RIP TT

It is not the greatest of tragedies when an old man dies, however great you think him. A full life is a tribute in itself and enough to be grateful for. But still. As always when a hero of my is no longer among the living I'm torn between grief and happy memories of what they have meant for me.

Fare thee well Tomas Tranströmer.

Allegro
 After a black day,I play Haydn,and feel a little warmth in my hands.The keys are ready.Kind hammers fall.The sound is spirited,green, and full of silence.The sound says that freedom existsand someone pays no tax to Caesar.I shove my hands in my haydnpocketsand act like a man who is calm about it all.I raise my haydnflag.
he signal is:“We do not surrender. But want peace.”The music is a house of glass standing on a sloperocks are flying, rocks are rolling.The rocks roll straight through the housebut every pane of glass is still whole.

No more books

Dear reader,

I refer to the previous entry in this on-line journal. if it had not been made sufficiently clear in the near ten year existence of this blog : I love books.

Not 'like', not my hobby is 'reading', no 'I wish I had more time to read'. NO.

I love books. I devour them. And of all the challenges and limitations I've set myself for 2015*, accepting the challenge of not reading 100 books a year, this year was perhaps the one challenge I should have thought over. I cringed and gasped for air at the mere sugestion. Of course. But nonetheless I accepted.

Mr. T is hopefully near because I am indeed a fool and need to be pitied.

*more on challenges and limitations in future blogs

We have a winner

Once again. And I'm proud to announce that this year it took me a great deal less effort than it has the years before. I'm starting to find my groove I think. And for those who are curious about the word count it's 55077. Of which about 2/3 is doomed once editing December comes around the corner. Also the official website puts my word count at 55171 after validation. But I've decided to believe my word processor.

For every still typing away: best of luck!

I'm a cheat

Check my word count!

If you are not one of us. Don't bother trying to make sense out of it. Some people grow a moustache in November. Some people write novels.

The Writing Bug

Not as exciting to watch or as entertaining to partake in as the jitterbug, I should imagine. Sure it excites and entertains ME to be creating a story all in my head and then pour in on page after page but I can not expect the entire world to share my enthousiasm.

A week from now (or thereabouts); on the first of November: is NaNoWriMo -time again. And it pains me to admit that I will not be a part of it this year. Four three-hour evening classes a week and  classical concertladen weekends make it quite impossible. To complete the challenge I've set myself: one complete A4 drawing every day and 50 bonus drawings on a smaller page size, will be quite enough to occupy my scarce free moments.

However Herculean the task, it stings a little NOT to subject myself to a very strict deadline and a lot of stress, my stomach is grateful for all the caffeine I shall not be neccitated to consume and my heart bleeds and rejoices for the brave souls that take up arms.

Good hunting all, and may the plot be with you.

Bibliobibuli

I've already self-diagnosed. Keep clear of me, my living room and any books, stationary, tea cupboards and comfortable chairs that I might have sat in to lower any risk of contamination.

A book so good...

... you don't want to read it because it means it will end. And the more you read the sooner it ends.

How often does any one come across a book like that?

Writing Frenzy

Tonight's the night.

And I might gonna make it happen. It'll just take a little longer than one night. But one second past midnight is the beginning of National Novel Writing Month. As you will read on the official website : 30 days, 50,000 words! One month, one novel.

All previous attempts of mine have indeed reached the 50K mark but to call them novels would be rather .... well: wrong. This year I promise to do better.  And if life doesn't interrupt me too often, I will even promise to keep you up to date.

 

Rant XII

or:  'real literary gifts'

This is not so much a rant as an observation that I've cherished, nurtured and allowed to bloom into a proper well-rounded thought. A little like parenting a small annoyance until it fruits as a full-blown grudge.

Knowing me, you know for certain -for if you do not, you don't know me - how fond I am of reading. And yet in all my live, I have received but one -ONE- literary gift. And even that one - though comical - half blown. But before I give you the details here, I must first explain what en-nerves me so much about what people call literary gifts.


Literary gifts DO NOT include book shop gift certificates.  Neither do paperback bestsellers all too neatly wrapped by expert employees at chain book markets. They are at best a safe way out of the misery finding a present for someone, one doesn't exactly know. A literary gift is not about giving a book, it's about giving a story.

And that is why I consider,  despite the many vouchers, discount tickets, fancy cooking book and 'complete works of ...'* , Jonathan Swift's 'The Benefit of Farting' securely packed in a cardboard shoebox accompanied by a can of beans and a note stating "please render your colleagues lives miserable", as the only gift coming anywhere close to the honorary adjective 'literary'.

*insert 19th Russian or British author

... she hides in the library, reading... *

" I turned the warm water on and threw in a bar of soap. I soapd her crotch with tingling fingers. by this time my prick was chewing her lips, her ears, her hair. Her eyes sparkled as if she had been struck by a fistful of stars. every part of her was smooth and satiny and her breasts were ready to burst. We got out and, letting her straddle me, I sat on the edge of the tub. We were driping wet. I reached for a towel with one hand and dried her a bit down the front. We lay down on the bath mat and she slung her legs around my neck. i moved her around like one of those legless toys which illustrate the principle of gravity."

Sexus, part I of the' Rosy Crucifixion' Trilogy, Chapter Four - Henry Miller

Thank you, Marl Oliver Everett, for writing the song 'Manchester Girl'*. I might have never read any book by mister Miller if it were not for you.

*Machester Girl
She hides in the library reading
Henry miller books
'til they flash the lights it's time to go
When she was a little kid she said
"dad, i don't know why
I feel so penniless inside"

She's on the promenade
She's looking for a dress
She's locked outside a world
Just a manchester girl

Oh i'll meet you there
By the old newsstand
Oh i'll meet you there tonight

Shoot-out at the neighbor's house
She pulls the covers on her head
She's counting the shots as they go by
And pandora's litter box
Well it's gettin' mighty high
That cat's gonna keep her up at night

Another scary dream
Another cigarette
She's locked outside a world
Just a manchester girl

Oh i'll meet you there
By the old newsstand
Oh i'll meet you there tonight

123

For anyone who keeps an eye on the widgets and applications on the right side of this screen (ba dum tsss), it will come as no surprise to read that or hear me claim te be an avid reader. The less than wonderfull but not too dreadfull year 2011 closed with 123 books on the conto.* I'm very proud. And a little ashamed, because for every minute reading a thousand other more creative things haven't been done. And so set my new goal at a far lower and more modest 1 book to read per week.

If they may be called resolutions, for this year they are not to want, try to be or think too much. But mainly do!

Have a wonderfull and healthy 2012!

*you can check them hereabouts

On the list

Right before the holiday shopping frenzy breaks out, it's hard to say the following wish / want list is without particular end. It is however to be understood more as a reminder to myself.

• CD Spinvis
• CD C W Stoneking
• iPad
• a few new pairs of jeans
• scented candles
• pink underwear
• cotton socks
• photography books

Bubbles books and sunshine.

I have had a lot of inspiration. Or more precisely I've had a lot of ideas for new blog subjects and too little time to write or rather not enough time in front of my computer. The past few days have been rather wonderfull as far as weather and reading is concerned. I have not to complain about food and drink lately but deliciously though I have been fed, it stings that I did not create all those gorgeous goodies.

More to the point with al the warm weather of March a lot of people, including half my house mates have called 'spring' and 'summer'. For me it is only so once we've had the first spring shower. Having had it and having cycled through it for the half hour that it lasted noting will deter me from enjoying time in my garden in the sun.

The professor

Anyone following me on Goodreads, or even simply keeps an eye on my twitter- updates is by now aware that I'm reading 'The Professor' by Charlotte Brönte. In a classic Brönte style, neither language nor plot can be called extraordinary; but one thing puzzles me exceedingly... the attitude of the main charachter towards Belgium, Brussels and the 'Flamands'. Where it not that there is never mentioning (so far) of 'Wallons', as all the native French speakers appear to be either French or Swiss. I might have suspected Charlotte of Southern Belgian sympathies. :-)

Quote #43

"You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children."

Madeleine L'Engle

Damn right there isn't!

I'm very happy to finally get some recognistion for what I have believed and have been saying for years.

Digital Libraries

Since monday and yesterday respectively I have two programs monituring my book collection. Feel free to check them out and join in, I love getting feedback.

Project Alexandria

I haven't been much of a regular blog author in the year past (though I feel I am making amends the last few weeks), but I find it helps to have some projects running so I can complain about them not going well or share my enthousiasm when they come out as wonderful as anticipated.

One of the projects I plan on starting today is the one in the title. In short it means I will organise all my books, list them into categories file them digitally, stamp them with my name and put them in cardboard boxes waiting to be moved and re-organised in my future home.

Beware!

It's true though. When no in the habbit of thinking, or when unable to entertain an idea only in the cofinement of your own brain, please refrain from reading. In fact ask to be excused from class when learning how to.

Mystery or Misschief?

It is a seldom fact that I should be too optimistic. And I was sure, convinced completely certain that I would suffer no more unfamiliarities under my pillow but this was vain hope indeed for as I lay my head to rest these last days there was ever something to be found. However I suppose it could have been worse than this manuscript; considering the likely giver of gifts it might also have been an actual Zombie.