|
|
As the blossom strikes the ground, it strikes a stroke into one particular populace; the stroke not of a note, though spring does dominate struck notes, but one induced by stress; the stress of the ticking away of school hours, ticking towards the stroke of some very ominous hours indeed. Exams! (and their deadline brethren)
My particular imprisonment these past weeks has been a wordy one. 4500-strong, those words have sputtered their way onto pages destined for stern eyes. Some of them have even been a bit clever - linking Kafka's lengthy paragraphs to his overriding theme of implicit guilt and other such manufactured truths. However, my nostalgia has been roaming elsewhere. Perhaps I have been pushed by all this verbosity. Perhaps it's just a logical annual connection. Whatever it is, I have found myself looking back more and more on the more visual side of past panics, and now in the middle of some people's unlucky brush (as it were) with artistic dogma, it seems appropriate to mention.
Art and its assessment has been the backdrop to much of note. Incidentally, many a note struck then if not now, struck harsh and hard. For musically, it conjures that milestone of thinking when Trout Mask Replica first revealed itself to be more than just noise. Creative boosts abounded in that happy time. Lost on the other side of opened doors. Scattered designs amongst shattered rhythms. Socially, a time of some hope and latterly one great shock to the system. (Harrison-based. What directions that could have gone in...) And in these times, such remembrances drive me to hurdle over the words still to come, and spend some proper time on things properly seen not read.
But clearly I just can't shake off words, can I? Just look at that lot up there.
-krring
|
|
Unknown