Random Untimely Notes
Every now and then, a thought flies through my mind like a passing cloud or like a migratory bird. Some of these strange birds nest or roost for a while amongst the branches of my nervous system. Perhaps they may even lay an egg or two. From these hatchlings may come a blog post, because I can then observe them at leisure and at length.
Other strange birds only perform fly-bys, and these so quickly that I scarcely even recognise them. Perhaps they are not birds at all but bats in my belfry? (I do have bats in my attic. I even found a very bewildered and frightened bat in my bedding one evening where it had taken refuge from the cat).
In any case, the main purpose of “Random Untimely Notes” (which may sound a bit out of tune) is to acknowledge and record the passing of these strange birds, even if they do not presently stop to lay and hatch some eggs which might become blog posts. “Random Untimely Notes” will be updated frequently, I suspect.
“Apocalypse”: a truth that suddenly becomes ruthless from abuse and neglect. The alter-ego of Minerva is Medusa (or of Athena, goddess of reason, it is the Gorgon).
How to identify the militarist and cultural philistine: he admires (and even turns into a fetish) the hand the holds a gun, rather than the hand that holds a pen, a book, a violin, or a paintbrush.
How to understand “ironic reversal” — it is what Shakespeare referred to as being “hoist with his own petard.” From Hamlet: “For ’tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petard…” Our times are fully characterised by ironic reversal. “All higher values devalue themselves.” It is the very meaning of “Late Modernity,” and even post-modernity, in fact. This period should be appreciated as such, for there is a dearth of mirth amongst us about this. (Even with me). Ironic reversal requires ironic revelers, for they are the survivors.
Is there an irruption of an undercurrent of madness in our times that now, so frequently, pokes its finger through the crust of our apparent sanity? Or is it, instead… an undercurrent of sanity that now pokes its finger through the thin crust of our social madness and deficient rationality? I sometimes don’t know which is what. Is it the finger of Mr. Hyde? Or is it that of Dr. Jekyll? Is it the disease, or is it the cure for the disease (malaise)?