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Wednesday, 13 October 2004

Enter The Realm Of The Ridiculous

I have abandoned Catch-22. In fact I flung it across the room in a melodramatic moment. Hey, it’s a little uneventful here at times. One of the characters was described as knowing ‘everything about literature except how to enjoy it’. Well I wasn’t enjoying that book. Actually I think that quote could have been used by me in my Jacques Derrida post. I also could have said he ought to be called Jacques Derridla, it being more of a play on his name than the really obvious Jacques the Riddler. But I am always too late with the punchline. Now I am reading An Evil Cradling by Brian Keenan. That’s a laugh a minute I can tell ya. I am going to stab someone if my shipping doesn’t arrive soon. I haven’t elected the stabbee yet, but I can practise on the chickens. That’s practise with an s. Because it’s the verb word, not the noun. Stabee with one b or two? I really am going mad. Blogging is nothing more than talking to yourself but with pictures.

Before I came out here I escaped from my horrible job every lunch time to the comfort of the second hand bookstores, where I bought lots and lots and lots of books for cheap. I stockpiled them. There is at least a year’s worth if I read slowly. I can live without many things, but not books. My books are in this shipment. And where is this shipment now? I don’t know. And my books? Probably wiping the ass of some customs official. I am reading the dregs of what our predecessors left behind. Wild Swans is also staring at me. I had that book back home. For years. I never read it, couldn’t get into it. Finally one day I leapt up and grabbed if from the bookshelf along with Captain Corrrelli’s Mandolin which had suffered the same fate, and ran to Oxfam where I abandoned them. I should write a book. The book. The one I’ve started and ignored ever since I got here. I am becoming addicted to the internet. It’s not healthy.

We just had some horticultural visitors. My brother says you can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her like it. They didn’t drink these leaf-peoples. There’s something not quite right about people who don’t drink. Apart from alcoholics. And they’re normally happy to announce it and carry on partying. But people who choose not to drink, just because. It’s odd. You feel like they’re sitting there judging you as you fall into your margarita. They were holy peoples too. Can’t get on with them either, don’t see the point of it all. Have you ever noticed how many religious nutters have a blog? If you do that random blog selection thing 8 out of 10 are holymolys. 8 out of 10 cats prefer Whiskas too. Do you think there’s a link? If any of my friends are reading this you must email me at once. I think I might actually be going mad…Was it Jacques Derrida who said all the sane people were in the asylum and the nutters on the loose? Or was that Foucault? Didn't understand him either.