Random acts of Violet
The closer I get to starting something brand new, and things I haven’t been involved with for going on three years, I wonder. Well, of that I don’t wonder in a bad way. My wonderings concern me, and my family. Y’see, sometimes I get the impression Cassandra likes me, despite me being me. (Although I have to say my paranoia and worldview is gradually seeping in to her consiousness. She even mentioned liking Biased BBC. Next stop, Samizdata!.)
So I wonder, and even worry, about my commute to that Lahndahn, innit which starts RSN. Getting up earlier, getting home later. I enjoy the time I spend with my family. Reducing that to a few hours at the weekend, it seems to me, won’t be condusive to my wellbeing, and above all I like my wellbeing. No one else (bar Cassandra) looks out for my wellbeing but me. And those who know me know I love to spend as much time with me and mine as I can. Doing fun things, exploring, learning, laughing. What damage will I be doing to my already-balanced life? So wonder and worry I do.
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, if he loses his soul?
A rough-coated, dough-faced, thoughtful ploughman strode through the streets of Scarborough; after falling into a slough, he coughed and hiccoughed.
Pynchon’s latest novel is a veritable literary dose of hypnotism. I know he (as well as one of my other faves, and the best living merkan novelist, Auster) are considered tricksy, writers’ writers, clever and obtuse, but the singsong prose and intricate looping plots always entertain me. Plus the cultural references, the philosophical ramifications, and the just I-would-like-to-be-a-character-in-one-of-their-novels all add up to what literature *should* be. It should challenge, and entertain, and teach, and infuriate. I still find it hard to relate to televisual entertainment in the same way. Or in anyway, come to mention it. Alright, so televisual doesn’t include videogaming. Obviously.
Regardless of book interludes, I usually, and only ever, do what I want to do. And what I enjoy, and what is best for me. Nerves? Perhaps. Doubts? Of course. But nothing ever changes without any pain, I just wonder what things will change into. Let’s see, shall we? But not quite yet. There is still time here, and then the all-day beards-and-sticks-in-beer binge festival to attend. Then I can seriously wonder.
