Liverpool was more modern. A young city, perhaps not always young, but the young had made it that way. It is foggy and cold. The fog is thick, I can see it rolling off the waters and invading the city. A slow unstoppable force that flows between the buildings, filling in open spaces, making everything feel close and immediate. It feels claustrophobic. It presses on me, wraps me up in its cold arms and squeezes. I breath it in, the fog is so thick that I can feel it moving through my throat and into my lungs. I fight it there, my lungs warm the air, the foreign fog disappears and as I breath out, I create my own fog. The night is still early, so the streets of Liverpool are filled with all ages. Middle ages walk in pairs of opposite sex. They take quick steps and walk in stride. They are out to eat, to talk, and then to return home. The old are slower. Their time is day, and when the gloaming begins, like coupled birds to their nests, they prefer roosting to the dangers of night. Only a few old are seen, but only for a moment. As quickly as they can, they leave the city buildings for the safety and warmth of a cab. It is the young that rule the night. They travel in packs. Loud unorganized masses made of individual pieces that cannot and will not function independently. They are hoodlums. Hormone driven hooligans that want to laugh and dance and drink. Music is their lifeblood. It is as important to them as the foggy Liverpool air they breath. Without it they would starve. And they did in the past, the time before The Beatles - those gods of music - changed this city forever. They fed the hungry masses. Their sermons were more powerful than words, they were music. They spoke to an entire generation, and that generation listened with eager hungry ears. They had been waiting for a savior. They had been cooped up in their homes, electrons revolving around the nuclear family, powerless to leave their path. Rock and roll electrified them. It shook them from their orbit and propelled them into the world, free to bounce around, absorb and be absorbed. The youth took the world by storm and it would never be the same. Liverpool was the base and The Beatles were the catalyst. The biggest atomic bomb to ever go off, the chemical reaction started small, exploded quickly, and then filled the world with a radioactive cloud of radio waves. Liverpool is ground zero and I am here, examining the leftover pieces like a forensic scientist, just trying to understand.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
LONDON - Catching Up
Liverpool was more modern. A young city, perhaps not always young, but the young had made it that way. It is foggy and cold. The fog is thick, I can see it rolling off the waters and invading the city. A slow unstoppable force that flows between the buildings, filling in open spaces, making everything feel close and immediate. It feels claustrophobic. It presses on me, wraps me up in its cold arms and squeezes. I breath it in, the fog is so thick that I can feel it moving through my throat and into my lungs. I fight it there, my lungs warm the air, the foreign fog disappears and as I breath out, I create my own fog. The night is still early, so the streets of Liverpool are filled with all ages. Middle ages walk in pairs of opposite sex. They take quick steps and walk in stride. They are out to eat, to talk, and then to return home. The old are slower. Their time is day, and when the gloaming begins, like coupled birds to their nests, they prefer roosting to the dangers of night. Only a few old are seen, but only for a moment. As quickly as they can, they leave the city buildings for the safety and warmth of a cab. It is the young that rule the night. They travel in packs. Loud unorganized masses made of individual pieces that cannot and will not function independently. They are hoodlums. Hormone driven hooligans that want to laugh and dance and drink. Music is their lifeblood. It is as important to them as the foggy Liverpool air they breath. Without it they would starve. And they did in the past, the time before The Beatles - those gods of music - changed this city forever. They fed the hungry masses. Their sermons were more powerful than words, they were music. They spoke to an entire generation, and that generation listened with eager hungry ears. They had been waiting for a savior. They had been cooped up in their homes, electrons revolving around the nuclear family, powerless to leave their path. Rock and roll electrified them. It shook them from their orbit and propelled them into the world, free to bounce around, absorb and be absorbed. The youth took the world by storm and it would never be the same. Liverpool was the base and The Beatles were the catalyst. The biggest atomic bomb to ever go off, the chemical reaction started small, exploded quickly, and then filled the world with a radioactive cloud of radio waves. Liverpool is ground zero and I am here, examining the leftover pieces like a forensic scientist, just trying to understand.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wizard Dreams
That’s about all I can remember from the dream, I just remember waking up with a feeling of urgency, that there was something pressing I had to figure out, and now.
Still lying down, I noticed a few pieces of paper on a chair a few feet away. Right before I had fallen asleep I grabbed a blanket off of that chair and must have uncovered the paper without noticing it. I investigated and found the weirdest things drawn in blue ink on three pieces of lined notebook paper.
Another sheet had a sketch of a man with no face, but I got the impression it was Jesus.
The third sheet had scribbling in the center with the word “Disorder” written above it and other bubble letters on the bottom I couldn’t make out.
I’m pretty sure that right after I had woken up, for the 5 minutes I was investigating those sheets of paper, I was convinced the wizard from my dream had left them for me; pieces to the puzzle! Two minutes later it dawned on me that my brother who had stayed with me for the weekend must have left them, and after asking him, I learned he had. I had to laugh, I had really thought someone (my wizard, see right) had snuck in my room and left them on the chair while I was sleeping. If only!
This experience reminded me of being a kid and having that ability to sincerely believe the completely untrue things people tell you or the things you make up in your mind. Like santa clause, imaginary friends, or the bridge to terabithia.
My stomach still pained so I filled up the bath tub and turned on In Rainbows, by Radiohead. I took like an hour in the bath, listening to the entire album.
In Rainbows is one of my favorite albums, it’s beautiful. Every time I listen to it, it’s like I’m somehow rehearing it for the first time. There is always something new to discover. What a masterpiece. 4 minute warning, the last song, just amazed me. I think when the album ended I must have replayed that song three or four times. His voice is so pure; it carries the music, like a lullaby. Sing me to sleep Thom.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Provo Farmers Market
Friday, September 4, 2009
An 8am Discovery
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
brenden catching up
Next I finished The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I had read the novel in highschool and im not sure what inspired me to revisit it, but Im glad I did. It was fun to spend some time in the "roaring" twenties with Nick, Jay, and Daisy. Part of the reading experience for me is relating to the story and its characters, and in The Great Gatsby I find myself drawn to Nick. He is a quiet observer who knows each character intimately simply because he cares enough to watch and pay attention. He is the confidant and friend that isnt always in the limelight, he shys away from it actually, but is always there to catch the stars when they fall.
Ive made it a new habit to watch any movies I can find that were made based on the books I read. I found a 1974 version of The Great Gatsby starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow that was just great. I appreciate it when a movie stays as true as it can to the book and this one did a fine job. It did lose a little bit of the magic and heart that the novel houses, but Daisys character, Mia Farrow, made up for any losses. On a side note, it was hard to get over the idea of her being the same actress in Rosemarys Baby, such a creepy movie. I was half expecting some supernatural devil spawn to spring out of a corner of the screen to attack her.
I found quite a few film versions of Great Expectations and was excited to watch them all. I started with the most recent, a modern adaptation made sometime in the 90's starring Ethan Hawke and Gweneth Paltrow, and was so dissatisfied that I almost didnt finish. It strayed so far from the storyline that it lost all of the power of its messsage and heart. Dickens must have been turnng in his grave upon the latters release, pulling out whatever hair he had left. My favorite version of the movie however was made in 1946 and, of course, it stayed true to the storyline and dialogue of the book. The acting was somewhat dry, but the message was as emotionally potent as ever.
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A Clockwork Orange was my next read. What a mindfull that was. I dont reccomend this one to the faint of heart as the subject matter is entirely saturated with violence and an evil minded narrator. It was a lot of fun to read because it was written in semi-old english with a lot of made-up vocabulary words that the author used in proxy of many common ones. The narrator Alex speaks in "nadsat" which is the common slang of the teenagers of the future.
"to tolchock some old veck in an alley and viddy him swim in his blood."
meaning "to kick some old man in an alley and watch him swim in his own blood"
Fun right?
I have a thing for utopian or anti-utopian novels (such as Brave New World, 1984, The Giver) and this one threw me off being dystopian. Depicting a future not even trying to be perfect but simply housing chaos and disorder. The trick to the novel was that amidst all of this "ultra-violence" and mayhem that would normally be read or observed with unease, through the narrators nonchalant and hopelessly guiltless view, many of the most vulgar scenes are underlined with a sense of humor that make the reader question their moral scruples. Alex is a gang leader that commits horrid crimes, is eventuall inprisoned, and introced to a new technique that will supposedly cure him of his michevious ways. Agency is a common moral dillema towards the end of the novel as well as the nature of man.
The movie Clockwork Orange, fittingly made in the 1970s with its crazy set design and fanciful and futuristic feel was every bit as obscene and unsettling as the novel. I would only reccomend the movie to serious buffs or fans of the book. __________________________________________________
Friday, April 24, 2009
Petrarchan Love
Have you ever “fallen in love” with someone you can never have?
Maybe it was a crush on the popular boy or girl in your high school or maybe it’s an obsession with a celebrity that goes beyond fandom, in any case, we have all probably felt that kind of love before. An infatuation with a person that is more than perfect, they are every fantasy you have ever have personified and walking the earth.
I researched the term “Petrarchan” and discovered it is derived from a fourteenth century poet named Francesco Petrarch. This man is amazing.
Petrarch
Petrarch lived in the early fourteenth century and had a passion for literature. His father wanted him to become a lawyer, but Petrarch felt that the legal profession was “selling justice” and refused to practice. Instead he became a priest in the catholic church and spent his days reading and writing literature. He was not allowed to marry and never fell in love during his time as a priest.
This is where the story gets good…
After leaving his profession as a priest he was in the church on Good Friday, it was a beautiful spring day and he was 23. In church, he saw a 17 year old girl named Laura; it was love at first sight. She was already married to an older man and refused Petrarch because of that, but did that stop his love? Absolutely not.
Laura became the inspiration for one of Petrarch’s greatest works, a collection of 366 poems called Il Canzoniere. Here is an exceprt about the day he first laid eyes on her…
It was on that day when the sun's ray
was darkened in pity for its Maker,
that I was captured, and did not defend myself,
because your lovely eyes had bound me, Lady.
It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself
against Love's blows: so I went on
confident, unsuspecting; from that, my troubles
started, amongst the public sorrows.
Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:
so that it seems to me it does him little honour
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed.
Imagine a love so intense and real that the idea of that person alone inspires hundreds of poems. Petrarch’s love for Laura was unceasing and although it brought great inspiration, it caused him even greater agony. He had contempt for men who persused women and wrote poems exclaiming Laura’s beauty and magnificence rather than love poems to woo her to him. Petrarch put Laura on a pedestal and glorified her name with his writing. He loved her unconditionally and that love was real, even though he was never able to have her.
Petrarch loved Laura until the day she died. She died at the age of 38, meaning Petrarch loved her for 21 years. Upon her death he experienced extreme grief and never loved again.
That is Petrarchan love.
Petrarch wasn’t and isn’t alone. My professor used “petrarchan” love to describe the feelings of many modernist writers, Matthew Arnold being my favorite. The poor guy fell in love with a girl that didn’t love him back…
We were apart; yet, day by day,
I bade my heart more constant be.
I bade it keep the world away,
And grow a home for only thee;
Nor fear'd but thy love likewise grew,
Like mine, each day, more tried, more true.
The fault was grave! I might have known,
What far too soon, alas! I learn'd--
The heart can bind itself alone,
And faith may oft be unreturn'd.
Self-sway'd our feelings ebb and swell--
Thou lov'st no more;--Farewell! Farewell!
Arnold struggled with isolation and quite naturally a woman occupied his thoughts. Unlike Petrarch however, many of the modernist authors did not embrace their unrequited love, but bemoaned their loneliness and complained about their circumstances.
In our day we are no different than Petrarch or Arnold. Whether we like to admit it or not we all fall in love. We have to fall in love. In many ways Arnold mirrored the attitude of John Donne’s idea that, “no man is an island entire of itself.” As hard as we try to tell ourselves otherwise, we can’t, and don’t want to be alone. It helps to know that through the ages, people have felt just like we do.
So the next time you fall in love with a cute boy or girl you always see in the library, don’t feel so bad facebook stalking them, Petrarch or Arnold would do the same.