific disciplines.

3) Much like being banned from blogging (for the past two years) I am now banned from being a member of the the Open University Classical Studies Society which is newly formed by some would-be Classicist called "Peter".

As a result I have decided to finally terminate my studies with the Open University, and move to another country. This is because, for an intellectual, to never be permitted to talk with anyone about anything intellectual, is unbearable. itaque (So) I go to see Didier again, as he is the only person I know, who when I speak about du culture Classique understands what I say. I also have found the primary source I need to show him that the British gave the Frogs a damn good thrashing at Waterloo. I can go to him with a Diploma or two, tell him honestly that I have been studying history at University for the past five years, then bam! Hit him with precisely why the British gave the Froggies a jolly good spanking at the La Haye farmhouse eleven miles south of Brussels, on the 18th of June, 1815. This was the reason I began studying at University in the first place, and this is a blessing in disguise. Now, dinner table conversation with the world's smartest Savant (Dr. Didier Deman) will be forever transformed. I almost can't wait. I have already arranged to stay with Maxime "Naked Boy" Mathis, and his burd (my ex, well, most everybodies) Audrey. I will stop with them a short time, then journey across the country, after I have scanned in all my books, backed up all my data on to memory sticks (after taking what I like from the OU Library - never to be shared with anybody, as part of the terms of the agreement with the Covenant). Oh! This will be the first time in five years that I don't have to finish an assignment, or I don't have to worry about having the mickey taken out of me by a bunch of ignorant peons at work. This will be the first time in years that I can play a gig and get paid decent money for it (not just £20, like I get here), and although I will be destitute, I will be myself again. If the OU Classics Society don't want me, I'll just have to go to where I am am wanted.

The mountains, are so beautiful, the air clean, the water pure, it is a breathtaking place to live. I almost cannot wait.

There is, of course, a slight chance that I may continue studying with the OU and live here, providing a way can be found to open dialogue, with Peter, the tyrannical head of the Classics Society. (Not being able to speak, is a hallmark of tyranny).