Brilliant Bonkers

I love this. I wish I could dance like that.

Actually, after a few drinks, I often can.

Floored

I know the last few posts I've done have been pretty minimal: this one will be no exception, at least in terms of the word count. I'm tired tonight but I've forced myself to be busy working on musical things. During a few online searches to find some particular source material to play around with (my search terms being choirs/drones), I came across this, and was - am - stunned.

Haunting and beautiful in abundance, and I'm glad I've packed up my work for the night, since this has left me utterly floored.

I think I see a pattern emerging..

The day I went to the death camps

I've written here, at some point, about the amount of books and related material that I've read, or watched, about the two world wars. My thirst for knowledge about it was based on, on the one hand, the need for historical perspective: to be able to have a sense of what informed the flow of events and how these have shaped the subsequent decades upon which they still have a huge impact.

On the other hand there has been, in my mind, a need to find some kind of insight, or attempt to come to terms with on some level, the sheer impact on human lives at an individual and collective level that those wars brought.

What this has meant, during those extended periods of reading and viewing, is a lot of exposure to material which is heartrending, depressing, bleak, unfathomable, yet also inspiring and humbling. All this, of course, in the vulgar comfort of my armchair.

Quite what it says about me that I've kept a corner of my mind open to information about such extremes of existence, I'm not sure - but there's a desire in there to try to comprehend or at least apprehend such suffering and adversity. I know that part of it is informed by the sheer proximity of such great and terrible events to my own lifetime: WWII ended a mere twenty-five years before I was born. Long enough to render me at a safe distance from it, but otherwise a mere blink of an eyelid, and still very much shaping the world I was born and brought up in.

It's too neat to suggest that this inward flow of words and images served as preparation for my visit earlier this week to Auschwitz: that wasn't my intention, though in retrospect it did have that effect. But it's a largely separate set of circumstances (not of particular relevance here) that enabled myself and a couple of friends to go there a few days ago.

Reflecting on all this, I'm not quite sure what I can meaningfully say about the experience, yet I do feel the need to express it somehow. There's the ever-present chance that I could write an extended, convoluted post which could be summed up as I really don't have the words. Also, an account based on my own subjective experience feels like it would be indulgent: yet should I try to open it up into more large-scale observations then I think I would fall flat on my face.

Perhaps my own subjective experience, indulgent as it may be, will be the only way I can express anything at the present time. Right now though I feel the need to go out and get a temporary change of scenery.

Another perfect pop song

In my opinion, anyway.

Misreading the signs

As I was on one of my many bike rides this week, I spotted:


Sale By Public Unction


Perchance I still had The Devils Of Loudon at the back of my mind..

Voracious

Having finished one book (as reviewed extensively in the previous post) I'm now reaching the end of another - the middle one in the picture, Huxley's The Devils of Loudon. Following Like Bees To Honey I was eager to continue reading, particularly while my mindset feels attuned to such things.

In that respect, embarking on The Devils of Loudon was an unexpectedly good choice. I say "unexpectedly" because his prose in this book seems much more dense than in his novels. One lengthy chapter in which he expounds some of the philosophical theory underlying his approach to the historical events that the book focuses on, I found almost impenetrable. I suspect that a second reading at some point would remedy this - but, given my currently-revived enthusiasm for reading books, I persevered and am now reaping the rewards of having done so.

It feels like the initial third or so of the book is an extended exercise in scene-setting, and at times it seemed excessive - but, as I reach the final couple of chapters, the detail given to 17th-century social conditions and the interface between that and religion (not least heresy), medicine, applied reason, law et al more than warrants its inclusion. What at times was an effort to plough through, ends up being a rather rich slab of thorough context which has helped me to more fully appreciate what is a series of gripping and rather horrific events.

I'm not about to embark on another review here, I mainly wanted just to set down a marker, as it were. After this, another sideways step: I'm greatly looking forward to reading Keef's autobiography, I picked it up yesterday for a mere £5.