Oh. Hi. It started
late last night last week last year decades ago when I was born and it comes and goes, but, even when it goes, it leave debris. Which I keep. And stack. And store. And stew over. I’ve a feeling this is not going to end well. Someone I love dearly said to me yesterday those words I dread hearing, that affirmation that something is wrong; “I feel un-ease in the air, tension in the air, is something wrong?”
Yes. Probably. Proof.
- BOOM SPLAT!
First news story I saw this morning: Connecticut Hoarder Dies After First Floor Collapses under Weight of Clutter. [READ IT HERE] All one need do is change “Connecticut” to “Maryland” and “Clutter” to “Books” and, voila. There I am, crushed and not going. I have long been obsessed by this thought — and many others, but this one in particular, since reading about the Collyer Brothers [WIKIPEDIA LINK] and their deaths, also fictionalized by E.L Doctorow in Homer and Langley [CLICK HERE]. If you follow my blog, you’ve read about and seen my stacks of books, and, believe me, on an existential level, my book stacks have NOTHING on the piles of emotional shit I have stored away. It’s the BOOM, SQUISH.
- EFFIE, WE ALL GOT PAIN
And yet, despite the stacks and piles, I am now OBSESSED with this book: The Story of Pain: From Prayer to Painkillers, by Joanna Bourke [CLICK HERE FOR OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LINK], which is not even released on this side of the pond until September and I am using every ounce of my strength to resist buying myself an Amazon gift card and using it to order this from AmazonUK (I’ve done it before — in the past — prior to knowing that Amazon was the evil empire it is). I read about it in the Guardian/The Observer [CLICK HERE FOR THE FULL REVIEW] because I read papers from England on-line as part of my daily delusions. Here’s the paragraph that GOT ME got me:
William Nolan, writing in 1786, exhorts the clergy to visit patients in charitable hospitals in order “to admonish them from a repetition of those irregularities, which perhaps laid the foundation of their present sickness”. But pain was also the route to self-improvement. In 1777, after being hit by a runaway horse, the philanthropist John Brown wrote: “Do me good, oh God! By this painful affliction may I see the great uncertainty of health ease and comfort that all my Springs are in Thee.” And Harriet Martineau, the great 19th-century social reformer, wrote: “I was patient to illness and pain because I was proud of the distinction of being taken into such special pupillage by God.”
I am fascinated by the way in which our culture, currently, is obsessed with believing we can control all aspects of reality, while, at the same time, juggling this core belief that there is a greater power Who/That has planned everything, is controlling everything. So, for example, the dichotomy of those who are violently anti-abortion, which, to me, seems idiotic. If your god is an all powerful, all knowing, omniscient god, then surely that god knows who will be having an abortion and would not send a “soul” into that collection of to-be-terminated cells, right? Or, if god DID send a soul into that collection of cells, then god had a reason for that collection of cells/soul to have the experience of being aborted. I mean, are you railing at god for all the miscarriages? That’s a terminated collection of cells too.
Anyway, I want the book. Which, likely, I will eventually get (or, forget) and never read … it will be part of the stack that crushes me, no doubt. But, you know, PAIN. I am confused and confounded by PAIN.
- GIMME THE BALL(s)! GIMME THE BALL(s)! GIMME THE BALL(s)!
I didn’t really think I gave a shit about the World Cup. But, now, I think I might be rooting for Croatia. They know how to bond, those boys. Click here for more pics of them frolicking at their hotel. Not safe for people longing to touch hot naked men.
- LOSING MY MIND
Have to run. My head is spinning. Not literally, like in The Exorcist, but, rather, just, ready to explode — again, NOT LITERALLY, although, sometimes I wish I had a gun . . . no, really, I do, and really, I have to run because someone is after me … and not just the voices in my head.