tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74971876073496756522012-02-08T01:43:26.836-08:00FiaschiWork in progress. Posts are in a constant state of imperfection, pending re-editing. Take as you find.Vincentnoreply@blogger.comBlogger111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-89010723792508310332012-02-05T08:03:00.000-08:002012-02-05T08:03:35.198-08:00Indian rugVincentnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-58408241440116265722012-01-15T09:16:00.000-08:002012-01-15T09:20:00.089-08:00England, for GhetuView from study window at 1pm on 12th January
View from study window at 5pm on 12th January, showing reflections of sunset sky
A view of Flackwell Heath 13th January 2012. The photos below all taken nearby
Beehives
I put the camera on the ground and set it to fire after 10 seconds for this one
The outside of a charity shop
The inside of same charity shop. They said they had seen me taking Vincentnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-74514001822684337272011-12-19T02:45:00.000-08:002011-12-19T02:45:29.204-08:00Decorating a wall with booksThis is for Susan, who expressed nostalgia for decorating a house with books. I built this on my bedroom wall, together with numerous gadgets which support the pleasant notion of enjoying life without getting out of bed: remote control for fan, LED reading lights, laughing Buddha lamp with mother-of-pearl button shade, switches close to hand, telephone, radio/CD/cassette player, cupholder; but Vincentnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-27549919186777823802011-09-21T11:51:00.001-07:002011-09-21T11:51:06.066-07:00infiniteI had been reading David Abram’s Becoming Animal. I’ve been open to similar ideas for several years, and have even, in my own way, written about them here on this blog, as I mentioned in my last. What astonished me, though, was the boldness of Abram’s telling. Where Fraser in his Golden Bough derides the animism and sympathetic magic of our ancestors and the primitives of his own day, Abram Vincentnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-88599917199973436572011-07-31T03:34:00.001-07:002011-07-31T03:34:33.811-07:00life-illusion
My last ended with these words:
We make ourselves blind to the fact that our lives are not actually ruled by reason. They are ruled by pursuing whatever makes us feel all right. We then apply reason to tell ourselves that what makes us feel all right is “the truth”.
This thought needs explanation. All I can do here now is promise to do that some time, some place, & meanwhile assign it a simpleVincentnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-83035215828460546962011-07-21T00:37:00.000-07:002011-07-27T12:38:13.662-07:00
#columns {
width: 800px;
}
#columns .column {
position: relative;
width: 40%;
padding: 1%;
border: solid 0px #000;
}
#columns .french {
float: left;
}
#columns .left {
float: left;
}
#columns .right {
float: right;
}
Original text:
De Jaspers à Heidegger, de Kierkegaard à Chestov, des Vincentnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-22747519435368197672011-07-18T14:11:00.000-07:002011-07-18T14:34:49.875-07:00Reconstituted comments thread ...... to Steve Law's post http://comradedilettante.blogspot.com/2011/06/life-universe-and-that-sort-of-stuff.html
My comments in blue, Steve's in green.
[Vincent]
Unfortunately my deleted first comment is permanently lost. I hadn’t yet subscribed to comments so I don’t have a copy. But Paul has quoted from it below. I think the general thrust of it was that you have to be sympathetic to religionVincentnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-36937026354158383672011-05-31T01:06:00.000-07:002011-05-31T03:50:29.820-07:00The Honour of Your CountryA A Milne,
author of
If I May,
from which this piece
(c. 1920)
was taken. He’s
known to
posterity
for his
Winnie the PoohWe were resting after the first battle of the Somme. Naturally all the talk in the Mess was of after-the-war. Ours was the H.Q. Mess, and I was the only subaltern; the youngest of us was well over thirty. With a gravity befitting our years and (except for myself) our rankVincentnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-70618984285672053542010-09-12T12:44:00.001-07:002010-09-12T13:14:34.410-07:00Art’s deeper oceans and wilder shoresWhen he was at Chelsea Art College, Kris Manalien’s tutor expressed concern that his work was, in her words, “Kitsch”. She insisted on remedial training in the form of an art history course. He refused. She insisted, till she had to accept that the terms of his studentship at the college gave him a special dispensation. He could follow whatever courses he wished. He was already 27, no fresh-facedVincentnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-79761485772594139702010-09-12T12:35:00.000-07:002010-09-12T13:05:08.105-07:00Mystical Cornucopia from the Collective UnconsciousKris Manalien’s art inspires lust. Not sex but shopping. It calls out “Take me! Own me! Carry me off to your palace or hovel, and ravish me with your eyes and all your senses!” It is the stuff that spills out from an Aladdin’s cave of the unconscious. It emerges from a hidden source of alchemical symbols, mediæval wizardry, myths, cultures far off in space and time. It plunders our dreams, our Vincentnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7497187607349675652.post-66789822949425728702008-12-16T04:21:00.001-08:002011-05-31T00:49:08.831-07:00mockupVincentnoreply@blogger.com3