Commune of good cheer
My thighs have exploded, I fear permanently. Running is not an option, and the most taxing thing I've done since lending my bike to B all winter (I know, what sacrifice!) is a five hour stint in Harrods, styling our very own AB, on the same day as the London Marathon. Job done, she took off to NY with more letters after her name than any grad I know, Céline pumps in the bag. After my jeans suffered a gaping wound in the vicinity of the crotch (which, I sadly can't claim is 'bike related') AB gifted me two pairs of unworn Acne jeans, which don't fit me either, but will be quite the incentive to initiate a morning routine of leg raises and other low weight bearing contortions. 38 you see is a PHAT number. I mean, look at it!
It all started with breakfast cupcakes, there was of course pizza, and a detour down Sunset Boulevard (via the Tabacaria*). 'Sunset Boulevard, brutal boulevard, like you we'll end up in the ocean'... I love the darkness in this line from the ALW adaptation. It reminds me of Bill Hicks's 'Arizona bay'. I'd work both the title song and Tool's ænema into my post-modern interpretation of the classic, in which Isabel goes to LA to get Blair off drugs. Disappear here.
While I'm supposed to be getting a grasp on key philosophical concepts like 'judgement' and 'critique', I'm yet to understand why the word 'facticity' triggers disdain whereas 'thingliness' [Dinglichkeit] tickles. And so most of my study goes. There are serious writers and ideas on which I can find little more to say than 'useless', 'waste of space', then some that resonate so much I'm moved to impression (the undercommons) or depression (the new spirit of capitalism). It will be a measure of my maturity to what degree I let this devolve into an exercise in smart-arsery, or take from it those things that will necessitate a commitment to change/ing. I note down essay ideas like 'Art: it pisses me off too', 'Kanye: you conflict me', and 'Shit, I'm a communist, how the f*** did that happen' and wonder if I can make anything of it in this forum (the 21st century university) or whether I'm forever destined to fall in the gap between the academy and the people.
In football news, West Ham have played their final game at Upton Park (this is like the Rabbitohs playing at Redfern) in a typical performance that saw fans pitching tinnies at the Manchester United team bus (before the game) and the players steal victory late in the second half. Ah the Hammers, apparently Olympic Park will tame them (fascist infrastructure). It might not have snowed this winter but London spring has so far been a downpour of blossom petal confetti, with a handful of days suited to kerbside drinking late into the evening.
nb. *The poem, Tabacaria, by Fernando Pessoa was introduced to me by Isabel as part of my education on all things Portugal. It's not exactly cheery, but it's perfectly me and lovely all the same. Look it up.
Bill Hicks does stand-up while Glenn Close does standing ovation.