Plan B

I have often considered the possibility of becoming one of those bearded men in pubs who drinks heavily and shouts at anyone who will listen. Seems like a sound Plan B to me. I am much better at drinking and shouting than I am at writing. On second thoughts, that might not be true. But I do the former more regularly.

I need to immerse myself in the double-suicide world of Karl Jaspers. (He had a Jewish wife in Nazi Germany and was prepared to kill himself if anything should happen to her.) Here are some of his words which speak to me:

Never to approach the hidden God directly is the fate which a philosophical Existenz must bear. Only the ciphers speak, if I am ready [...] only seldom will an eye seem to look at me in the dark. Day in, day out, it is as if there were nothing. In his eerie abandonment man seeks a more direct access, objective guarantees, and firm support; he takes God's hand in prayer so to speak turns to authority, and sees the Godhead in personal form - and only in this form is it God at all, while as the Godhead it maintains its indefinable distance . (Philosophy, Vol. 3, p. 133)

However attractive this philosophical world - whose attractiveness is probably enhanced by Redon's hallucinogenic visions - the world of theology imprisons me. S. John will not let me 'scape! B. S. tomorrow. I've also got to write a f*cking sermon for next Sun. Like I say, Plan B seems much more congenial!

There are stirrings in connection with Charlotte Gainsbourg's new album, IRM. You can download the first track for free here (perfectly legally, I might add). In my opinion it's a great song. And here is a video insight into the creative process. Better stop now before my better half gets jealous...

Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM from Charlotte Gainsbourg on Vimeo.

Stands Scotland where it did?

So Paris went well. Delivered my paper, answered questions, went to my supervisor's paper, went to look at art. Saw some marvellous Cézannes and Redons in the Musée d'Orsay and something in the region of 100 Kandinsky paintings in the Pompidou Centre. I saw a two-volume Cézanne catalogue raisonné in a Cambridge bookshop today for £80 and am presently trying to justify buying it. It is, unbelievably, a bargain.

Went to Edinburgh, where I stayed with a friend, and thence across to a rather grim part of Glasgow for a workshop on museums. Although I got to see the store 'pods' for all the Glasgow museums, the talks were very pedestrian, despite their titles. But, back in Edinburgh, my friend introduced me to some interesting philosophers and I got to see the library of T. L. S. Sprigge. A real treat! It turns out that he had a shelf-ful of books by Santayana, on whom I may have to read Sprigge himself together with his magnum opus, The Vindication of Absolute Idealism. A far cry from his short Theories of Existence which I remember reading as an undergraduate.

I now ought to be writing my popular essay on Christmas but can't be arsed. That's why I'm writing this instead and listening to Life is Killing Me by Type O Negative to cheer myself up... And I've just bought some monsoon malabar online.

(Navet by Redon.)

I have discovered the work of PJ Harvey.
Recently been enjoying To Bring you My Love. Good album.